Search this site

An amuse-bouche of mainstream news Pinterest A round-up of items that barely rated a mention in the mainstream coverage. Following a renewed push for an Oz republic the Australian Monarchist League has appointed Liberal senate loser Eric "Otto" Abetz as chairman of their group whose objective is to retain the Windsor (née Saxe-Coburg and Gotha) monarchy . Eric said he was delighted to contribute to any campaign that helped to keep the Germans in charge. In unrelated royal news Liz has gifted a guidebook of Parisian road tunnels to Meghan Markle following Meg's latest ploy to pap The Firm. Reportedly the ex-actress, now pro gold-digger 'rediscovered' her diary in which she recorded her experience in the Royal Family as an 'insurance policy'. "Nice little earner you've got there Liz. Shame if anything should happen to it." The Australian Republican Movement has put in an early bid for publishing rights. * * * * * Arch-monarchist Tony Abbott, the red-sluggoed, forelock-tugging, groom of the stool candidate and technophobic visionary who was ejected by his party from the PM chair and rejected by otherwise reliable Tory voters from his own seat has been recruited by the Victorian Liberals to improve their own electoral palatability. Which reminds me of Piggy Mudloon's crack about Kiwi immigrants to Oz improving the average IQ of both countries. The other key plank in the southern Tories' clever pre-election PR campaign is to shorten their leader's name from Matthew to Matt in a cunning reprise of the ScoMo™ strategy. As a distraction from previous proclivities such as sharing lobster & Grange with a mobster and drunkenly crashing their prestige motor into a child's bedroom it may not be as effective as they may hope given the ALP in Victoria increased its large election-winning lead from a month ago: ALP 60.5%, L-NP 39.5%. * * * * * At the national Jobs Summit the Australian Retailers Association has called for the rescinding of the Factory Act (1883) so as to legalise the employment of 13 year olds. Director of Workhouse Gruel, Ezra d'Tripe, defended the idea claiming it would help to keep the youngsters out of the reach of the clergy. This is a multi-facted approach to statistical manipulation as it offsets the aging demographic of the workforce that was exacerbated by the Tories' bold initiative of forcing retirees back on the tools. At this same forum the Nationals' Dave Bradbury Littleproud volunteered his idea of bringing back blackbirding to keep the price of fruit within reach and offset the collapse of the food chain brought about by his Party's digging up of all fertile agricultural land in search of additional raw material with which to cook the planet. * * * * * Numerologist and one-woman whinge fest Sussan Ley has continued her campaign to re-connect with disaffected women by disparaging the "union thugs" at Albo's Jobs Summit. The average unionist is a 35 year old female nurse. Suss - when the vacuum in your head causes your face to cave in. Her latest pitch takes up Spud's line, whining about the "forgotten people", forgetting that it was their lot who forgot them. Tosser. Aging like a fine whine * * * * * Sarah Palin, an Alaskan, Trump-endorsed version of Bridget McKenzie on crack, has lost a special election for Congress to a native American Democrat in a state that has been red for almost 50 years. The blow-back from the Roe v Wade decision by the GOP cookers on the SCOTUS has put the frighteners on the gun toting right-to-lifers and law abiding insurrectionists of the Republican Party whose Big Lie has now become their standard concession speech - "the election was stolen". The USA may yet be saved from its rapid descent into busted-arse status if enough sensible Americans decide that saving their democracy is worth delaying their trip for a Cholesterols-R-Us triple-decker burger with spray-on cheese, family fries and a Bucket-O-Coke and instead register a vote.

This is the best they've got? While Scott Morrison was rooting the country daggy style, with every emergency met with the best stage-managed photo-ops he¹ could afford, he cultivated a cohort of wideboys and carpet baggers, he indulged his cronies and stood over a coterie of nutters, fabulists and no-hopers. Many were dragged behind the cow shed in the Great Cleansing of 21 May 2022 with the surviving dross now charged with reframing the tainted Tory brand. ¹we But, the L/NP machine is so invested in the grift, so committed to quackery and deceit that they won't shift. They can't. There's a consistent theme when it comes to Tories - a resistance to progress motivated by the privilege that is threatened by change. They have a yearning to cling to the past yet have a desperate need to remove the fingerprints of their complicity in it. And they are so intimidated by competent governance that in opposition, rather than seek to emulate it, they've piled on with a campaign to discredit it. Dave Pope, the Canberra Times Pending further attrition due to criminal charges there are some prominant contenders for a future Tory regime - the crème de la crime, the semi-sentient and the sociopathic effluvia of a reviled cartel. Placeholder opposition leader Peter Cuddles Dutton toyed briefly with the notion of smiling in public. After squeaks of alarm from small children he's reverted to his default expression of a rottweiler shown a card trick. Pete's throttled back on the overt racism in favour of undermining the idea that after 200+ years of ostracism and failed paternalism indigenous Australians should have a say in their own future. Sussan Ley (rapper name LeyZ) has the frantic demeanor of someone who's escaped through a hedge after being attacked by badgers. Histrionics and snark appear to be the style that Suss has elected to run with. She's dipped into the Lib's clutching-straws basket and drawn out Michaelia Cash's puerile 2019 EV fear campaign. Is that really her theme for delivering on her "message to the women of Australia...we're listening. We're talking. And we are determined to earn back your trust and your faith"? "No one in the world is making an electric ute..." 2IC in the "technology not taxes" party. FMD! The Tories' strategy of winning back women involves rolling out the strap-ons. Holly Hughes' petulance at Labor's cheek of actually governing comes across as air escaping from the bycatch of a deep-sea trawler's fishing net. Jane Hume, needy and clingy, is not the feminist ideal that right-wingers may imagine. Bang Bang McKenzie, MS Excel super-user and Miss Appropriation 2019 has settled upon an 'up yours' approach to redemption while the sound of shovels scraping on gravel has faded now that Michaelia Cash has foregone many of her screeching engagements. Being mentored by Barnaby Joyce is not a sign that you're a visionary on top of your game. Matt King Coal Canavan's testicles remain undescended and his mum still irons his jeans. His pontifications on climate and energy are a waft from soiled laundry, redolent of stale socks and undie crust and should be of no importance. His presence in other circumstances would be as consequential as a shiver from a passing breeze. However Matty has dedicated himself to the cause of profit from planetary destruction and hence contributed in no small way to the wipe-out in once safe Lib enclaves across the country. The coalition's response to this is that, as a Nationals oik, he's entitled to say the quiet bits of their manifesto out loud. As for Bananaby Bender, the fleshy root vegetable and wobbley-booted national embarrassment whose greatest fear is the call for last drinks - he remains on the front bench, a literal and metaphorical hang-over. He's an imbecilic, walking wardrobe malfunction (who let the boob out?). Adorned with a comically large hat for the rube cred, BJ fancies himself as a rustic sage, a champion of the rural underdog, blessed with insights that escape those with an education, an enquiring mind or serviceable IQ. Facts, logic, science, arithmatic, history - all are entirely dispensible to Barns who has accumulated his wisdom from the back of beer coasters, check-out queues at IGAs, backblocks mayors and Wally the servo mechanic who does his dentistry. Bananaby no doubt maintains a belief that he can yet again regain his rightful position as big knob of the Frackers & Miners but the pork barrel bonanzas he favours as the price of his "best retail politician" gyp have been kyboshed by his exile to opposition. Any ambition of his for resurrection will be vigorously undermined by both his current and previous bosses - dopey Dave (known by his Sioux name of Littleproud) and MickeyMac McCormack, the man in the muddle, a gormless dullard of such bovine vacuity that he's been rejected by rescue dogs as too far gone. Conjecture has it that Brother Stuie and Fingers Taylor may be too busy inventing alibis and shredding evidence to figure prominantly - other than on wanted posters. Since failing the Burke and Hare quality test John Howard the beloved icon of the calcified has been kept in cold storage for emergency deployment. Whenever the Tories feel the need to resort to their culture wars Johnnie gets thawed out to stalk the streets of marginal electorates accosting alarmed strangers to remind them of how good the 1950s were. This has never paid off and so we can expect Einstein's maxim to be re-activated some three years hence by the geniuses of the Lib PR unit. Some of the Tories most vociferous RWNJ cheersquadders have faded from view. When much of the once-prominant queen of confected outrage Alan Gloria Jones' audience began 'pining for the fjords' he retreated to his sprawling southern highlands manor to shout at clouds and restock his butler's pantry. In his absence a chum bucket of Trumpist Fox News wannabes have stepped up to monetise the idiocy at the trailing end of the IQ bell curve. Their powers of persuasion are as sophisticated as their shitty takes - they're shouting down the hallway at those befuddled simpletons who want their opinions to be formed by others. If this is what Labor (and the Greens and independents) are up against then the Tories will be in opposition for some time yet. Perhaps we can now regain our national dignity.

Here's your hat. What's your hurry? Scooter stands amongst the rubble that is the Liberal Party. Image: NY Times And so we bid farewell to inarguably Australia's worst ever Prime Minister. A shameless liar, a humbug, a serial failure, a belligerent bully, a duplicitous toad oozing smarm from every pore. A pig who appealed to worst instincts, who saw opportunity in the dogma of a prosperity cult to justify the exploitation of the vulnerable and indulgence of the wealthy. He treated natural disasters as photo opportunities, he was an indolent incompetent who bungled problems and fled crises. A bellicose grifter masquerading as Scotty from next door, a facile galoot mugging for the cameras to fill the void of actual effort, a Tupperware area manager playing dress-ups as Dear Leader. He was contemptuous of all expertise or insight that challenged the small notions of his own repressed experience and his selective, biblical literalism. Simply, he was a vaccuous, smirking clown who thought he was getting away with it. This genius political tactian, the master campaigner took to market a sales pitch of licenced corruption, of "more CO₂ is less" and the feeding of anti-trans tropes to a usually reliable constituency of hateful religious bigots. As a desperate off-set to The Oaf's blunderfucks the Tory machine resorted to re-animating the spectral John Howard to haunt the streets making noises like a trod-upon duck in once-safe blue-ribbon enclaves whose posh inhabitants fled for the exits. Scooter left the office as he came to it - with self-serving duplicity and bastardry. Our affected Jesus Freak In Chief, a Christian of convenience, specialises in the demonisation of the desperate for personal benefit. His final wretched act as Prime Minister was to instruct the Australian Border Force to over-ride his own protocols and publicise an interception of a suspected asylum seeker boat on election day. “I’ve been here to stop this boat, but in order for me to be there to stop those that may come from here, you need to vote Liberal and Nationals today.” Scott Morrison, election day 2022. The last, frantic flailings of a fraud. No eagle painting this time but chickens coming home to roost - in an unused Bunnings flat-pack chook pen. To stretch the metaphorical ironies - this useless shonk has burned down the House Of Liberal and charred the paint on the National Party outhouse as a bonus. If you listen carefully you can hear the 'fwit fwit fwit' of his chubby thighs as he flees the scene smelling of petrol and hubris, a sound not quite drowned out by the tantrums of entitled Tory born-to-rulers. Perhaps, in a few years after a little of his damage is repaired, some may recall his name as they drop into Engadine Maccers and see, there in the corner, the Scott Morrison memorial stool. "The entitled are not known for a capacity for introspection & self analysis." Looking for Mr Right From Howard, to Abbott to Morrison the Tories continue to search for the bottom of the barrel and their scrapings have revealed what many dreaded. Herr Schickltuber. This is a man who clenches his butt cheeks to force a smile, who thinks "ex-Queensland copper" is a positive on his résumé and "lefty" is a pejorative and whose aesthetic runs to menace and black uniforms, side-arms and dark-sunnied goon squads. A hairless Lurch sans the joie de vivre. Ersatzgruppenfritter Dutton, unlike his predecessor, posseses some modicum of self-awareness but his human skin-suit is a work in progress. The warmongering of a beligerent hawk is to be toned down, a cuddlier, softer, kinder style of refugee abuser is to emerge - handing out a free kitten with every poking stick. "I've always seen Parliament as a disadvantage frankly for sitting governments." Peter Dutton, 10 December 2018 Let the re-imaging begin. FMD! Meanwhile the rubes of the Nats contemplate a future continuing with a befuddled oik at the pointy end, hands clasped over his beer belly at pressers, puce of face, snaggled of tooth reciting the names of country towns he's been pissed in like some bizarre rendition of I've Been Everywhere. * * * * * Regardless, Labor, the Greens and progressive independents have routed the bastards. It's a bright new day and I will now retire my ScoMo sledges and direct my energies to developing a portfolio of potato-themed invective. https://www.themonthly.com.au/the-politics/rachel-withers/2022/05/25/same-same-dutton https://www.crikey.com.au/2022/05/22/scott-morrison-liar-lightweight-loser-one-final-victory/ https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2022/may/23/stoking-fear-and-hatred-held-the-coalition-in-power-finally-australia-had-enough https://www.themonthly.com.au/the-politics/rachel-withers/2022/05/26/desperately-tweaking-sussan

