THE NATIONALITY OF ME
by Ross Sharp
I woke up early one morning – insert blues song – and watched a little television, several minutes of Channel 9’s “Today” show.
I hate these programs.
These cloying, nauseatingly fey hosts, all hale and hearty chums in kinder-fun, inviting us to peer with awwws and wonder into the bubbly, gee-shucks world of their televised, clubby little treehouse. Welcome to Romper Room for adults. Yes, wherever you may roam on Australian free-to-air commercial television, it’s breakfast with the leprechauns on all three channels, and if there’s any news in any of them, that’s news to me.
But I woke up early one morning – repeat blues chorus – and a shiny, shiny man bellowed a headline to open the show, and the headline was this …
“THE TREASURER TALKS UP THE ECONOMY, BUT WHERE ARE THE JOBS? PEOPLE ARE ASKING!”
“Oh, for Chrissakes”, I mutter aloud, exhausted and exasperated, wondering just how much longer this perpetual howl of anguish at every aspect of life in this stupid bloody country will last.
I am renouncing my nationality as “Australian” and shall, from hereon in, embrace the nationality of Me.
“Where are you from?”, you may well ask.
“I am from Me”, I shall reply.
“But, you sound Australian …”, you may inquire.
“No. I am not Australian. Fuck Australians. Pack of pants-pissing, whiny little girls.”
“And where is Me?”, you may ask further.
“Standing right in fucking front of you, where do you think? It’s here. Me. Right here. Would you like to exchange some currency?”
“What are you offering?”
“What would be the point?”
“If it’s good enough for the United States dollar to be at parity with the Australian, it’s good enough for Me. Don’t you think?”
“Fair point”, you concede.
“I’m also working on stamps, and any day now, Me gets its own airline.”
“Of course you will”, you say, a little patronisingly (if I may say).
“How’s your airline doin’, buddy? The Australian one? The kangaroos and singing kids on a rock? Making a bundle, is it? Stocks off the charts?”, I inquire.
“It does appear to be rooted, I’ll grant you that”, you grudgingly reply.
“I’ll have that, I will. Me will. Me needs some planes.”
“We’ve got some submarines that we -”
“Go fuck yourself. Me is not a stupid country. YOU is.”
Welcome to Me.
Please enjoy your visit, and try not to fuck Me over while you’re here.
Fines may apply.