Ms Pauline Hanson

Like a Jetstar flight full of Bali-bellied bogans, the smell of patriotism has wafted into Western Australia. Pauline Hanson is in town.

Pauline was worried her trip to Sydney had given her ethnic-fooditis, so once in Perth she headed to a fair dinkum Aussie steak night.

At around 7pm Pauline and her entourage arrived at Botanica and are seated. After an hour a bodyguard suggested they move on as the atmosphere seemed a bit off. Pauline stares at him like Nick Kyrgios’ Tinder date after he finished as quick as the Aussie Open. She launches into full denial:

“I don’t like that Steve, there is no evidence to suggest the atmosphere in here has changed at all, and any further discussion into this social climate would be a waste of time, there is just no evidence Steve.”

They continued drinking until Pauline saw something that shocked her. A young perky waitress carrying a burger out to a nearby table. Pauline knows she can make a change, she is angry, excited and wants to get involved,  kind of like Chris Brown watching a woman’s UFC match.

“Missy, missy, no, no, you shouldn’t be forced to serve that burger. In Australia we do steak sangas, I’ve said it for bloody years, the burger is oppressive to one's appetite and it’s not the Aussie way. Ban the bloody burger!”

When Pauline’s own food arrives she brandishes her own bottle of tomato sauce from her bag. She turns to her friend, “I don’t trust most sauces these days sometimes they conveniently forget to put halal on the ingredients list, but you know it’s in there”.

They dine merrily until Rod Culleton stumbles into the venue trying to avoid being served a writ. “Oi cunts, who’s up for more pints, on me!” Pauline looks at her personal Judas and snaps, “no, fuck off, we’re full”.

After their meal, a staffer comes to clear the tables and notices Pauline hasn’t touched her salad. “Was everything ok with your meal Ms Hanson?” Pauline looks her in the eyes, “look luv, I didn’t love the salad, so I left it, love it or leave it, that's what I always say”.

Then Pauline was struck with an epiphany, why is this ethnic-ish waitress clearing her table, when there is an unemployed drunk Aussie bloke at the bar doing nothing? She interrupts the clearing, “now look, you’ve swooped in, without even giving that fair dinkum bloke over there a chance to clear these tables, I don’t like it”.

At the end of the night, Pauline decides to show her true Aussie spirit and get the bill. While waiting to pay she notices a man ignore bar etiquette and jump the queue. She scorns the  manager, “please explain why you don’t have stricter barriers and bollards? That lot will bloody do it every time you know”.

Well, you wouldn’t read about it, the bill comes to $457. The manager cheekily asks if she’d like to leave a tip. Pauline flaps her hands like a China made Aussie flag on a Toyota Camry, “get your till fixed yes, there is something very wrong with your system, very wrong”.