Time for a singalong. Let's go this day with that old favorite "Now is the hour, when we must say goodbye ....'

The Magpie is sure the Kiwis won't mind us using their dreary little ditty as a celebratory melody, as it is predicted the Queensland voters will provide a soaring chorus of the same sentiment as they trundle off to the polls this fateful day.

But we all surely must have a question mark in our minds about a certain outcome, and resident cartoonist Bentley is worth a thousand words.

But 'Now is the hour ... et-bloody- cetera' - could also be dreared out for The Magpie himself, as he makes his shameful confession of the secret funding he has been receiving for this blog - a reveleation that may well be the end of the road for this whole load of weekly drivel.

Also, a truish  (well, read shaggy dog) story about the Cut Snake Party's non-candidate The Mad Katter and his campaign visit to an old folks home - and The Magpie's exclusive revelation of a rare medical condition afflicting one of our most maligned minorities about which the Federal Government has shamefully neglected to inform us - the swine.

If you can be bothered, it's all here in the nest at www.townsvillemagpie.com.au

First, inevitably, to Queensland politics.  

The 'Pie never wishes to mislead either of you readers, but if the vague, almost inaudible, whispers are true, this time tomorrow, The Brisbane Bantam aka Campbell Kevin Thomas Newman will be our new premier. (See, this is why you read this stuff, just for the surprise inside info). 

The Bantam certainly has the family political chops for the job. Both his parents, Kevin and Jocleyne Newman, were federal ministers. And pokie pest Andrew Wilkie has been a long-time friend, although possily not now. 

Not that The Bantam's family background means anything in particular, especially since The Bantam has displayed a tendency towards being a bit thin-skinned for a pollie, and has taken some bad advice about how to handle some of Labor's attack dogs. One trusts he doesn't think just because he will win big - if he does - that these things don't matter. Those things will matter even more. 

He's no Joh in this day and age - thank heaven - but watch out, he's likely to pull the standard ploy 'Gosh, I've looked at the previous government's  books, and the dirty rotten scoundrels, it's worse than they told us - look , sorry but we'll have to cancel a whole chunk of our promises'. 

It IS politics after all.

Anyway, that's all there is to say about that, except Bentley is at his absolute best, and is most eloquent in his depiction of Mr and Mrs Queensland, doting on their newborn.

Hope springs eternal in the parental breast.

Shaggy Dog story of the week is from Mongrel the Barrister.

According to him, Bob Katter decided to do a bit of campaigning in an old folks home. As he loomed up, hat and all, to an old lady who shrank back in alarm, he asked 'Do you know who I am?' The old lady replied 'No, ask the Matron, she'll tell you - go away'.

Which, now in his suset years, is what Bob may find the electorate wants him to do.

Clever sign of the week which displays a great Aussie facility for humour under desperate circumstances, was seen during the floods to the near north of Brisbane (393mm in 6 hours, starve, or drown, the flamin' crows!). A soggy business that had to stop operating put out a neat and courageous sign : Shut Happens. 

And so it does happen  n many ways in many places, so The 'Pie may as well get this off his chest feathers right now.

After Clive 'The Chubster' Palmer so cunningly (watch out, Baldrick) outed conservationist Drew Hutton for getting CIA-funded anti-mining money, The 'Pie knew the writing was on the wall.  

So - swallow - the bird must confess that for years now, he has been in the pay of a siinister group, little known to any but a select few (like Barry 'Bazooka' Taylor) called The Worldwide Enigmatic Ratbags Productive Syndicate, whose aim is to wreak paranoia on the innocent people of the globe - or Townsville anyway. The organisation is known as TWERPS for short. 

Now, The 'Pie has no idea how The Chubster worked out that the CIA was against far-right mining godzillionaires - actually, the opposite sounds right up their alley - or that the spooks would be outed so blatantly, but perhaps here's a possible reason. The Federal Government has, for its own self-serving purpose, failed to warn us about the dangerous medical conditions that has only become apparent in the last few years. We should have been warned, but Canberra obviously did not want to stampede us all out there seeking to become mining billioinaires!!

Here's what they haven't told you (ready) - owning mines makes you FAT. 

Morbidly obese, in fact. Really, the likes of Palmer, Rinehart, and Tinkler are all deserving of the best government program to assist them. Christ, they give it to the unemployed, and it could be getting worse. Even that anorexic Twggy Forest is starting to waddle a bit.

This was unwittingly revealed when The 'Pie discovered the ATO had allowed a deduction for The Chubster - Townsville's favorite employer - a deduction for a year's worth of 40 helicopter take-off rocket boosters and drouge parachutes, the first needed just to get it up there and the latter when coming down when the boss was on board.

If this lot stood in front of you on the average road, you'd have to stop - you wouldn't have enough petrol to drive around them.

The Magpie, who supports the mining tax but vehemently opposes the carbon tax, has one question for these folks: personally, just how much money do you need? 

Like a lot of other human functions, you can only do one shit at a time - but it would be nice if you didn't so arrogantly do it all over the average Aussie taxpayer. 

Memo Tony Abbot: you still want to be the laxette for this lot?

Enoughf for the moment, drink is now required, so it is off to Poseurs' Bar, where, after a suitable be-bubbling of an amenable lass and listening to the election results, the old bird may seek a personal approval rating. But the outcome is nowhere near a foregone conclusion.(Sigh)