The great awakening Cartoon courtesy of Alan Moir Morrison's tenure has been a test of his character - one he has failed abysmally. The election will be a test of Australia's character but likely one we will pass. It is not entirely clear to me when Smirko Morrison's re-election campaign jumped the shark. Tony Abbott was a national embarrassment, a badly shaved yowie in red-sluggos who bumble-fucked his brief, shambolic term as PM as if he were still in opposition. Morrison runs his as a marketing exercise. Electioneering has been his permanent setting since he and his retinue of Winston Wolfes and limbo champions steam-cleaned Malcolm Turnbull's blood spatter from the PM's suite and took up residence. We've had >3 years of Smirko the spiv playing dress-ups, 1,300+ days of curries and cock-ups, of crimes and cover-ups, of the game of mates, of drink spikers and staff shaggers, of dullards and sousers in high office - a time when a functionary tabled his seminal work on a minister's desk and two Tory amuse-douche MPs tea-bagged rent boys in the PH prayer room. Abbott's trademark was the man who said 'no', manifesting in a chum bucket of idiocies and hyper-partisan destruction. Adrift in a world that had long passed him by, threatened by notions of gender equality, confused by the concept of functioning governance and bewildered by technology he traded on a swaggering, hairy-chested machismo that had the north shore matrons and Toorak ladies-who-lunch swooning onto their fainting couches. Yet signs of dementia pugilistica came daily, culminating in the annointing of Sir Prince Philip - a comical travesty that defined him; it was the tipping point for the Mad Monk. With Abbott it was idiocy, with Smirko it's integrity - a surfeit of one and a dearth of the other. Both of these clowns embraced the Tory manifesto of enriching cronies, trashing standards and running down services. Both are manifestly incompetent - same same but different. Abbott's character was comically flawed - an emu on roller skates. Smirko is rotten to his blackened soul - loathed by much of his own party, toxic in traditional blue ribbon urban seats, particularly despised in Victoria and WA, recognised by women for his inherent misogyny; by putting himself forward as the solution to crises of his own creation he's revealed himself as a humbug, a charlatan of disposable principles, transactional loyalties, casual cruelty, habitual mendacity and practiced duplicity who has overseen not just the normalisation of corruption but the institutionalisation of it, throwing pork about like burley and shovelling billions of our dollars into the greedy maw of the Tory chums and party apparatchiks. But when did it all start to go wrong for Smirko? "I don't hold a hose, mate", "That's not my job" will be the epitaph for the shirker from The Shire. As Smirko the flaccid, dull eyed blaggard lazed on a Waikiki deckchair fingering a slippery nipple he was comforted by the knowedge that the ash-flecked citizens from burning towns across the country would be lied to about his whereabouts. What the cowardly twat didn't anticipate was an observant Aussie tourist with a smartphone capturing his idyll. This was the loose thread. The start of the unravelling of any notion of ethical, courageous or competent governance. This was the character defining moment but it falls outside of the formal election campaign and in the midst of an epidemic a distracted population moved on. Smirko reverted to type and bunged on the bogan for the blokey blokes and the irredeemably gullible. More toolie than tradie Smirko's photo-ops morphed into a fuckwit-at-large montage - creepy uncle fondling a stranger's head, Wally the cross-eyed welder, work experience guy dangling his loose tie over a high-powered, pneumatic rattle gun, ukelele player (Hawaii...WTAF? Another country member? Yes; yes we do). There are times when Morrison lets his facile FauxMo cover slip and he reveals his true self in all of his smug glibness and self-satisfied smarm, displaying a personality with the appeal of a bin juice smoothie. The demeanor of the great dissembler is now a barometer of the dawning realisation that his affected schtick and linguistic gymnastics are not working any more. He's become the trombone player practising behind you on the bus - loud, bellicose, pushy. As the gaslighting, attempted wedges, obfuscation, deflection and projection fail to recover the tanking Tory numbers his volume and tempo increases, his beligerence intensifies. A shouty, gish-galloping Morrison is a desperate Morrison. The beginning of the end for this kakocracy was not one single thing or one moment - it's been the Fibonacci accumulation of scandals, grift, incompetence, ecocide, sleaze and cruelty. The most beautiful words that I can anticipate will be counsel assisting a federal ICAC putting to these criminals seated in the stand "Let me see if I can help you with that".

Could 2022 see the end of the Tory virus? The end is nigh 2021 wasn't all bad. Sure, Shitaro and his sidekick Tombei The Pissed still have their jobs, the Tory grift emporium is re-open for business and expecting a brisk trade in the lead up to the election, and a weird mix of Tony Abbott, the Grim Reaper and an oil rig has assumed the mantle of NSW premier but there is hope as we segue into 2022. The polls are showing a move away from the Tories. The panic from moderate (sic) Liberals facing challenges from viable independents in their tree-lined, Toorak-tractored enclaves and the fear from the journeymen party spivs horrified at the possibility of being held to account has brought some tidings of comfort and joy for many of us watching from the sidelines. It has also boosted traffic on LinkedIn and Trip Advisor as this effluvium considers their post-election prospects or checks the star ratings for top bunk vs bottom bunk at various of Her Majesty's homes for the habitually shady. There is no accusation here of criminality by any specific politicians (heaven and lawyers forbid), it's just my febrile musings about the consequences of blatant corruption, the stench of which permeates the clothes of anyone within a paper bag's throw of these shysters. Any mirth stemming from the notion of the Beetrorter being ordered to spread his cheeks and lift his sack upon sign-in at the Glen Innes Correctional Centre balances the dry-retching resulting from the mental imagery that that idea may raise. Then there's Miss Appropriation 2020, Bridget McKenzie, whose perpetually waxy visage may be symptomatic of her dread that Sports Rorts could be re-visited. Bridge's only strategy for avoiding come-uppance is likely to be to play dead. Our Bridge is short a pylon or two. And did I see Minister for Monetising Carbon Pollution Fidel d'Figueres developing a facial tic at the prospect of a few rounds with counsel assisting? All pure conjecture of course. But pleasing nevertheless as Fidel will be high on the persons-of-interest listing of a future federal integrity body. These are random wishes on my note to Santa; these dodgy operators are just the crust on the entire fetid spitoon that considers itself to be free from consequences, answerable to no-one bar an eagle painting and a cabal of billionaire oligarchs. In contrast Josh the work experience guy seems nice. Ha! That crafted image of a rosey-cheeked cherub with a rapidly disappearinging Friar Tuck tonsorial has slipped. Whether shrilly undermining Victoria's covid efforts or calling up critics' employers to have them silenced or fired he's revealed himself to be the standard Tory nasty that many suspected he always was. Our chubby exchequer is well out of his depth as Treasurer so he can always plead stupidity if facing the beak to explain the repurposing of billions of our dollars to favoured Tory sponsors and electorates, letting the criminals in the banks off the hook or secretly deleting ASIC corruption findings. Josh's discomfort is obvious from his red-faced histrionics so it's been an enjoyable past-time to measure his panic on the Shouty-O-Meter whenever he's not applying oily schmooze to his increasingly skeptical constituents. While on the subject of those who see