The Para Legal Brothers.

Pictured is Joffa Clunk wearing a traditional since lunchtime, turkey and baloney basting lyre bird dress, perhaps modelled on the once popular ginger coloured Macintosh. At The Department of Offence you’ll see it’s some catch that Catch ‘Impossible for the Untrained Wrong Colour People to Say What Colour a Fractional Colour Is’ 22. Ah, yes "we thought we were free..."

“Bolt used...sarcasm. He knew all the tricks.”

Criminologist: It is easy for us to judge Clunk too harshly. After all he only did what many of the insane left simply dream of doing. And we should remember that any crude, intimidating, leftist thug could merely be just another violently well-meaning and influence peddling, dismissed government employee. And are we not all a little like that? While Clunk was a talentless opportunistic bore, he was nonetheless an immensely laughable, wonderfully violent phony, loved by many.

Presenter: Most of the laughable logical fallacy based massively intimidating yet fair random law-making, concerns the head of the infamous Para Legal Brothers, ‘Monkeyboy’ Boobberg, but what about Bolt, the man they hated? One man who met him was Luigi Vercotti.

Vercotti: I had been running a successful identity grievance politics agency -- high class, no really, high class leftists - we didn't have any of “that”. No, strictly legit. Cannibalism was right out as was ritual mutilation, your voodoo and child brides. We always insisted on only top-shelf tribalism. None of your violently enforced conformity and sexual barbarity and that's not just your usually affluent white activists. I decided... (Phone rings) Excuse me. (Answers phone)

Hello......no, not now......shtoom...shtoom....right......yes, we'll have the job, er, watch ready for you at midnight.......the watch.....the government watch....yes, right-oh, bye-bye.....mother. (He hangs up phone)

Anyway I decided to open a high class night club for people of a provisional colour at Biggotswide, with International Communism and critical theory and top line Marxists, and not a cheap clip joint for picking up grants -- that was right out, I deny that completely - and one evening in walks Clunk with a couple of big lads, wearing the entire skins of twenty seven water buffaloes, thirteen kangaroos, seventeen baboons and a newt. They said I had bought one of their Tone Adjustment MachinesTM and would I pay for it.

2nd Interviewer: How much did they want?

Vercotti: Complete silence with absolutely zero criticism or questioning of the Shakedown Socialism of identity politics and no one must ever laugh at their fascistic mediocrity. And their government jobs back.

2nd Interviewer: Why didn't you call the Thought Police first?

Vercotti: Well I hadn’t thought of that, but then I noticed that the lad with the armed tactical legislative device, was the er, local judge like, and freelance masseuse for the area. So no point really. A week later they called again and told me that to understand why Clunk was suddenly dressed as a traditional mentally ill fancy dress clown, I had to read...Bolt.

2nd Interviewer: Bolt?

Vercotti: Bolt... (Takes a drink) Well, I was terrified. Everyone was terrified of reading Bolt. I've seen grown twerps enlist venal lawyers using the Nazi logical fallacy rather than read Bolt. Or read. Even Boobberg was frightened of Bolt. Actually, no he wasn’t.

2nd Interviewer: What did Bolt do?

Vercotti: He used...sarcasm. He made “a liberal use of sarcasm and mockery”. He knew all the tricks, dramatic irony, metaphor, bathos, puns, parody, litotes and... satire. His use of language and structure was “highly suggestive and designed to excite". His style was "not careful, precise or exact" and his language "not moderate or temperate but often strong and emphatic". He was vicious.

Well, everyone knows that "language of that kind has a heightened capacity to convey implications beyond the literal meaning of the words utilised. It is language which invites the reader to not only read the lines, but to also read between the lines." Or something like that, guv.

Presenter: But isn’t it blank between the fucking lines and isn't Boobberg describing actual writing and indeed any writing worth reading?

So, by a combination of bad leftist control freak legislation, random yet laughably elastic interpretations of the law and The Constitution, a fear of sarcasm and any humour or empirical facts whatsoever, the Para Legal Brothers by September 2011, controlled Australian’s God given right to free speech.

Perhaps it was Orwell or Charles Manson who said that good and correct writing should never express anything of value or meaning beyond the literal words used, as anything more intelligent would merely upset stupid people. Good writing should be like pornography, a race guide or Robert Manne. Only the hopelessly mad would say otherwise. Anything else is unacceptable and rude.

But it was in September though that Boobberg and Clunk both displayed further signs of the profound madness that would later render them unemployable outside of government.

Gloria: Boobberg had become increasingly obsessed about the ghost of John Milton, whom he was convinced was following him carrying a phantom ukulele. Boobberg had come to the conclusion that Milton was actually residing in his broom closet and that when Boobberg fell asleep, John Milton would emerge with his ectoplasmic uke in hand and implant George Formby songs into Boobberg’s mind, especially the tune ‘When I’m Cleaning Windows’.

Boobberg later commented that he had to “destroy truth and freedom of speech in order to save them!” and that he was possessed of a “nuclear device” that he would use to finally “make facts more fair” especially to the “oppressed” minorities in the government and at International Socialist.

Clunk too, believed that he was being followed by an apparition, a flying “two headed circus python” called “Monty.” “I shall cut off its head with my powerful traditional Death Ray to save the precious environmental dirt of Gaia! It will be powered by my own non-fossil fuel based body fat, as soon as I get that government grant” said Clunk, late at night at a local park, standing completely naked except for his trademark newt skin hat.