After 12 days, the Australian Police have done POTA proponents proud and decided that a slim card that Dr Mohammed Haneef gave to Sabeel Ahmed, which may or not have been used by his brother Kafeel Ahmed, is enough of a case for him to be charged of “recklessness” in the Glasgow plot.
Delightful irony that—Australians accusing somebody else of recklessness.
Haneef reportedly reacted with shock at the news, and his wife has now petitioned the prime minister, ours not theirs. However, it is a possibility, although a remote one, that this is a serious case of misunderstanding and that the Aussie cops haven’t quite understand the good doctor, late of Mudigere, who speaks the Queen’s English as it must be spoken.
So, in case they are watching, here goes a public service message, tongue firmly rolled in both cheeks, from churumuri.com in the only language Australians understand: their bloody slang.
What da ya know, you yobbos. Haneef‘s no wetback wog or westie, he’s a bonza wombat. Even blind Freddie could see that.
You ratbags may wallop him yonks. You may stick him up a gum tree, take him up shit creek, but this SIM thingy’s a piffle, a yarn that even barney Warnie couldn’t spin.
What’s the Rafferty’s Rules the sausage short of a barbecue cops are playing with, mate?
Next thing we know, you grommets will be saying Haneef gave a half a kg of maida to Kafeel‘s ol’ cheese on the arvo of the day he left for down under. Maida? Powder you put in the billy, you bloody drongos, to make dough for the chook or sanga.
You have had him for a bush week. Didn’t Haneef also tell you that he lent a Hero Puch with a middy of gas to Sabeel when he wanted to go to a tuckshop in Tavarekere?
Or that there was half-a-pot of milk in the fridge which Haneef had left behind which Kafeel may have used exactly a year while taking one for the road to Glasgow Airport?
Or that Khafeel had put his bolt in Haneef‘s dacks.
Come, come. Don’t say you didn’t know we Indians are tighter than a fish’s bumhole that we scrap and save and share and spare?
Frankly, you bloody bludgers, you gotta put more avagoyermug—more yacka, if you want it that way—to crack namma huduga. Get stuffed. Get some hair of the dog.
It’s still not too late to do a uwie.
Orright, get your arse into gear. It looks daggy, not the full quid. Use your loaf, mate. If you’ve found nothing more than a SIM card after the backroom waltz, you will probably find nothing. Don’t ever have the civilised world look at you and ask, “Who opened their lunch?”
BTW: didn’t you know Mark and Shane split a thali with Mukesh?
Check it out: The dictionary of Australian slang