themselves as Prime Minister in waiting the best news of 2021 is that Xtian Porter will never be an occupant of The Lodge. In underlining his law suit victory and vindication by ignominiously resigning before a Labor government can initiate some formal enquiries into his behaviour, Blue Balls the born-to-rule, big swinging dick has shown himself as nothing more than a whiney little bitch. This output from a turd distillery can at least be reassured that should he ever be up before the courts they will be open to the public in contrast to his secret persecutions of Bernard Collaery and Witness K. More good news was announced this year by party balloons Tweedledumb and Tweedledumberer. Groomed at a carwash and nourished by Krispy Kreme, Gorgeous George Christensen has pulled out while Cray Cray Kelly has signed up to fellow zeppelin Clive Creosote Palmer's UAP. Cray Cray is marketing himself as the byproduct of a threesome between Nigel Farage, Chef Pete Evans and a channel marker (UAP party slogan: Craig's our buoy). Cray Cray's brilliant career is about to go down in flames. Oh the humanity! Guffaw! Glad tidings also arrived in March from the western end of our wide, brown land from whence news of a massacre was despatched to a joyful public in the east. The Tories were all but obliterated in the state election courtesy of the actions of those two cleverest of political minds Clive and the Dud (i.e. Scooter Morrison) who jointly thought it a brilliant move to threaten WA with a law suit mid-pandemic and just prior to the voting. Scooter hides his marketing genius behind the facade of a smart-arsed maitre d at the smug and over-sold Bros, Lecce (Bros., Lecce: We Eat at The Worst Michelin Starred Restaurant, Ever - The Everywhereist). The other good news at the end of 2021 is that Rupert Murdoch is one year nearer his funeral. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year ASIC inquiry findings secretly deleted. The Klaxon. Josh Frydenberg secretly deletes ASIC corruption findings. Independent Australia.

The Christian coalifate and crime cartel is running rampant The NSW Lib's sanctification as Premier of the Brylcreemed Li'l Dabble Dooya, better known as Dominic Perrottet, a man resembling a pelican emerging from an oil spill, has re-animated conjecture about the capture of the conservative parties by religious nutters. It's yet to be made clear whether Opus Dei Dom has crossed the line from Tarago driving old school Catholic to hard core nutter. He's a pro-Trump, feral friar replicant - a skinny version of Tony Abbott but sans the dementia pugilistica or as yet any obvious urge to smite and destroy and who thankfully forgoes Abbott's comical, bow-legged, rodeo-cowboy-who-shat-his-chaps machismo but he's tipping the scales further to the hard-right of the less-government-more-God American Goppers. “Some have argued that social security replaces the role of children in old age by socialising the traditional duties of the family.” Dom Perrottet During his brief stint in the big chair Abbott's wisdom suppository was removed from its receptacle and waved in our faces on a regular basis. Captain Catholic held the missionary position of old school biblical sexism and he wasn't shy with his proselytising on the proper place for women. I strongly suspect Dom with his 6 kids (+1 pending) also sees women as simply life support systems for wombs. Dom's a professed champion of the protection of the confidentiality of paedophiles, an anti-abortion/anti-voluntary assisted dying/every sperm is sacred but the economy comes first dichotomist whose 'go forth and multiply' convictions are at least not as free-lance as is his co-religionist Barnaby the purple, priapic procreant. The steady infiltration of Dom-alikes in the Tory parties has moved the needle on who qualifies as a nutter vs who's merely a mainstream Jesuser. A rabid Abbott as PM and Barking Barmy Joyce as deputy blurred the distinctions. The various tribes of nasty, Old Testament sanctimonious hypocrites, whakkadoodle creationists and Mammonites have morphed the Protestant sectarianism of Robert Menzies' Liberal Party into a hybrid tent revival, fascist book burning club and Jesus Wants You To Be Rich symposium. The Tories are infested by Taliban-lite, by incurious simpletons for whom a deity is a handy excuse for disengaging the brain, bronze-ager God squaddies, the zealots inside of whom is a little Torquemada craving to be let out and the self-righteous worshippers of the filthy lucre - all purporting to represent the wishes of a spectral Santa Claus for grown ups whose interests seem to always align with their own. None are there to serve our interests, they're there to impose their punitive morality and rigid dogma and to top up their property portfolios as a measure of their merit pending the End Times. Should they dress in goat skins and smear themselves with the ashes of long dead relatives to dance naked around golden images of Donald Trump questions would be asked. They're not that obvious but they are plenty blatant. Alex Hawke - SchMo's prayer buddy and advocate for a business class Jesus. Evolution determined that through climate change a branch of hominids would descend from the trees and thereby develop the bipedalism that led to the opposable thumb, a big brain and language. Various versions spread through large parts of the planet but only Homo sapiens made it past the beta test phase to flatter itself that rather than being the accidental result of a long series of unlikely events we are the sole representation in the entirety of the universe of a spectral creator. The people who deny science to favour angels and demons and talking eagle paintings are running our country and the one at the pointy end believes that a white, bearded ethereal male* has tasked him personally with carrying out a paranormal plan that accommodates the imminent destruction of a 6,000 year old earth and all it contains, with the enrichment of cronies in the interim as a sub-project to confirm their worthiness in the eyes of his god. *God is a man apparently which raises the question of why an omnipotent deity who created a universe from nothing is equipped with meat and 2 veg. Scott Morrison is beyond doubt a genuine, fully blown religious nutter. Beelzebub is as real to Morrison as the tooth fairy is to a toddler. Inane superstitions and an ABN-equipped Jesus inform his sheltered world view. He claims to be on a mission from God with whom he has a personal relationship and he flatters himself with the title of 'leader' yet he's inert in all but the facilitation of a culture of consequence-free grift and Armageddonist planetary destruction. A man defined by what he's against and by the limitations of a shrunken mind informed by bronze age mysticism. To quote Albo he "doesn't hold a hose on bushfires; it isn't a race on vaccines; and isn't even in the room on climate change talks". Not a prophet, not a leader, not God's emissary - a deluded incompetent who needs to keep a long list of the things he doesn't know about so that he can deny all accountability and a catalogue of personas to disguise who he really is. Morrison is a creep, a spiv and a weirdo but I am wondering what sort of deity it is that he has conjured up in his fabulist imaginings that tolerates the crimes of the cabal that he purports to lead. Dom Perrottet is a worry but he's got a long way to go to meet ScoMoses' level of egregiousness. God in the Lodge. Crikey. A comprehensive analysis of Morrison's fantasyland beliefs and his supporting ecosystem of godliness. A highly recommended read. For God and Country. Religious Dynamics in Australian. Federal Politics. Dr Marion Maddox. A long but worthy read from 2001.

