START-UP superglue company Death Grips Adhesive has claimed responsibility for a sticky guerrilla marketing protest that shut down parliament today.
Not entirely (remotely) true, perhaps, but strike me down if that fracas did not jog my memory about a dangerously loose incisor on my dentures that needs fixing.
Befuddled MPs sat and stared as about 30 members of the Whistleblowers Activists and Citizens Alliance scream-chanted slogans about freeing the refugees and shutting down offshore detention.
They unfurled a dirty great big cloth banner that cleared the parliamentary x-rays and a few even slopped on a fistful of superglue and gave the peanut gallery railing a monkey grip for the ages.
They shrewdly left one hand free in case of sudden itch.
Government members toddled off in a huff but Labor stayed in the chamber, because Bill Shorten reckoned walking out would "reward those who would seek to stop parliament”.
The Greens, engorged with an almost erogenous pride, could barely conceal their hot-flushed cheeks and come-hither eyes.
But none of this changes the fact that Christmas is nigh and chances are three-to-one I will lose a front tooth in Aunt Franny's time-honoured cement fruit cake.
Oh sure, it was a big day for Australian politics.
Christopher Pyne, despite his indisputable credentials as a fixer, left it up to salaried Parliament House goons to chisel the dissident hecklers' encrusted grasps from the balustrade before sitting resumed.
His eyes were narrowed, cold and lethal. One could fry an egg on his forehead.
He declared the ruckus the most serious intrusion into the parliament since members of the ACTU held a barbecue on the lawns in 1996, forced their way into the building and engaged in "a drunken riot”.
Pyne clearly forgot the time when about 80 rabble-rousers in the House of Representatives gallery chanted "democracy is dead” and "no mandate” when Julia Gillard's Labor got the carbon tax legislation through.
There were sombre, tight-lipped faces all through the building.
Greens Leader Richard Di Natale copped a crispy palm to the shoulder as he dived in for a quick cuddle with one of the bannister-clinging troublemakers, praising her for her bravery.
"We think there are many millions of decent Australians who share your concerns, and they too are so grateful,” he said, teeth about three-quarters concealed for the most part.
But alas, tomorrow it will be back to normal; all tusky smirks and piano key smiles reminding me Cousin Gaz is going to cork my leg and call me a village idiot if this wobbly fang is not mended soon.
And those refugees will still be locked up overseas.
The protesters will be getting a knock on the door from the Australian Federal Police as well.
Strange Politics is a satire column.
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