Remember how a couple of months ago ScoMo brought the Tongan prime minister to tears? Sopoaga used to eat sedition charges for a light breakfast so it must’ve been some proper fiery-tongued pentecostal climate denialism the Scuz was spewing around the meeting table that day.
Here’s how I picture it:
A lingering cheshire grin
A lonesome tear; a snarl
A second tear dilutes the rising tide
Ink pools mid-scrawl
The cackling head leaps onto the table
Chairs slide on grief-stricken floorboards
Overcome, the scowl reaches climax
To the words, ‘How good is this?!’
But I wasn’t there. As far as I’m aware, I’m not anywhere. Which is exactly where I intend to be. Behold my Labor Party. We are the decrepit chump flogging two-for-ones to the greatest contortion show ever to exist on this terminal Earth.
The ALP as you’ve never seen it before, because now you literally cannot see it.
We’ve gone so teeny, so petite, that the worst of our critics look like they’re fucking mozzies in a darkroom. All hump and no bump.
Meanwhile at LibHQ it’s back to ‘business as usual’ or, as one genius put it, such ‘an imploding supermassive shitshow of desperate incompetence so violently bunglefucked six ways from Sunday that even listing the major oh-no moments feels like shamewanking over grief porn’.
Wank away, I say. That little truffle was written before the polis shoved Excalibur through its own frontal lobe in the least honourable seppuku since Adolf said fuck it.
Here’s a few recent ‘oh-no’s. Until a month ago, David Littleproud, federal water minister during extreme drought, “didn’t know” if climate change is manmade. Craig Kelly MP likened an indigenous voice in parliament to apartheid. And Pauline Hanson may yet be on a panel to overhaul the Family Court.
And yet, nothing in this montage tops the image of our ScodHead with his Pacific family. A sheeny betrayal, a heartless farewell.
If that doesn’t scare you, what can I do?