A guide to the Liberal Party. They will sell you the secrets to getting rich for only $9.99. They'll get rich and you'll be out a tenner.
The Tory's broad church embraces a diverse range of sects within its hairy-palmed parliamentary congregations with grifters, lurk merchants, drunkards, hayseeds, suck-holes and seat sniffers making up their number. Despite this diversity they all worship the same deity. Mammon is their god, their common cause and the only thing that unites their fractious tribes. It's the unifying force across the otherwise disparate coveys of Personality Defects Checklist box-tickers.
It's a given that Tories are uniformly avaricious; spinning greed as aspiration, selfishness as ambition, wealth as virtue. It's who their party is, it's their reason for being, it's the essence of the Tory cause. We can be disgusted by it but we can understand it - just as a naturalist can understand the behaviour of hyenas squabbling over a carcass. The thing that makes the Tory party intriguing though, adding some interest to their otherwise off-putting pestilence, is the sub-groups that collectively form this foozle of a political party.
The following is a catalogue of toxic Torydom that I thought could provide some insights for those struggling to understand the contents of humanity's remainder's bin trading as the Liberal/National Party & Co.
The riders on the sunshine bus
The evolutionary U turners who've yet to master an opposable thumb, these dull-eyed remedial readers are an inspiration to underachievers everywhere.
Suffering severe cases of Ability Deficit Disorder these time servers should be serving time for taking wages under false pretences but are instead pulling a motza for simply pushing in stools on the backbenches. These stink-fingered chin-dribblers would be out of their depth in a car park puddle. The standouts are:
Gorgeous George Christensen. The perpetually clammy George is an ovoid Humpty Numpty whose sex appeal is a request for donations rather than a personal attribute.
Malcolm Roberts "the living soul", built like a chicken's instep but with a disproportionately bulbous head he'd be a sniper's dream. Suitable transport for the living soul would be a bullet-proof convertible.
Michael McCormack. He's found his niche as head noddy - a dullard of such monumental proportions that people are warned about operating heavy machinery within 2 hours of hearing him speak.
The fully-licensed fuckwits
The product recalls of politics, they will nevertheless leave their mark - drool stains on the carpets and teeth marks on the door handles.
Craig Kelly. This is what happens when a giant arse-crack grows arms and legs.
A Mr Creosote body double sans the table manners.
Melissa Price. With a face like an interrupted sneeze, Price was listed as Missing In Action during the election campaign, the irrefutable logic being that the less people saw of her the better were her prospects of re-election.
Her genius as Environment Minister was to make her job easier by ensuring there was less environment to look after.
Michaelia Crash. Imagine the ideal of womanhood: a lilting laugh and quick wit, kind, nurturing, self-sacrificing, intelligent and who lifts spirits and brightens a room merely by her presence. Now imagine the opposite.
The pompous, condescending twats
Conservative governments believe their primary task is to keep the Labor Party away from the Treasury benches. From a Tory perspective we all dwell in a profit-making enterprise, Australia Inc, not a society like those lefty bastards would have us believe.
And the environment is to be monetised and not coddled as if it supported all life on the planet. If they could privatise oxygen the Libs would charge us to breathe.
("Hang on - rampant clearing of oxygen producing forests, rising levels of CO2 ? I've got an idea for a start-up." Roger Grosse-D'Barkle, Young Liberal Of The Year)
The highest accolade in the Church Of Mammon is to be put in charge of the country's finances. Hence the smug, patronising humbug from the brothers grim Frydenberg and Cormann. These two innumerate dunny bungers have over-sighted our worst economic performance since WW2 - still pointing at Labor after six long years of fiscal ineptitude while shovelling the bucks to the big end of town and dangling bribes in front of the already well off.
The best that can be said of these two is that they are not crazies, they are just incompetent munts whose agenda is to Americanise our traditional fair go country into a dog-eat-dog dystopia of ruling, privileged elites.
The holy rollers
These are the brethren who've managed to reconcile their devotion to both Jesus and to mammon by upgrading to Jesus V2.0 who comes packaged with an extensive property portfolio and access to franking credits.
And they are creationists yet they preach social Darwinism ("lifters and leaners", "if you have a go you'll get a go"). Slogans are their forté, not deep thought.
Scooter Morrison. With Jesus on his team Scooter likes the idea of encouraging an earlier onset of Armageddon by joining his new friend and fellow cockwomble, the orange BLOTUS, in a drive-by bombing of Iran.
Stuart Robert. Brother Stuart's frequent and lengthy communication with Jesus is apparently via the interwebs if his $38,000 internet bill is any indication.
The Tony Abbott Memorial Sink Holers
A rustic sub-branch characterised by confusion on where they stand with their peculiar brand of capitalist socialism. These self-sufficient, rugged individualists have never refused a government grant, have never turned away a subsidy or knocked back a tax-payer hand-out.
Matt King Coal Canavan, a humble servant for his constituents - dodgy Indian mining billionaires. Matteo wants to use our money to underwrite stranded assets to be milked for profit by filthy rich foreign free-marketeers who will not pay any tax. Matteo's not been reading Joshie's copy of Better Economic Management for Dummies.
Black Angus Taylor - the answer to the first question in a proctology exam Angus is a strong believer in tax payer support of family businesses. His own.1
The sex pests
The Crusty Undies Club members:
Barmy Barney Joyce, aka Barney the dinosaur - the fossil tossle. The purple-headed member on the purple-headed member apparently has a mind of its own. Sure as shit Barmy has got no idea WTF he's doing.
Jamie Briggs - fondler of public servants2. His dad was a banker; Jamie took a different, albeit rhyming path. He's now returned to a job he's qualified for - a model for stranger danger posters, but he possibly maintains his name on the Crusty Club mobile app.
Andrew Broad - Randy Andy enjoyed a vigorous sex life but he found himself in strife when he tried to find someone to share it with.3
* * * * *
So, that's the nutbags. What I do not understand however are the dickheads who voted for them.
Further character references:
1From the time Angus Taylor entered parliament in September 2013, companies & organisations the Taylor family have managed, directed or are directly associated with have benefited from over $93,515,673 in federal & state government funds.
This thread is in no way intended to infer any of the Taylor family have acted in any way inappropriately
2Jamie Briggs Wikipedia
3Andrew Broad's dumb mistake The Guardian
This post is also published in the AIMN
Going for gold in the Cunt Olympics - There's plenty of international competition for the top of the medal count for outstanding achievement in cuntedness.
Danger UXB - The ticking bomb that is the L/NP
It's a horror movie - Part 3 of the LNP franchise was not expected to make it into production.