Now how come a country that venerates pies to the point of producing poetry* about them and can do such a great piss take (they really made the plates by the way) can't tell the pie hating health nazis to (a) fuck off and (b) they're all going to die anyway.
* Such as this by Barry Humphries:
I think that I shall never spyNice one, Barry. Managed to work beer into it as well.
A poem lovely as a pie,
A banquet in a single course
Blushing with rich tomato sauce.
A pie whose crust is oven-kissed
Whose gravy scalds the eater's wrist.
The pastie and the sausage roll
Have not thy brown mysterious soul;
The dark-hued Aborigine
Is less indigenous than thee.
Like Phillip Adams rich and chubby,
Tasteful as Patrick White,
With an ice-cold Carlton stubbie,
You're the Great Australian Bite.