The Not-So-New Dawn Of Long-winded Inquiries


Forthwith in our Nation’s Glorious Capitalis an inquisition doth verily and merrily proceed at the Senate Select Committee on Wind Turbines this good morrow.

We of the Flat Earth Institute hath cause to bloviate on the heathenish winged apparati mounted yon high over our green and tranquil pastures. These spiked turbines, arsenal of parrot extinction, doth emit the miasma of darkness, evil and unreality. They shroud the lives of benighted local residents bequeathing sore heads and various nonspecific infirmities.

Soundeth like a syndrome? Indeed, We Flat Earthers are blown away, swept off our feet, by the revelations issuing froth, we mean forth, from this inquiry.

The inquisition, chaired by long-standing critic of wind energy Senator John Madigan (DLP), is the second senate inquiry into the technology since 2011 and the fourteenth review conducted by an Australian government or agency in six years.

And a jolly good thing too, for these turbines are liable to use up the wind. Foresooth they contributeth nothing to the economy but the Non-delivery of an Invisible Substance to No-one. After all, the science is settled thither, ‘Wind is a finite resource and harnessing it would slow the winds down which would cause the temperature to go up’.


Our esteemed colleagues of the Flat Earth Institute of the Universitas of Climatastrophicas (est. 1033AD of the medieval warm period – see! – the climate hath vacillated for millennia yon dolt brains) have used relativity-illusory, global worm-holing techniques to make our way hither through the ages to #standbeside Senator John Madigan on this portentous day.

Amongst us hoisting our heraldic flags are Professor Greenhausen, Vice-Chancellor Carbonaceous, Emeritus Enseaminatus, Adjunct Fractious Fartiarse (from whom we keepeth leeward), Lord Hamberg Infidus Picklefoote (16th Discount Picklefoote of the Flatlands), Chancellor Gasearse and of course the good Lord Christopher Monckton, or Viscount Monckton of Brenchley, as he does so like to remind us.

We also endorseth Gregorian Chunt’s Direct Action Plan for its reverse auction of his Grandmother’s carbon abated scones, through revegetation in the tofu substrata of Fukushima, soil carbon sequinstration, and the capturing of gas from the compost behind his back shed, not to mention his new energy efficiency measures to constrain Malcolm Turnbull’s self-abatements that will doubtless mechanate the market directly into floating international policy conventions, and perhaps into Arctic sea-ice as well – that which remains, perchance.

Senator John Madigan's inquisition into wind energy is a valiant apotropaic against the heretical evidence-based scientific protocol. It buildeth on our legacy of denying the enlightenment and our est. record of witchhunts. For too long charlatans have used the black magic of peer-reviewed science to hideth trewthes from the public. They have falsified moon landings, trailed chemicals from winged behemoths, spread the lie of global warming, and most dastardly of all, proclaimed the earth round! We knoweth the earth is flat. The following two diagrams of high dudgeon doth prove it:

'Submarines are the spaceships of the oceans.' Thus spake Senator Zarathustra Madigan in his great incunabula missal for all and none, from his lofty vantage and privy, 6,000 feet beyond man and time.

Ye satanic windmills are heathen science, nought but casuistry and conjobble gainsaid by snollygosters that fail to honour the old ways and thus displeaseth the coal gods. Sneeze thee not, we do doth say, in the face of extremist alarmist elitist health findings that coal dust and particulates might just place all life forms on the planet in peril. Tosheth!

It behooves us to athwart the tyranny of warmist science, and shew faith and succour in the Lordly philosopher of alchemy Senator Madigan and his ossified and priapic reasoning. Is it not incumbent on right-minded Australians to garotte this fallow trade in sodomised renewables and any other finangling techne of the Devil. For we proclaim the hearth of our economy is fossilized and Holy Relics of the substratate, such as Saint’s body parts and other such wizened pizzle.

Fear not! The “spherists” and their windy financiers mayhap regale us on the virtues of renewables, seemingly supplicating on the bended knee of persuasion, but in fact perverting trewths with the bloodied toe-caps of independent media.

On this providential day, duly set aside for this sixteenth government review of wind energy, no less, may Madigan’s Cardigan be wind repellent. Arise Sir Gore-Tex, we Flat Earthers doth earnestly bloweth you… and bestoweth good tidings for your prosecuting of the elements.

Once you’re done with wind, we think fire, earth and water have a lot to answer for too.

– Story by Liz Conor, with Deborah Hart, Andrew Laird and Melissa Corbet.

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