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So long, and thanks for all the pish

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 hawke 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.



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