The enlightened among you can hardly fail to acknowledge that we are living in perilous times. Sinister forces are at work to undermine Western society - the values we live by, our inalienable human rights, are under dire threat. These forces will stop at nothing, and will use any means they deem necessary to secure their goals. They target the young and the infirm of purpose, hoping to sway their minds, turn them against parents, teachers, symbols of authority. They are, and I must be blunt here, fundamentally different from us - not just in obvious ways, like their dress and cultural habits, weird though they be; they think differently, too. They operate under laws and morality systems alien to the likes of you or I.
By now, it should be apparent who and what I'm talking about. What? Terrorism? Oh, fuck off, do. Don't be so cliche. No, the force I'm talking about makes your average jihadist look like a babe in arms. I am of course referring to the greatest threat our society has faced since Hitler decided to stop making bad art and start making corpses. Yes, that's right. I'm talking about eighties nostalgia.
What - and I'm enquiring as politely as I can, mark you - what in the name of bloody fucking buggery is going on, people? Let's be clear about this. The 1980's were a period when fashion sense, taste, creativity, all took a distinct dive towards the baroque (i.e. sodding awful). Sure, sure, it's very chic to have a post-modern or ironic appreciation for the ouevre of Billy Idol (or whom-have-you), and I have no problems with that. But increasingly, irony is ceasing to be the lens through which we view that decade of gauchest.
Everywhere I go these days, I see escalating signs that the eighties are returning, rising like from the crypt like a vampire with bedazzler-studded shoulderpads. Tight-jeans; spikey, coloured hair; flouncy, Lauper-esque skirts; vomitous novelty songs featuring either electric drum machines or Alvin of The Chipmunks fame. And ug boots, ug boots...why? Why?! It doesn't just look bad, it looks ridiculously bad.
And I haven't even mentioned the tupping mullets yet. Now, the mullet has had a proud history: it was the official haircut of the citizenry during the French Revolution, after all; and more recently it's been the badge of that fierce and noble breed, the Western suburbs bogan. And it was an ugly but honest coiffure. But now the trendies and the Chapel Street parasites are all sporting designer versions of said follicular travesty. Even the women! Has everyone taken leave of their senses?
The most perplexing thing is that most of these assaults on good taste are perpetrated by 'people' who weren't even alive during the eighties. Why can't they just thank their lucky stars and get on with what might otherwise be a bright future? The next fourteen year old girl I see sporting a pony tail on the side of her head and a pleated, flaired denim mini-skirt circa Molly Ringwald over her tights is going to regret a. the day she was born, b. the day I was born, c. the day my shares in Thumbscrews-R-Us began to pay dividends.
It's high time the government wised up to this disturbing trend and introduced some decent, heavy-handed legislation. They've got that nice big Senate majority that they keep waving in our faces (in much the same manner as that incident on Big Brother), after all. Forget terrorism, and the fundamentalist dogma of break-away religious sects - the growing popularity of eighties nostalia is a threat that needs to be addressed. Stendhal gave us the delightfully uppity maxim, ''Bad taste leads to crime"; if Monsieur Howard and Co. would care to pay more attention to what's being thrust under their noses (Big Brother again) instead of looking for towel-heads under the beds, Australia would surely be a far safer, not to mention less tacky, place.
And we could all get back to being nostalgic about the fifties: the true golden age.