The accidental head master and the prefect Image: @TwoEyeHead Warning: This post contains mixed metaphors As fellow big biz 'doucheland über alles' nasties Gladdy Berejiklian and Scooter Morrison have much in common but I cannot imagine they'd ever be friends - I mean, FFS, the guy is mates with Stuart Robert who has to submit proof of life once a month and Alex Hawke (somewhere there's a hole missing its toad). And Glad knows the "evil bully" Scooter, in his typically treacherous backgrounding of her, has her name pencilled in on his crowded bus schedule. Not so much Daggy Dad™ as creepy Uncle Weirdo, Scooter is a particular class of odious; one that requires a complex logistical web to sanitise for public consumption. In contrast Gladdy comes across as an unaffected prissy head prefect and sanctimonious goody two-shoes who, at assembly, wants us all to please know that she's been let down by the rough crowd's bad behaviour of locking the doors and hiding the keys (looking at you Andrews, McGowan and Pałaszczuk). Much to Scooter's chagrin, Glad came through the bushfire crisis undamaged (provided we whisper that bit about her slashing of the firefighting capabilities of Fire and Rescue, the RFS and NP&WS). Mind you, compared to Scooter's cowardly abandonment and transparently desperate PR recovery campaign a goat on a unicycle would look in control. The relationship between these two provides some amusement if you take your humour black. The evidence is in that Glad despises Morrison - after all, what's not to despise. Here's a creep who exploited an archived photo from a memorial service for kids killed by a drunk driver to disguise a secret trip for Fathers Day during lockdown and package his narcissistic, sociopathic self as Dutiful Dad. For her part, Glad has never claimed celestial endorsement, indulged in furtive touchies of unsuspecting disaster victims, spent lockdown with a personal photographer, displayed a telling lack of curiosity about too-close-to-home rape allegations, suggested that March4Justice protestors should be grateful they weren't shot, had a QAnon BFF or proposed a “multibillion-dollar program to build new mass detention facilities in Australia for asylum seekers who were living in the community on bridging visas” (remind you of a particular, historical precedent anyone...anyone?). The list of this guy's awfulness is far too long to indulge here in a rant that started out as a piss-take of Gladdy Two-shoes...I'll move on. Gladdy is not looking for a house to haunt, rather that signature tormented, mournful expression of hers has served her well when confronted with uncomfortable questions. When under ICAC scrutiny of dodgy deals it came to light that Dirty Dazza McGuire had been pizzling her mimsy the sympathy flowed all Glad's way. The mums of NSW tut-tutted and tsk-tsked that Dazza had done her wrong - perhaps remembering their own deflowering by a big-noting deadbeat behind a nightclub dumpster? That's unfair. I'll venture into the dangerous territory of mansplaining by suggesting it's probably natural sympathy for a woman making it in the testosterone-laden world of politics in a party for whom misogyny is a KPI. What is becoming apparent is that her Miss Prissy has way more in common with Morrison's Foghorn Leghorn than just compliance with the traditional Tory practices of pandering to wealth interests, unapologetic rorting, corruption, flogging of public assets and exploitation of our natural and historical heritage. The chutzpah of trumpeting abject failures as triumphs, the hubris, the gaslighting and the testiness at being challenged - these are not from the Introduction To Utter Bastardry guidebook that is Tory essential reading. It's Ms 55% as she really is, snickering in a press conference about the possibility of Delta spreading to Labor states, comfortable with the notion that some, the disposables, are to be sacrificed at the alter of mammon. She's no Jacinda Adern, nor an Angela Merkel, she's not Julia Gillard's example for young women, she's just a gold standard mini-Mo surrounded by a claque of morally bankrupt grifters championing the failed neo-con experiment to corporatise society; previous metaphors aside, she's the frog to Morrison's scorpion in a strange pact of mutually assured destruction should the Delta run rampant and sink Morrison's re-election chances and shred her reputation. Gladys may not be as reprehensible as Morrison but lately she's been giving it her best shot. “They’ll have funerals, but people will be able to attend them”. Scott Morrison. “Death is horrible, but we also need to put things into perspective, because at the moment there are 8 million citizens who don’t have choice in how they spend their free time”. Gladdy B. “That's some pretty weird shit." George Dubya Bush. "It's the vibe of the thing." Dennis Denuto.

