Often when politicians are removed from positions of power, they soften. After the inevitable brooding period of watching Yes Minister reruns and trying to remember what they did when they last had time off in the early 2000s, an air of freedom envelopes them. Stripped of the suffocation and isolation of leadership, party lines, expectations and responsibilities, they become themselves again.
It's ironic that this post responsibility/post politics transformation has generally made them more appealing to the public and, in fact, better able to express their views. Leaving cabinet and/or leaving politics, at least in the eyes of the public, makes you better at the job you used to have.
We've seen it countless times, most recently with the current Prime Minister. Malcolm Turnbull was not a popular opposition leader. After Brendan Nelson (yes, remember Brendan Nelson) was removed by Turnbull, there was the suggestion that Kevin Rudd's frenetic populism had met its match. This did not eventuate. A combination of arrogant leadership, liaisons with a treacherous cockroach named Godwin Grech and a failure to get his own party on board with an ETS policy caused his demise within one year. He failed to connect with the public and Abbott ascended. Yet during those many dark days of the Abbott leadership, old Malcolm dug out his leather jacket, bought an iPhone and went on Q and A, a lot.
The public loved it and for the years of horrific drudgery that followed, much of which was catalogued on this blog (along the destruction of my sense of hope), Turnbull was the leader a large number of people wished we had.
Similar turnarounds have occurred before; Paul Keating was largely reviled by the time he left office, now many would love to see him back. Even John Winston Howard, once the bane of my goddamn existence, seems preferable to the horrifying politics of the last 5 years. However, I'm going to go out on a limb. This will not happen to Tony Abbott.
It just won't, because the man is not salvageable. He may become more himself but, you may be surprised to realise, for the last couple of years he's actually been holding himself back. What he says over the next couple of years will leave historians baffled at the collective psychosis that saw him elected. Seriously, he and Mark Latham would not be out of place occupying balcony seats at the theatre, heckling the show from above. It would be like the Muppets, but less funny and more socially damaging.
Tone's recent speech at the Margaret Thatcher lecture in London is a window into his unrestrained and simplistic vision of the world. Tony used the occasion to return to the only policy area where he has any claim to success: refugees and how refugees are bad. His advice to the Europeans was this: by letting these people in you are leading Europe 'into catastrophic error.' His reasoning: such 'misplaced altruism' will cause Europe to 'fundamentally weaken itself.' His solution: 'turning boats around' and that it will 'require some force.'
Feeling proud yet?
Abbott is advising that global refugee policy be revised down to the moral choices facing survivors in an apocalyptic zombie film.
You know those incredibly dangerous inflatable rafts floating around the Mediterranean with hundreds of people, and children, on them? Turn them around. Where to? Um….the first country they got to after Syria.
This is so ridiculous I am at a loss. Firstly, those rafts for the most part are not actually moving under their own steam. They are adrift. Turning them around would mean they would merely be facing the other direction. So what, you are going to tow them back to the Middle East? All of them?
Does he not understand the concept of numbers? If everyone fleeing a conflict just stopped in the first country they got to, that is, the one next door, what would that look like? How would that work? How many would die? What is unspoken here is that Abbott believes that should not enter the calculation. Such a suggestion would not make sense otherwise.
Abbott argues that Europe should study Australia as an example of how to deal with the refugee problem. This is the most backward thing I have ever heard. How European nations, like Germany, have dealt with this crisis should shame us.
Abbott, as I've always suspected, has no shame.
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Thursday, September 24, 2015
Mal-competent
Australians are currently high. Giddily high on the feeling of having a leader who speaks in full sentences, having considered the question he was asked before answering.
On the face of things, this is a pretty basic thing to be high on. It’s sort of like being bowled over when your suitcase arrives promptly at the baggage collection, thrilled when your train arrives on time or ecstatic when you fail to burn your toast. This is a triumph of the mundane – a celebration of not having to grit your teeth and swear under your breath in frustration.
This last week has rushed by, the public riding on waves of relief. Content is back, we forgot how much we love content. It doesn't seem to matter that the current refugee policy remains, or that marriage equality seems doomed to a divisive public vote, or that Scott Morrison is a Treasurer with no idea. We are no longer an embarrassment. Our Prime Minister does not eat raw onions out of the ground; he probably goes to a growers market, one of those fancy ones with the little sprinklers that make the fruit glisten and a shelf in the corner with jars of conserve wrapped in tartan. This guy eats apples, probably, who knows?
For now, this will be enough. We will be less critical and, strangely, less aware of politics than we were before. As long as the new regime can contain its internal differences, it will cruise to the next election with the bold platform of being mildly competent.
