The Confessions of Mr Punch

•May 26, 2019 • Leave a Comment

The Confessions of Mr Punch.


Well it was raining Dogs,

(all the Cats stayed dry at home)

hungry hounds ran down the gutters

hunting down old student loans.

But like a Porn Star in a Pawn Shop

They had nothing left to sell/ except that

tiny piece of Soul they keep

to bargain with down in Hell.


But that’s the weigh they play the Game here,

when the newsprint hits the Soup

and all the bar-maids know the story,

o’ the suitcase left on the stoop,

where they found the torso gory

and in a blaze of Tabloid Glory

the Young Reporter

finally got his Scoop.


We made a fatal combination,

distilled a toxic chemistry,

a perfect product you could market

in almost any Industry.

But I hoped you learned your Lesson,

for I know that I’ve learnt mine,

And don’t beat yourself up

too much, please,

the Pleasure should be mine.




The Reverend Hellfire..

’nuff said!




•May 19, 2019 • Leave a Comment

Some theme music for today’s sermon..



Last Tango in Paris

at the Climate Change Costume Ball.

No-one could persuade

the Wall-Flowers to dance at all,

though the Ministers tried and tried,

 their hands & tongues were tied.


Until at last a masked guest,

dressed in red, arrived at Midnight,

and everybody died.


Must have been a Terrorist,

they said.




Words fail some days.


Election Special Sermon; A vote for the Libs is a vote for Planet Death

•May 18, 2019 • 3 Comments

Australian Federal Election Special Sermon









Vote for a Party/Candidate who has a decent set of environmental policies. No time to nit-pick details of difference, the important thing right now is to stop the DESTROYERS.

The Reverend Hellfire commends the following party’s to your attention;







As to the question of who is to be Prime Minister, our choices are limited. Granted Bill Shorten is no prize pig himself, and the Labor Party’s track record on environmental issues has not been inspirational,


he is a far, far better option than the gurning, smirking, sneering, lying smug self satisfied piece of coal sucking shit that currently occupies that Office. AND his posse of right wing Creeps & Cranks.


Federal Election 2019 Report

•May 5, 2019 • Leave a Comment

Wearing a precautionary prophylactic lobster-bib, today’s Sermon spews forth a steady stream of undigested bile on the wonderful world of Australian politics. Enjoy.



Three Way Power Struggle Looms!


Chaos and confusion reign supreme as the Australian Federal Election grinds, shudders and jerks its way through the final, hideous death throes.

A brutal three-way battle has developed between Australia’s three main political groupings. The old Parties are largely irrelevant now except as political vehicles for shadowy malignant forces and Billionaires’ Vanity projects. No, the real question is; who will triumph in the battle between


for the Electorate’s hearts and minds.

STUPIDITY of course has the advantage of its long time political coalition with IGNORANCE who, until recently, had unchallenged control of the country electorates. However, this control has been eroded of late by the strong in-roads made by a break-away faction of SHOOTERS, HUNTERS & OTHER ASSOCIATED FUCKWITS. Though normally natural supporters of anything Ignorant, a combination of corruption, nepotism, incompetence, arrogance and sloth has finally alienated even rural voters. Will then IGNORANCE be able to maintain its traditional strangle-hold on the Country Electorates? Though the Bookies are silent, the Smart Money says, “Yes”.

Meanwhile amongst the Minor Parties, HATE has been making significant gains lately with disaffected voters since its contentious but highly effective “It’s OK to Hate” campaign.

However they were unsuccessful in their attempts to reach out

and form a coalition with the FEAR, citing areas of shared policy interest and overlapping constituencies.

But the FEAR faction leader contemptuously dismissed these overtures and claimed that “HATE is merely seeking relevance” and further vowed that “the country will be ruled by FEAR and FEAR alone!“, no doubt sending a shudder of deja vu running down most voter’s backs.

Indeed FEAR (with the strident support of News Corpse) does seem to be setting the agenda this election; Climate Change, Terrorists, Waves of Refugees, Compulsory Gender Re-assignment, Vaccinations..everyone seems to be afraid of something.

GREED has not backed away from the political fight though, and has spent up Big in an attempt to buy the voters’ Love, Affection and yes, even their Respect.

We believe we can rely on the Australian voters traditional Good Sense, which is to say, their sense of Self Interest. ” declared the self-imposed GREED leader and millionaire sea-elephant, who has personally funded the revival of avarice as a political force.

