two turds for Canberra

Younger Comrades,

Sheesh...the Post Office must be busy at the minute.
Never mind having to deliver 15+ million letters from the ABS.
It's come to this.
The horror of being officially classified as "elderly" culminates in the final, ultimate indignity - being asked to send your shit to the Govt., in the post.
First the postie drops my Senior's Card in the letter box which has the phrase boldly printed on the front of it "The holder is a Valued Member of the Community. Please extend every Courtesy and Assistance".
How do they know that I'm a valued member of the community by my age, or that I require assistance with courtesy?
Why not just say "here comes some old bastard looking for an even break"?
Then my Gold Opal Card, clearly marked with a deliberately over-sized SENIOR/PENSIONER stamp on it turns up in the post, which entitles me to unlimited public transport at $2.50 a day.
[Why not free, like the London Underground, if I'm so valued?]
But it don't end there, not by any stretch of the imagination.
Oh, no siree.
Then an eParcel [whatever that is] from Australia Post, addressed to me, marked with the ominous words AUSTRALIAN GOVERNMENT on the front of it ["Oh God", I think to myself, "it's a about that tax return I forgot to lodge back in '84"] lobs on my front door step, which, upon opening contains a National Bowel Cancer Screening Program Kit in a lovely presentation basket from the Chief Medical Officer, Prof. Brendan Murphy.
Oh, that's nice of him, just making sure, now that you are old, that you could give the game away and drop off the twig at any moment so we don't have to pay you the Old Age Pension.
Just making sure...nothing to worry about, that's all.
But, let me tell you, the instructions on how to do the deed are abhorrent & degrading for a newly-minted elderly gentleman not used to such things...
"first, spread a sheet of the newspaper provided on a clean floor [not carpet], drop the daks, squat, gently extrude a steaming poo emoji, get a paddle pop stick, hold your nose, scrape up a bit of the excrement, put it in the test tube provided, pop it in fridge, repeat two to three days later with the other test tube, and then take it all down to a Post Office forthwith and hand it to the Post Master saying "here's my shit, man, it's for the Govt. Make it quick".
Yep, that's right, you have to perform this appalling, disturbing act not once, but twice.
And there must have been some kind of oversight, as there's nothing in the information package for Seniors with a Plan B; in case you don't have perfectly-formed stools or just happen to have the squirts or the sprays, or, there's some bits of corn or carrot in it, or, god forbid, you are suffering awfully from a constipated log-jam and you just can't do it for love nor money, no matter how hard you try.
Then what?
If all goes well, 'tho, once it gets back to the lab and they put it through its paces, you then get another letter from the Govt. via the Post Office within three weeks that says either "Bad news. Your shit stinks" or "Congratulations. Your faecal matter has the sweet aroma of a Lady Diana rose".
However, there is some delicious irony in it I suppose; that after all those long long years as an honest toiler, a hard-working tax-payer, at 60 years of age, you get to send a couple of stinkin' steamin' turds to Canberra in the mail...but oh, the indignity!
Oh well, I suppose it's better than being boned up the arse with a very long garden hose colonoscopy-style by somebody you don't even know.
Things could be worse.
A lot worse.