A Letter to Tony Abbott Expressing Why I Would be an Excellent Knight

To my liege lord Tony Abbott: Scourge of Gillard; Rhodes Scholar; Guardian of Free Speech; Climate Change Denialist Pragmatist; Reigning Top Bloke of the Young Liberals; Holder of the Sacred Speedos; The Captain,

After the glorious revelation of your reinstatement of knights and dames amongst the proud people of Australia, today I write to you to state my case to become a knight of the Queen’s court and your blessed parliament.

Obviously, we are not familiar with one another; or, rather, you are not familiar with me (for I am somewhat familiar with you - see: http://arantingdistraction.blogspot.com.au/2013/12/some-true-facts-about-tony-abbott.html). In brief, I am a student of literature, striving in this most noble of pursuits to achieve a PhD. Predictably, then, I have valuable qualities of articulation and wit, alongside surprizing, and deft, skills in leadership and swordplay.

Yet, more importantly, I am a loyal subject of your lordly reign; respectful and honourable in the true blue tradition of Australian culture that knows the Queen to be more than a figurehead, but the spiritual and physical ruler of our land that you, like a shepherd’s wolfhound fearsomely protecting the flock, protect and nurture for her in your stately, reasonable and appropriately combative manner.

Strictly speaking, however, despite these virtues, I do not meet your pivotal requirement that recipients of the honorific title Sir or Dame be Australians of “extraordinary and pre-eminent achievement and merit.” This is not to say that my thesis on Modernist and Postmodernist poetry will fail one day to be significant—truly, it will be a catalyst of shifting global notions about how we conceive reality—but it is yet to achieve these rarefied airs.

I have thus achieved nothing particularly of note. My merit, in your terms, is negligible.

Indeed, I am not the type of person usually accorded the type of value associated with being knighted or dame-ed. I am not a politician, army guy, lawyer, lawmaker, disease-solving doctor, mining or media magnate, or magnificent sportsman (although my air hockey skills are something to behold: a mixture of power, precision and psychological intimidation, held together by a South American-style flair).

But I feel we must consider the honour of being knighted as something more than just a symbolic title; a reward for general and lifelong excellence; a prefix before a name in an email. It is here that I am well-equipped to be dubbed Sir Dick. Because as a real, bonafide, reified knight, I believe I would be more than an asset to the realm.

Firstly, my natural leadership skills have granted me a rare understanding of the serfs who work our land. My firm hand and careful management strategies would maximise their productivity, while keeping them properly cowed. It is time, again, for our rural areas and outlying suburbs to be reminded that they are only given leave to work the land because of the benevolence of you, Mr Abbott, and our Queen.

It is in this regard that I believe reinstating Prima Nocte—the right of the lord to take the virginity of the serf’s maiden daughters—to be a prudent notion. The members of your cabinet, along with our various and bored lord mayors, would benefit and the serfs would be reminded of their rightful place: to work for and please us.

Secondly, my castle building knowledge is unmatched. I would build, or supervise the building of, many great monuments to our monarchy, Mr Abbott. Australia would be littered with bastions of your and the Queen’s splendour, which serve also the practical purpose of keeping the serfs and any other undesirables out with a careful system of hot oils and catapults placed upon on the walls.

They would be the homes of your front bench, Andrew Bolt (to retire to when the stresses of the critical world become, understandably, too much), Gina Rinehart, and Rupert Murdoch (although Rupert and Gina may already have castles). They would uphold the rights of bigots and protect the virginity of your daughters, who would be locked high in the Maiden’s Tower I have specifically designed.

Thirdly, my skills with the greatsword are of a legendary character. They sing of my exploits all over the land. The famous ballad, ‘The Dick’s Extension’ (which I suspect you may have heard), tells the tale of my conquest of Prahran, where my weapon, so expertly wielded, appeared to onlookers as an extension of my body.

My formidable reputation would uphold your laws with vigour and honour. Rebellions would be averted just by the rumour of my imminent presence; wars won with a single, morale crushing blow; and the safety of our land assured.

To be a knight is all I have ever really dreamed of. While other little boys stared wistfully into space thinking about being a footballer, I was off dominating weaker people, constructing castles and practicing with my greatsword. I thus have years of training.

I will swear fealty to you brave Prime Minister, protecting home and hearth with the totality of my being.  

With these attributes in mind, please consider me for knighthood.

Yours in utter sincerity and with God’s gleaming goodly presence illuminating my blondeness,

David Dick