You can sense the shoes - plus maybe a baseball or a cricket bat - lining up for a few good blows to head and balls in Sanctimonious arrogance let to Einfeld's downfall (sic).
Now you or I might think, in the case of former Federal Court judge Marcus Einfeld, that there goes a tight wad fool and a liar, caught up in his own stupid web of lies, all for seventy odd bucks, and leave it at that. Two years is a pretty hefty whack for being a fool. (The fat owl calls the fine he tried to avoid as being $75, I believe it is actually $77, but really who's counting, unless it's a dollar a kick and then the extra two bucks would be worth two more kicks to the balls. Guess with no subbies these days life is tough at the Terror).
Anyhoo, when someone goes down, I usually think fair enough, but I don't see much point in gloating. Too much hubris involved. I never get fussed when a businessman goes down for a bit of rorting - like Rodney Adler, or Glenn Wheatley, or even good old Harry Miller himself, who did his time, and bounced back in fine style. I don't see it as the end of civilization or capitalism, or a devastating indictment of the system, or even of fat assed right wing columnists with an eye patch over their left eye.
But the fat owl is a hater, full of bile and spleen (in fact someone should check his medical condition to make sure it's not backing up in his body and due to cause him some grief down the track).
Yep, it seems Einfeld was a poster boy for inner-urban liberals. These same inner-urban liberals who sanctimoniously believe their very public good works absolve them from the rules which govern society.
Well actually that has to be the dumb fuck statement of the year. I've not met many people of any stripe who think that doing good works will somehow get you off time if you've done the crime.
That's the trouble with the fat owl. He always goes too far, he froths and he foams, and he sounds in the end like a git. And of course he always gets around to including the chardonnay drinkers and their role models, though nobody mentioned to me that Einfeld was my hero.
Actually if I had to have a judge whom I'd admire as a role model (tricky since I'm with Shakespeare about lawyers), it'd be that poofter on the High Court, Justice Michael Kirby, whom Bill Heffernan smeared and tried to bring down because he can't stand poofters. Kirby made Heffernan look like a clown, but then it helps if you're intelligent, capable, moderate, sensible, good at public speaking, and - did I mention it - out, as if homosexuality is nothing to be ashamed of. The cheek of the man. Intelligent and out.
Unlike the splendid Kirby, the fat owl isn't in to Christian charity or moderation, or intelligence for that matter. And in its own way, his splenetic frothing is exactly what he accuses Einfeld of - arrogance.
So he rabbits on about what a fine chappie Einfeld's father Sid was (why he even had a bit of roadway named after him, even if I think it's hideous as sin and cut the Bondi area into two ugly pieces). Wonderful chappie. Man of blameless reputation.
So let's really kick the shit out of his son.
But then the irrational owl isn't really interested in Marcus Einfeld per se. He sees him as a straw man, a kind of piñata you can hit again and again with a stick, and out will tumble ... no, not presents or treats ... well yes, a kind of treat. Filthy, perverted, sick, despicable inner city liberals of the worst, vile kind. And then you can keep hitting them with a stick, until you feel calm and rested.
Unless they try to get up. Then you can give them another whack or two. Filthy perverts.
Yep, I don't think two years of contemplation and introspection would be long enough for the fat owl, it just wouldn't be sufficient time, for him to absorb and understand that he's in the grip of a deeply disturbed pathology - let along experience any shame he should be feeling for being such a wretched bully, and a kicker of people he hates when they're down on the ground.
But I guess that's what happens when the fat owl has had enough of being battered by the beastly chappies who never give him an even break. Bullies tend to have been bullied some time in their deep distant past.
Yaroop garooar roars the fat owl, and inner city sanctimonious liberals tremble to very the depths of the hideous loafers or Christian Louboutins they wear. Lucky we're not Pauline Hanson, or we'd find ourselves nude in the Sunday Terror.