Here's Your Job Description, According to Barnaby Joyce

Alright, let's get right into it. Yesterday morning Australia's Deputy Prime Minister Barnaby Joyce said a funny little thing. He said that "Every time a council decides their job is not to look after rubbish and roads but some social engineering for our nation, it is just garbage." Erudite matters of social engineering (the date of "Australia Day") are no business of local governing bodies! Melbourne's Yarra and Darebin councils, for some reason, thought it might be nice if Aboriginal Australians didn't have to watch the entire country throw an awkward park barbecue featuring a bit of Chet Faker every single year on the anniversary of their invasion.

Barny reckons the world's gone nutso. And I'm inclined to agree. Oh, so the councils are meddling in the social issues facing their residents now? OK. Alright. What's next? The residents themselves? Are they gonna start participating in conversations about their own civil liberties? Ha ha. Creating their own systems? Utter madness if you ask me.

In light of all this, it occurred to Barny that if the council doesn't know what their job is—which, once again, is "rubbish and roads"—then does anybody? Are there people out there crossing into other jurisdictions with absolutely no regard for the fact that they are completely insignificant, in the grand scheme of things? Yeah. Most likely. Which is why we thought we ought to propagate some more job descriptions as they should be observed by the fine (but worryingly prying) people of this country. Hopefully Barnaby approves.

Your job: Playing the hits!

Not your job: Not playing the hits!

Your job: Giving the people a bloody good game of footy! Dating a David Jones model! Having a bit of fun here and there mate don't you let the political correctness get you down!

Not your job: Commenting on politics. Terrifying innocent punters and fans for saying things that are a teeny tiny bit provocative. Being gay.

Your job: Teach! Teach the youth! Meld the minds of tomorrow, great tutor! Maths, English, the French Revolution. Al Pacino movies. Read them Catcher in the Rye with the naughty bits skimmed over. Stuff like that. Don't forget recess and lunch, both really very good for morale. Make sure nap time is very, very quiet. Nothing worse than a bit of incessant whispering while the rest of us are trying to sleep.

Not your job: Pushing some kind of left-wing, socialist, communist agenda onto our impressionable children. Teach them the need-to-knows and leave the politics to us, sweetheart.

Your job: Doing people's taxes, being smart. Taking my pile of squished up receipts and turning them into money. That's really the crux of it, yes? Crunching numbers? If we want to go deeper still, I'd recommend wearing glasses so people can feel confident that you're good with maths. Bit off-putting otherwise, like, shouldn't you be playing football? Ha ha. Shouldn't you be, um, modelling in a fashion magazine? You see my point. Wearing a shirt and a sort of loose tie that has a couple of stains on it is comforting in that same way, too. To be really authentically "accounting", you can keep a pen in your shirt pocket and see that it leaks into the fabric around once a month. Very good.

Not your job: Being mean. Don't be mean when I haven't got the right receipts or forms, okay, this stuff is convoluted and difficult and I'm doing my best.

Your job: Your job is to know basically everything about Computers and Printers. And the internet as well I think?

Not your job: Making fun of people when they don't know how to work their emails!!! If someone ask you to fax something, don't laugh! Why is there a fax machine there if nobody faxes anymore?? Answer that one smart ass.

Your job: Okay mate now I've had just about enough of this nonsense it was nice hobby in university and it probably got you some girls, I can concede that, and I'm a bit of a fan of some of the impressionists myself but that was a different time, kid, they didn't have your opportunities, look it's time for you to pull your socks up and get a good steady stable job you can go into every morning and come home from every night, feeling rewarded and useful and grown up, you're gonna have a family some day soon and you won't be able to feed 'em on the smell of an oily rag mate I'll tell you that much for free ha ha.

Not your job: Trying to reinvent the wheel is pointless mate go into any gallery anywhere—personally I'm a fan of the NGV in Melbourne's city centre, the croissants they've got in that little cafe in there are one in a million—and see that it's more or less all been done you know no need to spend your life putting pen to paper just to find some bloke back in 1960 did it first you see what I'm saying here? Good on ya mate.

Your job: Curing the ill with a gentle touch and smile on that lovely face of yours.

Not your job: Recommending "mental health checks" and "counselling" for my children and my wife I mean for fuck's sake what is this bush week.

You job: G'day mate oh boy yeah listen we both know your job is to get in there under the hood and just make sure she's running like liquid gold ha ha this guy gets it! We'd do it ourselves if we didn't have desks to get to you know how it is, can't get the old white collar shirt dirty can we? Nothing I love more than working on the land yacht ha ha but you know, unless it's a Sunday and the old broad's not giving me an earful about the lawn or the kitchen sink drain I've not buckley's chance of getting my hands dirty do I? Ha ha thanks mate and by the way I know what a carburetor is.

Not your job: Don't touch the seat or the radio or look at the wife when she comes to pick the rig up or we're going to have a problem.