Finally, after seven weeks of tawdry sexual imagery and poorly formed sporting parallels, TPA’s Alasdair McClintock puts this madness to rest.
The Night Before Shitmas
After several torrid months we now find ourselves here, on the eve of the election. Thank heavens. I don’t think it’s just me, but I have felt a real disconnection from this election and I’ve been tasked with analysing* the fucking thing.
Tomorrow, after I cast my vote, I will just be relieved I don’t have to pretend I’m on the phone when passing people handing out propaganda on the street anymore. I’ll still have to do it for charity workers, but you can’t have it all.
Strangely, I still don’t know who I will be voting for. The urge to draw a dick and balls on the ballot paper is strong this year. Real strong. But, as my father pointed out, the only person to see that dick and balls will likely be some lovely old lady volunteering her time to count the votes and she doesn’t need to be confronted with such a grotesque depiction of the male genitalia while doing her bit for the free world, does she?
Maybe she does … Maybe it will give her a thrill.
But horny old grandmothers aside, all signs point to this being a very close election. There is a very good chance we will have a new Government come Sunday and Bill Shorten will be our new Prime Minister – despite the fact he is well behind on pretty much every poll you care to dig up. I still haven’t decided whether this would be a good thing or not.
I disagree strongly with a lot of the Liberal Party’s policies, but I can’t say I’m too down with Labor’s either. Vote Independent or Green! I hear you holler. Well, I just can’t shake the feeling that would largely be pointless, given the electorate I’m in. I guarantee you they’re not getting in around here.
The highlight for me and many others will be the sausage sizzle and with the candidates being so similar the biggest decision a lot of us will have to make is whether to have tomato sauce or not. It is a tough one, to be sure, but I’m going to back ‘Yes’ in for the majority on that one. Although, personally, I will be voting for mustard.
As for The Big One, I’m going to go with Burt the psychic crocodile and back Malcolm and the gang to sneak it in, on the back of Bill Shorten’s staggering lack of charisma. Dick and balls might run a close third, with the Greens not too far behind.
I’m just pleased that after seven weeks we can finally put this monstrosity to rest. It has dug its own grave, said its prayers and as it kneels before the shallow hole, shotgun to its head, I’m not sure I’m even willing to afford it any final words.
I know what they’re going to be anyway … “Jobs and economy.”
In this eight week tribute to jibber-jabber, TPA’s Alasdair McClintock takes us through the highs and lows of the upcoming federal election. Proving, once and for all, that when it comes to politics, he has no idea what he’s talking about.
What kind of lunatic wants to lead this great country of ours? Are they so naive they think they can make a difference?
Or just power-mad degenerates who yearn for their names in the history books?
It is a thankless job. Australia, as a whole, is such a fickle beast. We are as vile, ruthless and vicious as we are open, forgiving and thankful. So quick to turn on each other, then defend one and other should someone else join in the vitriol. Soaked to our eyeballs in Bundaberg Rum and Victoria Bitter, we are convinced of our own ability to ‘do a better job’ leading the country than those who actually jump through the hoops and attempt it.
And why not? Our leaders have been about as productive as Mitchell Pearce’s State of Origin career of late. Thankfully, the pooches in Canberra have been left out of the scandals, but how long will that last for?
We’ve had our fair share of dreamers, narcissists, holy men and alcoholics. Now we have two gnomes men. Driven by what? Power? Fame? Ego? Sex? I can’t imagine many ridgey-didge, jaw-dropping political groupies are roaming the streets of the nation’s capital, desperate for some pasty, white, middle aged flesh to be pressed up against them. So I’m certain it can’t be the sex. You don’t need to be a politician to walk into an S&M club.
And it’s certainly not for the fortune.
Malcolm ‘Harbourside Mansion’ Turnbull could probably buy the country if he wanted to. Wiping out this all powerful budget deficit in one fell swoop, with enough spare change for some raspberry daiquiris at Casablanca in Double Bay. And Bill “Beaconsfield” Shorten could surely make more money in the private sector. Doing what? I don’t know. I’m not sure he’s doing anything now, as it is.
So if not sex, money or power – the traditional motivations of the red-blooded male – it must be ego. Ego: the only thing, apart from our thumbs, that separates us from the monkeys. Or so I’m led to believe. I’ve met some pretty egotistical monkeys.
A wise Venezuelan once said to me “Do you know that the problem with the human race is, Aldo?” He then wrote ‘EGO’ in bold capital letters on the notepad in front of him, crossed it out with a furious slash, and confronted me with a tremendous stare that shook me to my boots. Thank you, Roberto. You are an intimidating man, but wise nonetheless.
He was right, of course. In a way. Ego is as much our downfall as it is our success. Could you trust a man driven solely by ego? Maybe, if his interests aligned with yours. Should you? No. Because his interests will never fully align with anyone but himself.
And these are short men, do not forget.* Short men have very little but their egos to keep them going. History has shown us what short men are willing to do, and as exemplified so elegantly in the circus that is the US presidential race, about the worst thing you can do to a proud man is label anything about him “short”.
Needless to say, the Opposition leader has the very word in his last name. This would have been an intolerable cruelty in his high school days. What demons from the schoolyard is Bill still carrying with him? He strikes me as a master manipulator (as all good politicians are) and I do not doubt for a second he soon learned to use bigger kids to act out his dirty work. Bill’s Goons, if you will. Perhaps it’s why he went on to work with the unions.
Turnbull, on the other hand, seems to have fooled himself into believing he could actually be our saviour. From what, Malcolm? Flat screen TVs and annual trips to Bali? You did save us from Tony Abbott, I will give you that, but he still looms like a menacing shadow, all the way from the Northern Beaches to your Point Piper palace. You can’t stab the devil in the back and expect him to go quietly.
However ignorant, evil and misguided as Abbott was, at least he made decisions. Great leaders are known for their decision making and I don’t think Turnbull even confidently picks his tie in the morning. And that should be his forte. We all fell in love with his charming, self-assured style, when he had no real responsibility and the time to subscribe to fad diets and detoxing. He was once accused of being all style and no substance, but that would now be a generous appraisal.
His time in power must have worn him and his self-belief down to all time lows. The cracks are showing. Gone is the glint in his eye and the charming confidence that only comes with someone who has made their fortune and knows they are a success. Now he looks tired and jaded. He has learned it is near impossible to make a difference and still make everyone happy. Because we are all selfish beings who both fear and love our neighbours and don’t even really know what we want, but we sure as hell know we want it now. One suspects, if it weren’t for his ego, he would pull out of this caper altogether.
So who should we vote for come election day? Which of these men is least likely to completely cock things up for us all? Is it even possible for them to make that big a difference to our daily lives? I can’t imagine my social media feed is going to change too dramatically either way. Is Shorten going to make Game of Thrones spoilers punishable by public flogging? I don’t think so.
For all this talk of the ‘great divide’ between the two major parties, they all seem the same bunch of douchebags to me.