A nation's character is reflected in the calibre of the politicians it chooses "When there's an idiot in power those who elected him are well represented." Anonymous. They think they're smarter than the rest of us. They don't think of themselves as our employees but as our betters. They are the smug, entitled born-to-rulers, the haw-hawing, self-righteous ponces, the snooty, be-coiffed scolds and rural oiks who have come to believe the Big Con - that they are exceptional, the lifters, the elite, the superior managers. This honking nonsense from a cloistered cohort who'd struggle to colour coordinate the dildo display in the prayer room let alone run a country is hard to swallow in the good times. In a pandemic and climate crisis their misplaced vanities are killing people and helping to kill the planet. They come from the self-titled leader class of the toffy private school breeding grounds of Tory privilege - jumping vaccine queues ahead of healthcare workers or fleeing lockdown to a ski-fields campus, they are the pampered, pallid Barclays and Gabrielles from the Young Lib set and the IPA twat factory, they're the sanctimonious hypocrites from church pews supplemented by the Chosen One from the Jesus Inc. merch industry, the rustic oafs and the graduates from the ranks of smart-arsed party apparatchiks. Their contempt shows in their haughty tone, their cloth ears, their shameless dismissiveness of rampant corruption, the arrogant disdain for accountability and in the entitlement and the self-regard of the worst people imaginable. From the loopy fringes to the hard core spivs they live in an alternative reality where their self-esteem entirely exceeds their worth. Crony-capitalist doctrine and the counsel of party political hacks trumps expert health advice and the inconvenient facts of pending environmental catastrophe where the very survivability of the planet is subject to a cost:benefit analysis. The Tory's flexible version of integrity allows for a large overlap in the Venn diagram of arseholery/nutbaggery, indulging lunatic causes as free speech whenever it accomodates their agenda. No Notion stalwarts Edna Bucket the ginger minge and her strap-on Malcolm Frodo Baggins-Roberts normally mop up much of the cognitively challenged vote but it's contested territory. When captain's nosepick Cray Cray Kelly MP, failed furniture salesman and member for Hughes shakes his head you can hear the metal ball rattle but it was only after his glue-sniffing idiocy on vaccines was undermining the government's efforts to gaslight the public that he was politely asked to tone down the finger sniffing. Cray Cray's fellow party balloon and pie connoisseur Gorgeous George Christensen is similarly inclined (should an orb be able to be inclined) to believe he's been blessed with special insights and wisdom. Georgeous and Cray Cray have their tyres pumped by a large social media following from the trailing edge of the IQ bell curve, Qrackpots, horse punchers, sovereign citizens and assorted tattooed anti-vaxxers. Having celebrity handrail licker Pete Evans in the tent must be quite the validation for two plonkers with the physical allure of a sweaty Uncle Pervy and the comprehension skills of a kelpie attempting a cross-word puzzle. It could be imagined that Gorgeous's antipathy to facemasks stems from his dispensing with personal protection during his cultural exchanges in the Philippines. While these two bloviatinng buffoons shout down the hallway at the home for the perpetually befuddled they have company in the ga-ga lane on fuckwit highway (come on - mixed metaphors have their place). Black-face revivalist Matt King Coal Canavan has expanded his repertoire from monetising climate denialism to include covidiocy by simultaneously megaphoning his pro-life sentiments and suggesting keeping your relos alive via lockdowns and masks is not worth the effort. This performative onanism is possibly just for the schitzengiggles (as the Germans might say) given Matty would guide Alan Jones into a glory hole if it got him some exposure on Gloria After Dark. Crème de la crème bun. Twitter The vibe of this whole pelican parade is set by the front of house. The quality of their management is a reflection of the character of their party - the best of their best whose behaviour under pressure is a cockroach stampede after the lights are switched on. PM Schmozzle's practice of hiding behind the curtains has required a re-think but still within the boundaries of his reflexive blame-shifting and credit seeking. The new champion of lockdowns and EVs brags that his quarantine and vaccine stuff ups have saved 30,000 lives and that, extrapolating his prosperity doctrine, it is the poor countries that are responsibile for climate change and it is god's will that they suffer - as if we occupy separate planets. It should be remembered that the first act of Morrison's Covid Commission was to fund a new gas pipeline and that he refused to buy or lease firefighting aircraft but spent $250M on his VIP jet. Schmo's deputy, the florid fornicator Roger Thystaff, a cerebral colossus, an idiot savant (but without the savant bit) has his wit and wisdom scribbled on beer coasters in pubs and taverns across New England. Roger has come to think of himself as something of a sage - his cleverness extending to his observation that given he's been a senior member of government for 7 years its up to others to assess the implications of a changing climate. Ex-Head of Inquisitions & Persecutions and team therapist Pyrrhic Porter, fresh from his victory of dropping his defamation case against the ABC has copped a tab of some 500 large because, as the once most senior legal figure in the land he did not undertsand the nuance of the workings of our legal system. Porter sets a fine example of the openness and transparency principles of this best of all possible governments by expending considerable additional investment to prevent the evidence of his professed innocence of rape allegations from being disclosed. Schmozzle had no problem with reconciling his Jen-endorsed "believe women" rhetoric with his promotion of Porter to acting Leader of the House. NSW head prefect Gladdy Two-shoes sailed through her scandals and incompetence with the "Poor Sad Gladys" schtick and Schmo's gold star stuck on her forehead. "Daryl done her wrong" is scant cover for the hubris that let loose the Delta - a once-cozy media is finally applying some scrutiny and it's the hardest hammering she's received since she handed Dirty Dazza's house keys back. The only way the Tories can keep ahead of criminal charges is to stay in power. As an election nears these creeps, bottom feeders, toad lickers, thieves and liars will do all they can to game the system. They stole our money when you weren't looking and as soon as your back is turned they'll steal some more and the greatest efforts they'll take in addressing climate change is to look for excuses to do nothing at all. Re-election will be treated as endorsement of blatant rorting, their corruption of institutions and their bullying and bigotry. Dissent will be persecuted, they will ramp up the pandering to the privileged and punching down at the poor. Australia will be dragged backwards and further to the right. While priests and parsons are feted public universities, scientists and the ABC will be defunded and insitutions will be stacked even higher with cronies. Anyone voting Tory at the next election is complicit in their crimes. "As long as the general population is passive, apathetic, diverted to consumerism or hatred of the vulnerable, then the powerful can do as they please, and those who survive will be left to contemplate the outcome." Noam Chomsky Australia’s lockdown protests are homegrown but with foreign inspiration. Crikey. "A government whose Deputy PM Barnaby Joyce couldn’t even be exonerated by his own Party in an internal sexual harassment investigation conducted by Nationals senate hopeful Ross Cadell, a man whose former wife had an AVO against him in 2014" Andrew P. Street, Independent Australia.

