World-renown journalist, raconteur and social avenger Stan Clear reports on the most pressing of international issues…

Friday, 8 June 2012


Gillard ban on 80’s music for five years
Stan Clear  8-6-2012

In a shock announcement today, the Prime Minister Julia Gillard will enforce a nationwide ban of 80’s music for at least the next 5 years. During her declaration she expressed a profound regret that the embargo could not be indefinite.

“I really wanted to impose this ban from today and forever. I think the people of Australia have heard enough and we need to move forward,” the Prime Minister said, “but Wayne convinced me to hold off till next week because he has Karaoke tonight. He loves doing ‘Swanee’ songs.”

My secretary, with teary eyes, organizes a round table interview with major DJs from 2DAY, NOVA, WSFM and Triple-M. The motley crew sit almost as speechless as they do on air as I enter the basement kitchen of the Establishment nightclub in Sydney’s CBD. I place a sizable white box in the center of the table then ask the question on everybody's lips. “So, what are you bunch of has-beens going to do now that you can’t ride on the back of corporate-kiss-arse, annoyingly-add-soaked and overplayed one-hit-wonders anymore?”
Hair Poison

Jackie O looks at me with those doggy eyes, mascara crawling like tarantulas over her cheeks, “Don’t rub it in Stan. You know we’re not qualified to do anything else.” Matty Johns is doing sit-ups in the corner. “Fuckin’ oath. The ‘Grill Team’ was the only thing I didn’t have to do an IQ test for.” Jonesy pipes up, “How do we play our fans the best hits from the 80’s, 80’s and 80’s if we can’t play 80’s anymore?” Amanda looks away from him slowly and covers her eyes with her hands. “At least I’ve got this TV show house-building thingy goin’ on, and the odd GNW comeback. How come none of you have ever diversified?” Kyle reluctantly removes the ice-pipe from his lips, “I have.” Amanda slaps her palms on the table, “Yeah, but you’re not a horrible nasty cunt anymore. You’re actually giving people compliments and being positive. You’ve turned boring, Kyle. How long do you think that’s going to last? Did they add a pussy-clause to your contract or something?” Ever the agitator, Kyle raises an eyebrow. “Our 80’s music is better than your 80’s music.” Amanda rolls her eyes. Fitzy cannot stay seated. “It is not! Nova shits on you guys.” MG shakes his head with disbelief. “It’s the same on all our stations, ya fuck-knuckle.”

“Take it easy, children.” I lift the lid off the large cake box. The cake is the shape of an open hand with FAREWELL icing across the palm. “Dig in kids. Kyle, I think you deserve the middle finger.”

Kyle shows me his middle finger. “Make a wish, Stan.”

“I already have, Kyle. And, it has been granted.” I look to the end of the table. “So, Fitzy and Wippa, I cannot help but believe that you both should take the majority of the blame for disabling everyone’s paychecks.”

“Why!” they yell in unison.

“The deplorable pranks you perform on the unsuspecting have brought foul and rancid karma to all humanity. The listeners who have chuckled at your black-hearted attempts at humour have been forever dragged to the base of potential contemptibility. The unfortunate quarry inflicted with your vile capers reach extremes of emotion, usually anger or distress, that they may not have otherwise been capable or indeed, needed to experience at all. You guys don’t get any cake.”

I remove a pistol from my briefcase and shoot both of them in the forehead. Nobody else at the table seems to mind this. I slide the gun towards Kyle.

Amanda Keller disappears like Darth Vader after the first Death Star was destroyed. I open the valve of the gas bottle beneath the table and rise from my chair. “Good luck to you all. Enjoy the cake. I am off to speak with Julia.” I lock the door firmly behind me as I leave.

Bono suggests his least favourite
U2 album from the 80's

On the water taxi across Sydney Harbour to Kirribilli House, I marvel at the beauty and achievement surrounding me and realize negligible joy would be lost in a world without Human League, Gino Vannelli and Wa Wa Nee.

The Butler greets me in the foyer wearing a ‘CHOOSE LIFE’ T-shirt over his normally regal outfit. “Good afternoon, sir. How long before you go-go?”

“Just a quick chat with the ‘Prime’ my good man. I’ll be back in a Quaterflash. I may be a man without hats but I’m as sly as a Samantha Fox outwitting an Eddie Rabbitt and even if I Go West on a Journey to Europe with my Twisted Sister otherwise known as the Lady in Red, I’ll be back before the Final Countdown. I might Luka like I was Born to be Alive in the Summer of ’69 but I’ll be Simply Red and Simply Irresistible and out of your hair quicker than a Flock of Seagulls.”

Steam rises from his temples as it would with anyone suddenly deprived of their greatest secret pleasure. He impressively tightens the lid on his swelling indignation. “Prime Minister Gillard is in the Billiard room, sir.”

Julia is sculling a beer and giggling as I enter the mahogany games-room. She is chaperoned by a dozen empty beer bottles. She spins around when I close the door.

“Julia, darling, do you realize what you’ve done? Creating a world without John Cougar Mellencamp?”

The Prime Minister drains the stubby and tosses it on a couch worth more than Woollahra
“You bet I do, Stan.” She grins at her vulgarly obtrusive burp. “And baby, it HURT’S… SO… GOOD.”

Julia in her 80's tribute band she was sacked from last week