Dictator Dan Andrews is facing his political Waterloo, destined for his Melbourne bunker, where he’ll be found slumped in his favourite beanbag, a figurative bullet through his head. By his side will be Mrs Dictator Dan and their pet Shar-Pei Mao Zedong. They’ll have taken poison.
The writing was on the wall for Dictator Dan when he screwed up with the Indian security guards and the quarantine, which he tried to make all about ‘diversity’ and wokeness. Dan hired an Abo security firm, which is a contradiction in terms. He got exactly what he paid for. The doo-doo hit the fan. People died. Fingers began pointing. He knew he was politically dead in the water, and that his great leap forward onto the Belt and Road would never come. But he wasn’t about to leave the spoils of Victoria to a replacement premier, or, god forbid, a Liberal government!
So, after allowing a Black Lives Matter rally to proceed unmolested by his goons in VicPol, he ordered an economic scorched earth policy; his Nero Decree! Giving daily press conferences like an obsessive-compulsive, he managed to talk so much yet say nothing; the benchmark of a professional politician.
When pressed about his C-19 measures, he tried to lay the blame for harsh restrictions elsewhere. Only, it’s too late now, and everyone knows. He had to come clean in the end. It was all Dictator Dan’s idea. He ordered the 8:00 pm curfew so that the police could enforce the lockdown, the decision was not taken under any advice. Yet, Dan wouldn’t be swayed by whingeing citizens who lost jobs, or who couldn’t visit loved ones, or who were going out of their minds in the lockdown. No. Rules were made to be followed, a principle that he’s stuck by ever since he was a school monitor at Marist Brothers.
Those who broke the law by being outside without a valid permit, or looking the wrong way at a gang of officers, got everything they deserved. Dan insisted on seeing the bodycam footage first-hand, which he and his inner-circle would toast with a round of Golden Gaytimes.
As the media turned against him, Dan grew darker, showing signs of either advancing senility or else syphilis. Perhaps even both. He started taking pleasure in the extreme actions of his police force. When the military turned up uninvited, he became paranoid and laid plans to blow up the hotel where they were stationed. He still has the joint wired and the detonator stashed in a cake tin. ‘What next?’ he wondered. “Will the people rise and try to overthrow me?’
Andrews’ blood-curdling cackling could be heard all around the neighbourhood when the dictator got wind that ‘his’ people were demanding “freedom”. Instead, they were roughed up by a corrupt VicPol and slapped with eye-watering fines. The more pregnant the women, the older the grandmothers, the more delight he took in observing their indignation. “Nobody messes with Dictator Dan,” he laughed manically, grabbing his son in a headlock and rapping his skull with his knuckles.
Dan grew ever more sensitive whenever called to task by PM Scott Morrison. He clung on in the hope that the Chinese navy would arrive at Melbourne Port and from there he could take over the country. That was his plan.
Dictator Dan hates Morrison so much he would sit at the dining table of the family home, excoriating the PM over his “rudeness” to China. During these times he railed in Chinese, which was difficult for the family, since Andrews can’t speak Chinese. Instead, he imitated Bruce Lee making chicken noises in Enter the Dragon. He even karate-chopped the willow pattern platter one day before the missus whisked it out from underneath his podgy hand. Quite telling was that even giving all his strength, he still couldn’t break a piece of crockery.
When Dan gets angry his ears grow larger and start wiggling furiously. He can’t help it. It’s something that happened to him ever since he was a child visiting the zoo and an elephant mistook him for its calf.
Whisked away in the giant pachyderm’s trunk he was thrashed about in a drinking pool and traumatised more than usual. Although to be accurate, that’s not how he got the big ears; he was born with those. Rather, it’s how come they put on a theatre show whenever he’s emotional.
You can imagine his ears dancing quite a bit now that the end is near. You can also bet your top dollar Dan isn’t about to cut short the restrictions. As long as he has the power of curfew, so long as he can argue that there is a state of emergency, he will cling to power, all the while, leaving nothing for Morrison and his allied forces to find when he’s gone.