There are many signs that human evolution is a work-in-progress, with quite a way still to go. Here are some examples: Backwards baseball caps Expiry dates on packaged salt Pet insurance Baby On Board signs My Family stick figures Toorak Tractors Geezers on mobility scooters in expensive jogging shoes Bottled water Jazz hands Quinoa/kale Neck tattoos Sunglasses indoors Driving to a gym to use a running machine Microsoft's "user error" accusations Designer stubble Riding side-saddle Duck-face selfies Facebooked pictures of lunch Posting comments on Youtube Celebrity culture Spray on cheese Individually plastic-wrapped vegetables and stickers on fruit Synchronised swimming Mormonism Rosé wine Vegetable spinners Crocs Fox News (sic) The Robin Reliant Donald Trump's hair. Donald Trump Anal bleaching Wearing braces on trousers with belt loops Watching a live performance through a phone screen Rushing to be first on the plane Fingerless gloves Helmets for skydivers The Bachelor Aroma therapy Eurovision Beards without moustaches Comb-overs Responding to a question posted on an online forum with "I don't know." Drum solos Sexting Adults riding scooters Pineapple on pizzas Country & Western music Morris dancing "Yeah, nah", "Nah, yeah", "Yeah, nah, yeah" etc. Tribute bands Hats with ear flaps Suburban white boy wanna-be "gangstas" Low fat marshmallows iPhone-equipped beggars Unicycles Wearing Bluetooth ear pieces when not actually using the phone Mimes, human statues Mariachi bands Donating to televangelists Creationist theme parks The huge dog turd replica that is The Big Potato, Robertson NSW Kenny G CDs Paid ads for products that are "selling out fast", or perhaps more so the suckers who believe it Doof doof Botox Designer vaginas Idiotic baby names (Dhakota, Lewese, J’taime) Quizz show contestants who pass on questions such as "What is the colour of....?" Business lounge luggage tags The personal brand Karaoke Elvis impersonators Hillsong Starbucks "coffee" Walmartians Indian phone scammers named "Wayne" The salesman I worked with who closed a sale to a drug & alcohol counselling service and then sent them a bottle of wine as a thank you gesture. These examples and so many, many more readily demonstrate that if we are the product of some omnipotent deity then s/he is just taking the piss. Obvious Plant

Image: ABC When discourse between fair-minded people turns to speculation as to who has been Australia's most appalling Prime Minister there are four names that are consistently short-listed - $3 Bill McMahon, fellow goblin John Howard, the feral friar Tony Abbott and Scott Spinocchio Morrison. Arguing who is the worst of this noxious quartet is stepping into a steaming dollop of dog do and speculating as to whether it was a labrador, great dane or spaniel. A more appropriate take is surely along the lines of "how did we not smell that earlier?" or, more perpexingly in the case of Howard, why did we step in it four times? However, the trajectory of recent events turns such conjecture into a rhetorical question. We now have a clear winner. The also ran "I confess to a dislike of McMahon. The longer one is associated with him the deeper the contempt for him grows and I find it hard to allow him any merit. Disloyal, devious, dishonest, untrustworthy, petty, cowardly - all these adjectives have been weighed by me and I could not in truth modify or reduce any one of them in its application to him." Paul Hasluck, 17th Governor-General McMahon usually avoids a place on the podium of odium due to the passage of time and the level of egregiousness set by the other three finalists for munt of the century. McMahon was best known as a self-serving weasel and is remembered mostly from his wife Sonia's split evening gown and rumours that it was she who legged it before Billy Snedden, one time Opposition leader, was discovered sans-metabolism in a Rushcutter's Bay motel room wearing nothing but a fixed smile and a condom, his todger pointing heavenward in tumescent tribute to the best of possible departures to celestial reward. The gossip at the time also had Snedden's son's ex-girlfriend in the frame as a possible candidate for the coital causa mortis. I mention this for two purposes - it's amusing salaciousness and because it's tawdry ordinariness is in stark contrast to the depravity of the L/NP's contemporary private school lager bois whose proud personal brand is rapey "swinging dicks". The sign-in book in the Tory wing of Parliament House now serves as a defacto sex offenders register. Let's move on. Bronze The English language has embraced many colourful German words - putsch, gestapo, blitzkreig, obergruppenfuhrer and others to which we've become attuned since a certain Aldo Kipfler assumed the role of head tuber of the various spooks and goon squads. The more obscure term "sockenfalter" (a man who folds his socks) brings to mind a certain suburban pettifogger, a man of fifty shades of beige and the physical manifestation of a migraine. John Winston Howard set a standard of calculated mendacity and duplicity so low that arch-conservative and fully Range Rovered member of the squatocracy Malcolm Fraser resigned from the party in disgust. Howard's pre-selfies duck-face was a fixed expression of sour disapproval and resentment; his 1950s, white picket fence vision of an Anglican Australia where migrants are British and the working class know their place could not be resurrected, with no prospect that his local butcher would doff his cap as John Winston picked up his order of a 1/2 kilo (damn metrics) of sausages for Janette on his way home from his power walk. Dumb luck (ala the mining boom, Tampa, 9/11) and a talent for lying kept him in the big chair for 12 years and cemented his reputation as a Tory icon. “He occasionally stumbled over the truth, but hastily picked himself up and hurried on as if nothing had happened.” —Former British Prime Minister Winston Churchill in prescient anticipation of his acolyte and namesake. Silver Fast forward six years past a promisingly progressive but ultimately self-destructive Rudd/Gillard/Rudd Cirque du Solipsists and entering stage right came a discordant cackle in a yowie suit, bow-legged from his macho affectations and bike-riders' ball rash. Shepherded by his Amazonian keeper Peta Credlin, an angry, big-haired figure retrieved from a 70s EuroVision demo-tape rejects bin, Abbott trashed convention, decency and the country. Abbott's legacy is his tearing down of the achievements of others as a substitute for having to conceive of any of his own, a man for whom opposition was so habitual he took it into government. Destructive idiocy has a short shelf-life - Abbott was soon consigned to the stuffed shirt speaking circuit and BoJo's bob-a-job offer to spruik post-Brexit trade in spotted dicks and toads-in-the-hole. The brevity of what the man himself laughingly calls the "Abbott era" (as if his two years of toxic presence at the helm is akin to a royal dynasty or geological time span - the bozozoic?) does not take him out of contention given his talent for setting fire to his own hair and the nation's self-respect. Gold The Tories were later torn between leadership options - a psycopathic yam with a fondness for drowning kittens or a prosperity gospelling marketing spiv. They decided by a small margin that a familiarity with duping the punters was what was needed to lead the nation in times of unprecedented challenges and opportunities. Morrison is maintaining the Howard business model of exploiting any niche for private profit, further enriching cronies and punching downwards but he has added his own weird Je$us Inc. endorsed fervour as justification for his disregard for any responsibility to those outside his rich=righteousness bubble; a righteousness that bristles at scrutiny or questioning. Morrison settled into the big, green swivel chair through deception and treachery, claiming he came into the top job incidentally with no involvement on his own part. This is the MO that defines him. Plausible deniability and a portfolio of personas - the artful dodger is never responsible, never accountable, the