The rehabilitation of Spudkins Dutton
Image: A Twitterati clever clogs
In 1977 Jerry Hall, super model, cover girl and actor ditched the suave Roxy Musician Bryan Ferry for a richer but daggier Mick Jagger. Fast forward many years and Jerry decided to broaden her palate and further stress test her gag reflex by buffing the kransky of Rupert Murdoch - events I have no desire to imagine but it could be somewhat akin to spooning a bag of wet sick. And, this will be coincidental, Rupe has a 22 year head start on Mick to the reading of the will. Now after six stoic years of an uninterrupted 'near death' experience Jerry's patience with the scrotum-headed old fossil's Keith Richards Syndrome has come to its end - she has pulled the plug on the Dirty Digger. Not, unfortunately, that plug - the fucker's still alive. To paraphrase a Ricky Gervais joke, Jerry complained "He may be the world's most amoral, opportunistic grifter and a threat to democracy but he lied about his age. He told me he was 104."
Speculation has now mounted, like a honeymooning gold digger on a nonagenarian's face, about whether Jerry gets ownership of the Liberal Party via the divorce settlement. That's doubtful given Rupie gets off on his agitprop with its sycophantic News tabloid editors, obsequious Sky opinionista and chesty blonde Fox conspiracy spruikers and, especially, his favourite thing - ownership of presidents and prime ministers. There's no evidence Jerry has a direct interest in undermining democratic ideals so likely she will happily leave that to be inherited by the Rupster's dodgy spawn once the wrinkled old fuck finally departs our by then polar ice-free earthly realm.
Following the May electoral defenestration of his L/NP subsidiary Rupert's pamphleteers, bin rummagers and phone hackers are working their way through the grief cycle from shock to denial, anger, sabotage and bastardry. Key to this process is how they re-package their product and its brand ambassador - a bloke with the head and attitude of a copper's truncheon.
Introducing Cuddly Pete, a to be re-modelled tubermensch, that shiny-domed lockless monster ersatzgruppenfritter Spud Dutton who as minister for refugee abuse, when not using kittens to play fetch with an alsation, had his dark-uniformed Gestapotato harass dusky-toned citizens on the streets of Melbourne, treated two little Biloelan girls as dangers to national security and sued an impoverished tweeter for hurt feelings.
The success of Rupert's exercise in spraying cologne on a chum bucket is yet to be proven but it is off to a bad start. Leave aside for the moment that Spud , sorry...Cuddles, is a 20 metre swimmer in a 50 metre pool who thinks shit takes are Japanese mushrooms and feng shui is a Chinese tennis player - in his first press conference as Lib leader Spudley Too-right said "I want to give you this assurance, we've heard loud and clear from the (partisanship-weary) Australian public" to be qualified a short time later with "Our job is to make things difficult for the Government"...so, lessons learnt, eh? Back to an obstructionist, Abbottesque future where after only three weeks Cuddles' troops are laying the blame for nine years of Tory corruption, incompetence and wreckage at Labor's feet.
Cuddly Pete thinks the times will suit him, that the blow-back of the disasterous Tory experiment will reflect poorly on Labor's attempts to restore our national integrity, dignity and functionality - an endeavour that will be enthusiastically supported by Murdoch's flunkies. No doubt Rupert will still be around in three years to see if his investment comes good. Jerry most likely won't give a fuck.