New England recaptures the title of Dope Capital of Australia
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Barking Barmy Joyce, our most celebrated family man, has resumed his role as the nation's Number 2.
Having a bloviating prosperity cultist who consults eagle paintings for career advice and a habitually pickled alleged sex pest in the top two positions in the country is quite the achievement even for a nation that has sleepwalked through eight years of the Lying Nasty Party's malignant kakocracy.
Deputy PM Mickey McWhatsisname rose from obscurity to become one of the most unrecognised names in politics. He's a man so soporific that migrating birds fall from the sky whenever he speaks. He has the substance of a chalk outline and is now reluctantly returning to his previous role as idiot at large - monitoring exploding cow pats and burning effigies of inner-city, latte-sipping greenie-lefties. Barking Barmy Joyce has resumed the position of leading the ignorance pride parade that is the National Party, the fossil fuel-obsessed creationists who don't believe in fossils.
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It seems that the Nats have decided that exploiting the credulous rubes who love a "character" requires more than just dressing as Elvis. And regional Australia does love its outsiders - how else to explain the incoherent Bob The Mad Katter, One Nation's homunculus and "living soul" Malcolm Roberts (a diminutive Screwloose Lautrec) and Buoy George Christensen the floating member for Manila. So, time to embrace the National's ethos of back to the future and resurrect a bloke whose red kneck joins up at the front - the florid fornicator from New England; Barking Barmy Joyce.
Barmy is the answer to questions no one seems to have asked. Do dinosaurs still roam the earth?
Who's been plucking Gina Rinehart's chin hairs? Do the ladies' lavs in Tamworth pubs have panic rooms?
Barmy lost some skin (and some teeth) when, while maintaining his focus on the bush, his girlfriend's IUD blew up in his face. But you can't keep a cheap drunk down. While he still thinks Wi-Fi is the plural of wife and that gay marriage will damage our cattle exports he's back, promising that his rortin' rootin' days are behind him, updating his register of extra-marital interests and announcing his newly discovered humility via text ($600k expense claim pending).
Barmy is no outlier in the Nats. Despite qualms about his hands-on style from the wimmin in the Party one of Barmy's most enthusiastic supporters and a representative sample of the lead paint lickers is Matt Coalface Canavan of the Man-Coal Love Association. For Matty every paddock, every orchard, every vineyard and every endangered habitat is a coal mine awaiting a government subsidy. Matty's future-focused business acumen - along the lines of a Canavan Saddlery and VCR Rentals franchise, is built on the concept of maximising tax payer inputs to dud investments for familial benefit in the Angus Squizzy Taylor tradition. Matty's support is incidental to his brother's investment in a busted-arse coal mine.
Joyce and Scooter Morrison should be quite a team despite the fact they despise each other.
Joyce the great testiculator waving his arms about and talking bollocks, his puce-faced ranting complementing FauxMo's end-times dogma - the apoplectic and the apocalyptic working together for a shared vision of Australia as a scarred landscape of massive holes in the ground, dry rivers, poisoned acquifers, collapsed eco-systems and dead coral reefs but on the plus side a healthy stream of donations from the eco-vandals of the mining lobby and the water thieves from big agriculture.
Barmy himself may well say "I'm no Albert Weinstein", confusing the iconic genius with the Hollywood sexual predator and zimmer frame test pilot, thereby both proving the point and rekindlng memories of his past proclivities. He's declared that after two years in back-bench penury he's a changed man who does not intend to rejoin his fellow Pepé Le Pew Club members Porter, Tudge and Lamming trawling Canberra's nightspots looking for knee tremblers behind the coat racks. His new crusade is to fuck the country not his staff.
Barnaby Joyce spent $675,000 in expenses but less than three weeks on ground while drought envoy. The Guardian.
Barnaby Joyce signed off $80m for Angus Taylor’s old company after zero was paid for same sort of water nearby. Michael West Media.
An outline of #AngusGates - Yumpu.com