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What fate awaits PM Morrison?

There can be little doubt that Brother ScoMo believes that he will one day recoup his happy clapper tithes by literally ascending the gold pass holders' escalators to his members only, prayers-by-the-spa, gay-free heaven. I, however, am eagerly awaiting his earthly due.

Cartoon courtesy of Alan Moir. You can support Alan by subscribing via his website.


Most Prime Ministers have a date with a dismal destiny whether it's drowning in an angry surf (Holt), being shivved in the ribs by their own colleagues (Turnbull, Abbott, Rudd, Gillard), humiliatingly but suitably losing their own seats (post-PM Abbott, Howard), overthrown in a devious coup (Whitlam), being ejected from government by the electorate (lots) or dying in office (Curtin).

(One Tory ex-Leader of the Opposition freed himself from the binds of this mortal coil in a blaze of glory that had theretofore entirely eluded him. Billy Snedden was discovered sans metabolism in a Rushcutters Bay motel room with a forever-to-be-fixed smile and a lip-sticked high tide mark on his rigored mongrel - a circumstance that encouraged a far too late rethink on my part about his otherwise nebulous appeal. But I digress.)

The one aspect that irks my comfortable atheism is that I know I'll never have an afterlife opportunity to blow I-told-ya-so raspberries at the nut-variety theists while they, in return, smugly anticipate hurling rocks and insults at me from on high as I suffer the eternal torment of a goateed Beelzebub in his one-piece, body-hugging, red lycra trackies accessorised with cape and trident. My schadenfreude is restricted to this earthly existence, and in FauxMo's case I wish to indulge it fully.

Given the feculence of the Tories' barrel scrapings - Morrison, Abbott and Howard, it is to be hoped that they share a common fate, i.e. complete humiliation and widespead ridicule. Given FauxMo has outperformed the other two in egregiousness (quite a feat) his humbling should be, please karma, greater.

As evidenced by the ever-present smirk, Morrison is a smug believer in his own god-approved infallibility. He gets testy when challenged. His preferred congregants are obsequious, obediant, unquestioning "quiet Australians". Democracy and its insitutions are hinderances to god's work, dissent is a sign of the devil, political opponents are agents of the archfiend. His potestations that he separates his politics from his prosperity gospelling dogma is obvious humbug*. He sees his Prime Ministership as god's licence to apply his superstitions - including his

end-of-times scorn for existential threats to the health of our planet.

(*For example, he walked out of the Parliamentary vote for Marriage Equailty despite the unambiguous endorsement of it by the electorate.)

Such arrogance deserves a proportionate fall.

The thought of him being caught on camera in flagrante delicto behind the Parliamentary wheelie-bins with his trousers round his ankles, a $10 dollar note in one hand and George Christenson's clammy todger in the other is too optimistic - a more realisable scenario and more palatable mental image is to be hoped for. I'm going with the Spud option.

Peter Spud Dutton's Prime Ministerial ambitions remain undiminished and the Tory tribes remain a fractious sack of ferrets. FauxMo's domineering self-belief and beligerent arrogance have dulled his post-election gloss within the Tory ranks, while environmental collapse is opening the eyes of all but the most eye-swivelling of dullards within the electorate. FauxMo's ratings will tumble as the fires continue to burn and the rivers continue to dry up. He'll be praying for rain to save his arse and to suggest that it's another miraculous sign that it's he who is in Jesus's good books.

Meanwhile Spud, Herr Kipfler, is honing his shiv. The latest iteration of his tired, tawdry fear and trepidation PR gimmick is to deploy more militarised public servants to patrol those spaces where their presence best sells the Potato's propaganda - airports during the heavily travelled festive season. "Without me you'll all die in fiery bombings at the hands of swarthy immigrants. Merry Christmans. Spud."

There are rumours that Spud will be following up this latest stunt by phoning around Tory MPs over the Christmas break to test their appetites for ScoMocide. Unlike Morrison, Spud won't pretend to have clean hands - he revels in his neo-nasty reputation of hard man. I now hope he succeeds.

WTF? Yep, I mean it. Morrison is that bad. Dutton will ensure an electoral massacre of Tories. Morrison will be suitably discarded and humiliated - it will be a huge blow to his unshakable belief that his reign was god ordained. He can slink away crestfallen and fall off the edge of his flat earth leaving a skidmark as his legacy of worst PM ever.

Merry Christmas!

Update. Shortly after I posted this optimistic prediction the ANU released its 2019 Election Study wherein they state that Morrison "was the most popular leader since Kevin Rudd in 2007, scoring 5.1 on a zero to 10 popularity scale". I'm not changing my view - I'm playing a longer game. The Guardian Essential poll shows that voter disapproval of Morrison has crept up in the second half of 2019, from 34% in July to 43% in December.


Destiny is not a matter of chance; it is a matter of choice.” ― William Jennings Bryan

"My destiny was to be PM. Jesus chose me"

- Scott Morrison. OK, I made that up, but we know he believes it.

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