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We are the people of a free nation of blokes, sheilas, and the occasional wanker. We come from many lands (although a few too many of us come from New Zealand), and although we live in the best country in the world, we reserve the right to bitch and moan about it whenever we bloody like.

We are one nation divided in many states:

First, there’s Victoria, named after a queen who didn’t believe in lesbians. Victoria is the realm of Mossimo turtlenecks, café latte, grand final day, and the big horse races. Its capital is Melbourne whose chief marketing pitch is that “it’s liveable”. At least that’s what they think. The rest of us think it’s too bloody cold and wet.

Next, there’s NSW, the realm of pastel shorts, macchiato with sugar, thin books read quickly and millions of dancing queens. Its capital Sydney has more queens than any other city in the world and is proud of it. Its mascots are Bondi lifesavers that pull their speedos up their cracks to keep the left and right sides of their brains separate.

Down south we have Tasmania, a state based on the notion that the family who bonks together stays together. In Tassie, everyone gets an extra chromosome at conception. Maps of the state bring smiles to the sternest faces. It holds the world record for a single mass shooting, which the Yanks can’t seem to beat no matter how often they try.

South Australia is the province of half-decent reds, a festival of foreigners and bizarre axe murderers. SA is the state of innovation. Where else can you so effectively reuse country bank vaults as barrels as in Snowtown, just out of Adelaide (also named after a queen). They had the Grand Prix, but lost it when the views of Adelaide sent the Formula One drivers to sleep at the wheel.

Western Australia is too far from anywhere to be relevant. Its main claim to fame is that it doesn’t have daylight savings because if it did, all the men would get erections on the bus on the way to work. WA was the last state to stop importing convicts and many of them still work there in the government and business.

The Northern Territory is the red heart of our land. Outback plains, sheep stations the size of Europe, kangaroos, Jackaroos, emus, Uluru, and the dusty kids with big smiles. It also has the highest beer consumption of anywhere on the plants and its creek beds have the highest aluminium content of anywhere too. Although the Territory is the centre piece of our nation culture, few of us live there and the rest of us prefer to fly over it on our way to Bali.

And there’s Queensland. While any mention of God seems silly in a document defining a nation of half-arsed sceptics, its worth noting that God probably made Queensland, as its beautiful one day and perfect the next. Why he filled it with dickheads remains a mystery.

Oh yes, and there’s Canberra – the less said the better.

We the citizens of Oz, are united by highways, whose treacherous twists and turns kill more of us each year than murderers. We are united in our lust for international recognition, so desperate for praise we leap in joy when a red tag gaggle of corrupt IOC officials tells us that Sydney is better than Beijing. We are united by a democracy so flawed that a political party albeit a redneck gun toting one, can get a million votes and still not win one seat in Federal Parliament. Not that we’re whingeing, we leave that to our Pommy immigrants. We want to make “no worries mate” our national phrase, “she’ll be right” our national attitude, and “waltzing Matilda” our national anthem – so what if its about a sheep-stealing crim who commits suicide?

We love port so much our news readers can read the death toll from a sailing race and still tell us whose winning. We’re the best in the world at all the sports that count, like cricket, netball, rugby league and union, AFL, roo shooting, two up and horse racing. We also have the biggest rock, the tastiest pies, and the world’s worst dressed Olympians in the known universe.

Only in Australia can a pizza delivery get to your house faster than an ambulance.

Only in Australia do we have bank doors wide open, no security guards, or cameras, but pens chained to the desk.

Stand proud Aussies – we shoot, we root, we vote.

We are girt by sea and pissed by lunchtime.

Even though we might seem a racist, closed minded, sports obsessed little people, at least we feel better for it.

I am, you are, we are Australian!

P.S. We also shoot and eat the two animals that are on our National Crest. No other country has that distinction!

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Wasn't mine....I think my G/F's friend wrote it. Got it in an email. Thought I would share the humour. My grammar skills, whilst not being perfect, are somewhat better than above.

I think she meant planet....not plant. Can't be sure though. I can't say I have ever seen a plant drinking alcohol, but that doesn't mean they don't. My dog doesn't like to be watched when it's taking a crap so it could be the same thing.

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