Federal opposition leader Kevin Rudd has confessed to having had a drink or three in a New York node of nocturnal nudity a few years ago.

So this news item can be summed up as “Man Sights Stripper”. I get a bigger shock from static when I brush what still passes for my hair.

Anyway, how come Canberra politicians get to go all the way on taxpayer-funded voyages of voyeurism? Why should our fed reps go O/S for a martini-tinged lolly-optic when they, and the bureaucrats who garrison our national capital, have the full-frontal faubourg of Fyshwick to play footsies with?

Fyshwick is the national fiefdom of four-lettered fantasy and funny business. It’s merely a chauffeured Commonwealth car fleet away from Capital Hill.

In Fyshwick, having your glass filled and refilled in a strip club is just like having tea and scones with a still-living ancestor born during a mythical Age of Innocence. So Kevin’s naughty boy escapade wouldn’t rate a mention in the Sex-and-the-itty-bitty-City of Fyshwick.

Mr Ruddy-faced’s tweedy tweeting about a peepshow, followed by his sister-in-law’s hasty hint that she used to let her own apparel be spirited away from the spotlight, has exposed a bevy of bare-it-all processions across the floorshow of public office.

With the federal election about to tease and tempt us, the political parties’ spruikers are already on the streets, hustling up an electorate that would rather keep on strolling by. Lurid and suggestive promises are already gyrating and grinding away as the voters are enticed into dimly lit back rooms and push polling booths.

The Queensland government, emceed by the provocative Premier Peter Beattie, unabashedly admits to dragging local government into the undressing sheds to try on a whole wardrobe of new clothes that don’t seem to fit at all.

The Premier insists that this is all about “cleaning up the act”. Yet the public is morally outraged and believes that what was clean and civic fun at reasonable rates will become expensive, exclusive, tawdry, tacky, and exploitative, too. Some say that democracy itself has been ravished and violated.

The Mayor of Maroochy has revealed his naked wish for a municipal ménage-a-trois trysting by the pool all along the Sunshine Coast.

Meanwhile, what Caloundra gets up to under its own red light is Caloundra's own funny business.

And Noosa already has its au naturel “A-Baywatch” for the naturalists amongst us.

The Sunshine Coast super-council deserves a true artiste of aerobic airbrushing and callisthenic calibre to strut her stiletto stuff like La Ciccolina did in the Italian parliament.

Can we anticipate “Comeback” Cate Molloy limbering up for the Wide Bay catwalk? Or will Gypsy Rose Joan Sheldon be the Sunshine Coast’s First Lady Godiva?

Who really needs to know all about dalliances between the politician and the polemic dancer?