finger-pointing avoidance of any error is what we could call the Morrison Effect. The Wriggle Room that is the well-resourced Prime Minister's Office carefully crafts his alibis, zealously guards the ScoMo® brand and initiates empathy training as a risk mitigation strategy. And they keep a practised eye on the bus schedule; Canberra's road kill includes whistleblowers, non-partisan public service manadrins, female MPs and abused staffers. The normalisation of corruption through a schedule of eye-wateringly costly rorts, the squalid, illegal persecution of legitimate welfare recipients and the exploitation of grannies to bolster the bottom line of Lamborghini-driving wideboys and chancers would be enough to set this government's place in infamy but there is no bar too low. The crimes get worse and more frequent, the perps are more numerous and the sleaze and sexism spreads wider and it is Morrison who cultivates that toxic, consequences-free culture. "I've had plenty of mates who've asked me if they can be my special envoy to sort the issue out with Pamela Anderson"...smirk. Scott Morrison, Nov 2018. “We want to see women rise. But we don’t want to see women rise only on the basis of others doing worse..." Scott Morrison, 8th March 2019 - hence the presence of such talent as Craig Kelly then? Omitting "sex pest and potential rapist" from your CV's list of interests and hobbies when applying for a job with the Tories is a rational move given its incluson could be considered tautological when "racist, entitled, misogynistic prick" is seemingly a default essential attribute on the L/NP job application form. Having accusations that the highest law officer in the country is a rapist blithely brushed aside as "I won't hold an enquiry mate...case closed, move along" is quite the misreading of the mood. Morrison can only empathise when events are filtered through the lens of his own limited experience. He hit the snooze button on the Tudge/Porter wake-up call and here we are. * * * * * There was a 22 year gap between McMahon and Howard, a six year gap between Howard and Abbott and a two year gap between Abbott and Morrsion. The question now is can the Libs come up with someone even worse than Morrison? History says so and arithmatic says it'll be soon. The Christian Porter is now out of the running and Spud Dutton's ambitions seem to have been lost in the noise. Ruprecht Shadenfraud our Maggie Thatcher reincarnated Treasurer doesn't have the numeracy skills for organised crime but he has the requisite artiface and the ambition to be a contender for Morrison's tainted crown. Can he maintain the tradition? Photo: Ruprecht's Twitter feed. A complete list of the Liberal Party’s corruption over the last 7 years. The Chaser. Achievements Of The Coalition Government. Matthew Davis. Investigation reveals history of sexism and inappropriate behaviour by Attorney-General Christian Porter. ABC. Inside the Canberra bubble - Four Corners Christian Porter: the unshakeable belief of a white man born to rule. The Mandarin. Malcolm Farr, political leaders and rumours

A reality check for the born-to-rulers Photo: Toffs & toughs, Jimmy Sime, 1937 Could it be a wank that brings Scooter Morrison undone? Not the metaphorical kind of Scooter's self-indulgent posturing or his constant, carefully crafted photo ops but rather a literal wank - a hairy-palmed Lib staffer interrogating the prisoner in a female MP's office and depositing a pearl necklace on her furniture. It's all a bit ewww but let he who has not lusted after a Swedish flatpack or felt a stirring in the loins at the sight of a come hither trestle table be the one to cast the first stone. A furniture fetish is not the most outrageous of aberrations and self-abuse is one small warp in the rich tapestry of sybaritism that characterises the private school boys, IPA Gordon Gekko tribute acts, spads and cosseted MPs who make up the Tory ecosystem. It's all just elitist prigs behaving badly. Ah, but see, it's the context. This bloke, the wanker, was not succumbing to the allure of a fine wood grain and the subtle bouquet of Mr Sheen; he was marking his territory. A female MP had dared trespass onto the realm of the Big Swinging Dicks so she was to be demeaned. In absentia. Tacky as fuck but should we be too surprised? When such a circumstance became known the Scooter no doubt tested the level of performative outrage required against Jen's view of a misogynistic yahoo tabling his seminal works. "Jenny has a way of clarifying things, always has." Apparently it was about a 9.5 on the indignance scale, somewhat higher than that expressed for two alleged rapes. Tory standards, what! Jen's perspective aside, rent boys in Parliament House trawling for rough trade is not a place I thought we'd ever be. Gay orgies in a prayer room was not on most folks' radar I suspect. Barnaby the bedswerver has faded from the headlines and Georgie Buoy, our floating attaché for S.E.Asian affairs must be relieved now that interest in his cultural exchanges is coming to a happy ending. Their behaviours now seem unremarkable. How much lower the Tories have sunk in such a short time! Abuse, bullying and alleged rapes, cover ups and outraged women across the country - the chicken choking episode is only one small part of the Fibonacci accumulation of rorts, dodgy dealings and misogynistic sleaze but it could be the spark that blows the whole thing up. The self-regarding born-to-rulers have been exposed as graduates of the Benny Hill school of gender studies - predators, staff fondlers, chair sniffers, sex pests and creepy uncles. And the Scooter is no longer the master of his own domain. Porter has always enjoyed having his cake and eating it too Who’s who in the Liberals’ left, right and centre factions? SMH

From Twitter The Bleach Boy's douche coup has failed - it was a close call but the stale waft of fried chicken grease has now been steam cleaned from the Oval Office curtains, Junior's crack spoons and coke stash have been crated off to Berghof Sur-la-Mer while Eric was last seen trying to negotiate a revolving door at the Tijuana franchise of the El Chapo Cosmetic Surgery chain. Frigid Bardot is scrutinising the LinkedIn profiles of Miami divorce lawyers and Ivanka has waxed her snatch as an update to her CV in anticipation of an out-on-bail tilt at the 2024 Republican presidential nomination. While BLOTUS contemplates his legacy - re-framing a rampant plague, the impoverishment of millions, graft, sedition and national humilitation as the "greatest presidency ever" his lawyer of last resort Rudi Guliani is spending his time negotiating a finder's fee with the Philadelphia Discount Dildo shop for shelf space to house the Trump presidential library. Trump's base (was there ever a more suitable noun?) of QAnon lead paint lickers, end of times religious cultists, Klansmen, Walmartians and cut lunch survivalists is fraught and confused. Their dream of protecting freedom and democracy by summarily executing Joe Biden, Nancy Pelosi, Chuck Schumer and Mike Pence is shattered. Their discoloured dementarian had slunk from the field of battle leaving them to their fate and their country in the hands of a cabal of cannablisitic, radical left Democrat pedophiles. The Trumpists' common cause of white supremacy (the concept undermined somewhat by their florid, all-you-can-eat configurations, mullet-headed cluelessness, poor self esteem and low figure IQs) remains quite resilient however. They're still out there, they're just as batshit crazy and they are being courted by the likes of the S-bend residue of unconstrained Trumpist wanna-bes and wingnuts like Ted Cruz, Josh Hawley, Marjorie Taylor Greene and Lauren Boebert. "If conservatives become convinced that they cannot win democratically, they will not abandon conservatism. They will reject democracy.” David Frum, Canadian-American political commentator. Trumpism is taking a breather and re-grouping. It hasn't gone away. Luckily, here in Australia... Prime Minister Scott Morrison. Photo: SMH The Republican party will not disavow Marjorie Taylor Greene – she is the party. The Guardian