A lot of people think Australia’s greatest passion is sport: Footy, Rugby, Cricket – pastimes which stir the greatest emotion. They’re wrong. Our biggest passion is the boat people. Asylum seekers and Refugees – we go crazy over them. Mental. Australian’s hate the boat people. All of them. The illegals. The queue jumpers. The free-loaders. The criminals (anyone see the irony with that last one?).

To get an idea of Australia’s relationship with the boat people, imagine a utopian beach on the west coast of Australia. Everyone is innocently enjoying the beautiful weather, and being Australian. Then, a dark cloud begins to surface on the horizon, underneath which an object appears to be moving. A crowd begins to gather. ‘What is it?’ ‘It looks like a boat, I can’t quite make it out though’. Bruce reaches for his binoculars, and looks into them… ‘Oh… my… fucking…God. I don’t believe it’. ‘What Bruce, what is it, what do you see?!’. Bruce is in shock. Motionless. Stunned. People begin to get tense, worried even. ‘What Bruce!’. ‘It’s the… It’s the.. It’s the BOAT PEOPLE!’. Everyone starts screaming… ‘SCREAM! SCREAM! SCREAM!’, like in the movie Psycho. Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!! Arms flailing. Panic. Hysteria. Anarchy. One person faints. It’s complete chaos. ‘The boat people are coming!! The boat people are coming!!! They’re trying to jump the queue. Go back to the end of the queue! They’re freeloaders. They’re stealing our country. They’re trying to kill the Aussie way. AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

As the boat draws nearer, the natives are relieved to learn that most of the people on board have already drowned, ‘Phew, that’ll teach em’. But one child survived, and makes it to shore. Bruce is confused, ‘What the fuck is it Shaz?’. ‘I think it’s a… a…. a coloured kid!’. ‘What, like an Abbo?’. ‘No, it’s a bit lighter’. ‘A half-breed?’. ‘Yeah, a half-breed. This thing is freaking me out Shaz, it doesn’t even talk English. Where’s Tony Abbot?! Tony! TONY!!!’. The little coloured boy crawls closer. People gather round, watching in disgust, as the crippled little coloured tries to drag itself along the sand. ‘I think it has a broken leg’. ‘Don’t help it, it’s just going to cost us tax dollars. Lock it up. Kill it. Send it to Papua New Guinea!! But never help it, it’s the only way it will learn!’ The coloured boy reaches out his hand, as if to say, ‘Help’. This proves too much for the natives… ‘It’s trying to steal your wallet Kev, kill it! KILL IT!!’ Kev courageously rises to the task, picks up his cricket bat, and beats the little coloured boy with it. Problem solved. No tax dollars wasted.

Eventually, the natives compose themselves, realise what they’ve become, and do the noble thing. They drag the little coloured boy, who is still breathing, to their van, and lock him in it. For a year. They throw scraps of food each day, saying ‘Bad little coloured boy! Bad boy! Now we have to look after you. BAD BOY!’

This is also known as detention.

Welcome to Australia.