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Australia's bikie gangs should start a political party, says Tess Lawrence, since they are everywhere and already run the country.
by wannabe bikie moll and contributing-editor-at-large Tess Lawrence
by wannabe bikie moll and contributing-editor-at-large Tess Lawrence


IF HELLS ANGELS Australia Inc and Bandidos sergeant-at-arms Toby Mitchell, tongue kiss and make-up with the Comancheros and all the other feuding gang warlords, they've still got time to rally members and get on their bikes pronto to register The United Australia Bikies Party before today's deadline.

One thing is for sure, unlike Bob Katter and Clive Palmer, the UABP will have no problem registering its name; even if some poor sod has already done so.

Bikies can be awfully persuasive when they put their mind to it; especially when clutching a sawn off shotgun, iron bar, or doing a spot of drive-by shooting in between their charity work and collecting soft toys and targets.

It's a wonder they haven't registered a political party before now.
(Image: Screen shot from Network Seven YouTube video.)
(Image: Screen shot from Network Seven YouTube video.)


After all, they are represented in every state and territory, and whilst the full metal studded jacket has long been displaced for the heavy metal leather uniform or tracky daks, they indisputably have a well-armed militia, impressive infrastructure and effective business models that facilitate drug empires with protective firewalls built on extortion rackets and intimidation and the hire purchase of corrupt police, judiciary, officials and politicians.

Let's face it. The bikies run the joint.

Even their convoys display a military discipline, precision and presence that some nostalgically lament is lacking in more conventional outlaw and disorder institutions.

Luckily, bikies are intimate with our constabulary, to the extent that in Victoria at least, they kindly assumed the onerous responsibilities of the voluntary storage of tens of thousands of files and pages of Victoria Police documents without charge and indeed without the Force's 'official' knowledge — a great service to the State, surely.



Gosh, these dudes must have a great sense of humour.

Document storage can be very expensive.

But wait, there were even further savings to the State.

Others may have charged extravagant transport and courier costs, but it appears that police themselves personally delivered these confidential and sensitive documents to the bikies in several locations – I understand even sleeping alongside them – to ensure they didn't peek at the names of police informants, criminals, secret task forces and reams of files on the bikies themselves.

What dedication to the job.

Such joint exercises are to be commended.

Victoria's Police Commissioner Ken Lay was apparently taken by surprise at these acts of kindness.



Ken Lay – or 'Ken Doll' as some unkindly call this Liberal Government favourite and former party member – is the grateful Police Commissioner you appoint when Victorians preferred his predecessor, forced resignee Simon Overland and when we didn't want that other Ken, Overland's then Deputy PC, the duplicitous back-stabber, Sir Ken Jones .

Do ye ken ?

Not a man for recognising the bleeding obvious, Commissioner Lay stated in that breathy coquettish way of his:
"Obviously someone has taken a fairly proactive approach to collecting a whole host of data around particular people."

Ya don't say.

If only bikies weren't like the Taliban and the Catholic Church in their disregard for women in leadership roles, I might be interested in forming a Chapter or two with like-minded sistas.

The chaps have real deadly butch names like Coffin Cheaters, Satan's Soldiers and the like.

I've been mucking about with a few girlie names that I've been testing on focus groups at the tram stop: the Barren Wombs, the ClitChicks, the Molls, Molls on Wheels, Pinkie Winkie, the Wheely Bints, Sleazy Riders, the Pink Bats Out of Hell, the Fother Muckers.

I was thinking of Lucifer's Bitches, but then I thought no; Lucifer's generally regarded as a bloke, so we don't want to appear subservient.
Mary Magdelene and friend


Then I thought of Magdalene's Muff, it's got a soft fuzzy feel to it; lends itself to merchandising too and is not likely to set off a Pussy Riot here.

Our Book of Rules could be drawn from the codex of the Nag Hammadi, out of the Gospel of St Paul, trained by Gai Waterhouse and owned by the Sultana of Bruny Island and not a singleton in sight.

Got to go now. By a unanimous single vote, I've decided on the name for our all-woman bikie Chapter and verse and while I'm at it, I think I'll register the name as a political party as well.

We will be known as the Fother Muckers Party.

The tram stop focus group participants have already registered and so far no-one has been rejected.

Not even the two ageing lovers who cannot call anywhere in Australia home, since they are homeless. They told me the Australia they once knew has changed. And so it has.

It is curious how many Australians are marginalised and locked out of the community and feel like strangers in their own land.

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