Never underestimate the Australian sense of self-entitlement,” he continued” This country was founded on Greed don’t forget. Last NSW election Gladys told the suckers that they “can have it all” and they believed her! Jesus, throw them a few fish and they’re flapping their flippers together and barking like seals on command!

But the voters seem to be prepared to support GREED despite such contemptuous comments, dazzled perhaps by promises of winning fabulous cash prizes. Indeed, GREED has much to offer the electorate; tax cuts, rebates for taxes they haven’t paid, negative gearing and of course, your very own Cayman Island banking account.

Last out of the Political Pandora’s Box is HOPE, but I can’t see much for their chances. That’s like expecting the Animal Justice Party to pick up a seat in Dubbo! Indeed, word on the street whispers discreetely that HOPE‘s political chances were in fact last seen floating, face down, along the Darling River with a bunch of dead fish.

Just past a little place called Menindee, or so they tell me.

Naturally there was a bit of a STINK about the whole affair, but fortunately a fresh Westerly breeze sprung up after a couple of days and cleared the air nicely.

Disturbingly however, reliable witnesses have subsequently reported that a large, black Thunder-Cloud, strangely reeking of Fish and the Stench of Death, was seen drifting ominously in the direction Canberra. More reports will be filed as they come to hand.



The Reverend Hellfire is a practising Performance Poet,

and ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism,

and an endorsed H.E.M.P Party candidate in two state and three Federal elections.

Lost his deposit.



•April 28, 2019 • 1 Comment



Fun and Games,

a cosmopolitan couple

with no sense of shame,

came to visit.

Begin with Blindfolds, She said,

then speak to me in Skin.

OK, baby.. Now, lets invent

an Original Sin.





•April 21, 2019 • Leave a Comment



Hard Times has carved

its lines across my face,

like the ancient Martians

cutting canals

through the dusty, dry red rock

of their cold planet.


Laughter too has etched its grooves.

O, who’d have ever thought

my flesh would turn to stone,

my lips ledges for pidgeons to roost?

Some colossal, stoic statue

commemorating outdated civic-virtues

from a bygone Age.

I should have a plinth

on which to stand

like some bronze Columbus,

pointing arm outstretched forever

towards some undiscovered land


Yes I should stand in some

forgotten corner of a Park

beneath the shade of mighty Moreton Bay Fig.

A benign and avuncular Sentinel watching

over the wooden benches by my feet,

with their cargo of courting lovers,

innocent and sweet.




The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet.


Portrait of a Prime Minister

•April 14, 2019 • 3 Comments

Portrait of a Prime Minister


There was an election coming up

so I wasn’t entirely taken aback

when suddenly on the Television screen

appeared the face of a sneering, smirking,

middle-aged, middle-class, born-again bully.

The camera pulled back to reveal,

slouched in a slovenly slump

the brutish form of an ageing corporate thug

turning to fat. Yes, it was non-other

than our beloved Prime Minister,

a former failed Advertising executive

and slap happy clapper, a ‘fair dinkum’ dickhead,

dud root and ‘Der’,

Yes, a full-dyed-in-the-wool Dipshit,

is our PM,

who calls servants, journalists and even strangers

by their first name, as a chummy gesture

towards Egalitarianism apparently, but really

it just makes him look like a condescending Creep

and everyone calls him ‘Mister’ in reply.

Despite being bald as a baby,

giving him the appearance at times of a pudgy

and somewhat bad tempered Cherub, the prime minister has

the loutish body language of a Tony Soprano, his whole posture somehow threatening even when lounging back in an armchair, chuckling away, jovial as Hitler with his favourite niece.

Yes, despite what News Corpse Columnists may parrot,

not all bullies are loud-mouthed, lumpen-prole louts

waving CFMEU banners on building sites, of course.

A grammar school education has given an oily veneer of Civility to many a budding young middle-class bully’s act,

and our PM is no exception.

Thus, like any professional psychopath, the prime minister

wears lightly the mask of being a civilised and educated human being and the mask becomes another weapon in his arsenal, to be drawn upon in need, like, say..the Mask of Sincerity, or the Thundering Pulpit of Righteousness.

Meanwhile he proudly stands beside those who wear their class like an impregnable armour, and has inherited

the traditional ruling class air of knowing that they’re better than other people. (and if you don’t recognise that superiority,

then it’s just a sign of how ignorant and inferior you are).

