A black day for Australian gerbilism
I was having a quiet day at home doing a few laps on the wheel and nibbling on a pellet when all of a sudden the phone is ringing off the hook, asking me if I would care to comment about the fact that some neo-con fruitcake called Miranda Devine and a gay bloke in Sydney were having a massive stink which, frankly, has got nothing to do with me.
But faster than you can say Richard Gere, there it is: my name is back up in lights again, and for all the wrong reasons.
If you’ll excuse the analogy, the whole thing is a massive pain in the arse. But I have decided to go public in a final desperate bid to scotch the stereotypes which are perpetuated about the gerbil lifestyle by the likes of Devine.
I have several hundred friends and, like most gerbils, a litter of around 50 kids. And I can honestly say that I have never met a gerbil in my life who has engaged in the practices which Devine alludes to.
It’s a myth. And it’s a depressing myth, as it’s the kind of cheap innuendo, the kind of lazy sledge, which has been taken up with gusto by other rodents in our genus – hamsters, guinea pigs, prairie dogs, some of the larger mice. I’ve even had mates tell me that they’ve met capibaras and golden agoutis from the rainforests of Brazil who have made jokes at our expense, in Portuguese no less.
As I said I’m reluctant to buy into it because I just want it all go to away, but I’ve decided to make this one brief statement to put a lid on it.
There is no place in a civil society for Miranda Devine’s gerbilism. Frankly I don’t see how she can call herself a gerbilist.
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