GAWD strewth, I go down on my knees nightly and while I'm there I thank the good Lord Jesus that the Australian people had the good sense to get rid of that wretched Hanson woman at the last federal election.
Hopefully by now, that red-headed harridan from Ipswich has crawled back under whatever slimy rock she first emerged from, never to be seen again in the fair light of day.
Fair suck of my sav, how the woman ever got the level of support she mustered over recent years is beyond me. I've never heard anyone speak so much drivel in my lifetime and I've been around long enough and written enough newspaper columns to know arrant dribble when I see and hear it.
Not that she was totally off the planet, mind. She had a few good points - like getting stuck into those mamby pamby dry-as-shit economic rationalists who were all for knocking down the trade barriers and dismantling those protectionist walls that made the Holden Kingswood what it is today!
No nation can be an island, except, of course, Australia.
And, sure we've got to trade with everyone else on as level a playing field as possible. But crikey and stone the bloody crows! If we can't level out the field and slant it a bit to look after our own, who can we?
And speaking of slopes, sure, I'm in the same boat as everyone else who admired the way she would cock her snot at the Balmain basket weavers, tree huggers and other loony left rentacrowd fringe dwellers who virtually made it a flammin' criminal offence if you failed to go all warm and gooey over this multicultural rubbish.
You know who I mean: these teary-eyed sooks who think it's fair that we should all be branded as dinky-di Australians regardless of how long you've belonged to the RSL. Yep, if they had their way, it's gidday fucking mate and an open hand to anyone who's just arrived here on some rat-infested sampan.
All decent Australians would agree with Pauline that with jobs so hard to come by, we've got to look after our own before dishing out the goodies to Chinny-come-latelies who rock up here and go straight on the dole, probably to different fathers.
No, I could never, ever cast my vote her way, but Pauline was spot on with much of her policies, even though that 2 percent flat tax idea took a bit of getting the old head around, mind.
She also brilliantly tapped into this wave of discontent that's been brewing with our elected representatives of recent years.
For all her misgivings, Hanson to her ever-lasting credit gave a fine spray to all those politicians from both sides of the political fence who treat us like shit for two and a half years and then come groveling lower than a red bellied black sucking up for our votes.
Whooie!!!! Sure, that nasal whine and holier than thou line are hard to stomach, but they're just about tolerable when she's stinking both barrels up those pollies' backsides and pulling the trigger.
What a blast. Karboom! Take that, you MP maggots.
No, you wouldn't normally mind giving Pauline a bit of support for her stands on these sorts of issues, and keeping Telstra in public hands as well.
But strewth, woman, fair flick of the frisbee, you could have knocked me down with a feather when she call herself the mother of all Australians.
Running away at the mouth like that, she near well broke my heart. I rang my old mentor, Brother Hogan, at St Michael's Orphanage for Boys with Bottoms like Peaches in Rockhampton to ask if it could possibly be true that Pauline was really the young women who had reluctantly left me on the orphanage front steps nine months after the Poms made their last Ashes tour prior to the Second War. He let me down gently, pointing out that it was an impossibility, seeing she Pauline was younger than me by a good 20 years.
Brother Hogan said Pauline had only been speaking figuratively, then asked how I was faring and not to forget to look up him next time I was in town.
Still, I can forgive her for Hanson was spot on with most of what she said.
What did her in for me apart from that false ray of hope that I might have eventually found my mum was her blind racism. How and when this otherwise decent Australian was first set against the original owners of this country is anyone's guess, but her dislike of coons is almost pathological.
I'm buggered who was advising her on this one - David Oldfield's astute enough so he must have been away at the time - because Australians are decent minded people who don't like to see a minority attacked willy nilly.
She's on the slippery slide of public support because she just can't get it into that pretty little head of hers that your average Australian is not a racist. Joe and Flo Blow have absolutely nothing against full bloods and Torres Strait islanders.
And why? Because the fullboods and the islanders have always known their place.
As someone who's swum barearsed with the real blacks – as I did in the Condamine in my youth, or at least I think it was me – there's no way I could tar all blacks with the same brush that Pauline tries to smear them with.
For you see, my chums, back in those days just after the war there were the good blacks. Those Abos worked hard and knew their place – in their camps and if they had to travel, on top of the bus under the tarp where they belonged.
Decent blokes who did an honest day's work for an honest day's slab of meat and stuff.
No, there's nothing wrong with the pure bloods. Just like the islanders; they knew they place too - on the islands. Out of sight, out of harm's way.
No, if Pauline Hanson had limited her hatred of the blacks to just the no-good lazy half and quarter castes that fester like the boils that used to cover the bums of my school boy chums at the orphanage in the late 40s, I'd have no qualms with her views on ridding this country of the so-called Aboriginal industry.
You don't have to root a well-worn boot to know she's right when she makes the point that despite the billions of dollars the wretched Labor socialists wreckers have poured into Aboriginal health and housing over recent decades, they're still black.
But I won't come at this blind hate of a species for no good reason, even the poor harmless Abos.
So when it came to the crunch come election day on October 3, there was no way in the world I could ever have seen myself voting for Pauline.
She wasn't in my electorate.