Happily for him, his religion reinforces the notion of being one of the Special Ones, one of the Chosen. And though his religious convictions may have no more depth to them than a Used Car Yard Warranty, still, when it suits him, he is God’s Spear.

True he is not popular with the Young, though you could argue that he is not “unpopular” either, seeing as how recent street surveys revealed most Young Folk neither knew his name nor recognised his photo. As a former Adman you’d think he’d be concerned at this lack of market penetration. But our canny PM is unfazed by this, knowing that the Young are also less likely to vote, being so turned off by the whole business, and so he’s off down to the Old Folks Home to tell their grandparents scary stories about how the Opposition leader will steal their savings and send their grandchildren to compulsory sexual re-assignment camps.

As mentioned earlier, most journalists and interviewers react to the PM’s oily attempts at unwarranted familiarity with a real and very unfeigned repugnance, retreating into a frigid formalism whenever the demands of their profession places them in the same room as him (it’s like dealing with the pervy uncle who’s always putting his hand on your knee at Family functions).

The exceptions to this rule

are the League of Ranting Right-wing Radio ‘Shock Jocks’,

a handful of sycophantic toadies or “Mates” as the PM likes to call them, a gaggle of ageing, privileged white men who are happiest when calling down FIRE & BRIMSTONE upon the Unemployed, Environmentalists, “Women’s Libbers”(sic), drunken blacks, young people on drugs who don’t want to do a days’ work and people in general who stand in the way of their own or their “Mates” business interests.

But in the presence of their “Maate” the PM,

they Coo & Croon in abject displays of homo-erotic admiration;

Maaate! I loved the way you had those trees cut down!

That’ll show those latte sipping, inner city Greenie types that you can’t stop Progress.

Maate,” the PM purrs, basking in the Glory,

I couldn’t have done it without your support! And

as a reward for your unflagging support I have a little surprise for you here in the studio..Alan, do you remember that lump of coal I brought into parliament

No loyal Australian could forget that moment Prime Minister. It was a great day for democracy and common sense in this country!

Well Mate I have that Lump of Coal hear now..would you like to see it?”

Oh yes please sir. I mean..I’d be honoured, Mate.”

Ambiguous rustling sounds over the airwaves, like an apple being removed from a very deep pocket, then the radio host’s hoarse voice gasping out;

Why! Its Beautiful! And so big! I didn’t think it would be that big! Do you think I could touch it?

These sort of obscenely suggestive displays are bad enough to hear when your just half listening to as you’re trapped in a peak hour traffic gridlock. But the full Truth is reputedly more lurid still!

For rumours in the Industry have it that during Prime Ministerial interviews with cronies like Alan Jones & Co., all other radio station personnel are banished from the immediate Studio area while they are in conclave.

Indeed, aside from the PM & his Mate, the only other human being allowed on that floor is a blind, mute radio technician,

who can neither witness nor report the horrible abominations performed by the Radio Host and his Guest upon each other.

Can I touch it??

Horrible, just horrible. Indeed, on one memorable occasion, or so I am reliably told by my Informant, they had Christopher Pyne in a rubber Gimp Suit hanging upside down from a meat-hook on the ceiling during the whole Interview, and played Pinata with him using plastic police batons.

They had to gag Christopher because he was giggling so much”, my Informant claimed.

As I receive these unsubstantiated reports I am afflicted briefly by an awful vision of Tony Abbott & Alan Jones,

lounging back in studio armchairs, legs splayed wide with their pants down,

as they fondle each others genitals and they murmur sweet nothings.

In his glass booth, the blind, mute radio technician sees nothing and says nothing. With his Disability he’s lucky to have a job.

At this image the brain revolts and short circuits itself,

and the Listener turns to something else less disturbing.

Don’t call me again, I told my Informant, I’m blocking your number. You’re just lucky I’m not reporting you to the authorities.

Later I asked the I Ching, that ancient fount of Oriental Wisdom, who was going to win the forthcoming election.

Interestingly the answer was Hexagram 66, “Transmission Interupted”, perhaps the I Ching’s most ambiguous and gnomic prognostication.

I leave it for you to ponder;


Hexagram 66: Transmission Interrupted

A Radio Broadcast,

the Prime Minister addresses

the Nation

but the Reception was terrible.



The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance poet, an ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism

and a National Living Treasure.

No calls before 10AM