This is where you need an effective opposition, to provide a viable alternative, a different vision, a rebuttal of the status quo. What a shame we don't have one. Their political muscles are atrophied from boxing a paper cut-out villain who, oddly, is now reflected in their political rhetoric. The one reminder of Tony Abbott's two year reign of hideous national embarrassment is the continued existence of the sub-optimal bloke who opposed him. 'This is who we preferred to lead back then, haha, how quaint we were.'
There is not time for another coup; it's not practical under current rules in any case. Only the cleansing fire of an electoral humiliation will bring renewal and torch the dead wood. Then, and only then, will we have a game worth playing.
Until then, we have a born-to-rule Emperor of the centre-right.
Just bask in the normality.
On the face of things, this is a pretty basic thing to be high on. It’s sort of like being bowled over when your suitcase arrives promptly at the baggage collection, thrilled when your train arrives on time or ecstatic when you fail to burn your toast. This is a triumph of the mundane – a celebration of not having to grit your teeth and swear under your breath in frustration.
This last week has rushed by, the public riding on waves of relief. Content is back, we forgot how much we love content. It doesn't seem to matter that the current refugee policy remains, or that marriage equality seems doomed to a divisive public vote, or that Scott Morrison is a Treasurer with no idea. We are no longer an embarrassment. Our Prime Minister does not eat raw onions out of the ground; he probably goes to a growers market, one of those fancy ones with the little sprinklers that make the fruit glisten and a shelf in the corner with jars of conserve wrapped in tartan. This guy eats apples, probably, who knows?
For now, this will be enough. We will be less critical and, strangely, less aware of politics than we were before. As long as the new regime can contain its internal differences, it will cruise to the next election with the bold platform of being mildly competent.
This is where you need an effective opposition, to provide a viable alternative, a different vision, a rebuttal of the status quo. What a shame we don't have one. Their political muscles are atrophied from boxing a paper cut-out villain who, oddly, is now reflected in their political rhetoric. The one reminder of Tony Abbott's two year reign of hideous national embarrassment is the continued existence of the sub-optimal bloke who opposed him. 'This is who we preferred to lead back then, haha, how quaint we were.'
There is not time for another coup; it's not practical under current rules in any case. Only the cleansing fire of an electoral humiliation will bring renewal and torch the dead wood. Then, and only then, will we have a game worth playing.
Until then, we have a born-to-rule Emperor of the centre-right.
Just bask in the normality.
Thursday, September 17, 2015
Bill Shock
"[B]y God… our country is so much better than this."
Is it though? The last 5 years, 3 months have been a political shit show that has managed to mix engrossingly treacherous leadership beat-downs with incredibly tedious and repetitive 'debates' in which no one was convinced of anything. The reality is treacherous leadership beat-downs are the only thing Australian politics has going for it at the moment.
As if this is news to anyone, but the public is now so clearly detached from the political process that memories of this week's events will fade into a fog of indifference. Wake me up when we have a new Prime Minister.
There does seem to be a sense of relief in Turnbull's ascension, and a sense that propriety has returned. An actual Prime Minister: born to rule attitude, leather jacket smugness, the too-rich-to-be-touch-with-the-electorate arrogance. This guy will still fuck you, but he'll most likely ask first before ignoring your protests. And hey, look: he's wearing an iWatch.
Shorten is panicked of course, because for the last two years he has been up against a cartoon character. He's been fighting a Wile E. Coyote type figure that constantly opened Acme cases that exploded in his face. Abbott's most spectacular achievement must be the fact that he made Bill Shorten look like the Road Runner. Bill Shorten is not even convincing when asked if his name is Bill Shorten.
His incredibly tedious rhythm of speaking echoes a ten year old reading a social studies presentation his mum wrote for him, or a class of six year olds reciting "Good morning Miss Voter" at the start of each day. He has the gravitas of an acrylic sock puppet, and whoever has their hand up his arse is anyone's guess. His appearance in the middle of the Liberal Party spill coverage to recite a paragraph of instantly forgettable dross speaks to his complete lack of political instinct. Just what that did, other than provide an instant, inferior comparison to Turnbull's slick, confident statement announcing the challenge, is beyond me.
Turnbull's main rival will not be Shorten in any case; it will be elements within his own party who wish him ill. There are many that do. If Turnbull is constantly fighting leaks and animosity from former Abbott zealots then he may stumble, and give Bill Shorten the most staggeringly undeserved election win since, well…the last election.
And then the shit show will continue.
Wake me up when we have a new Prime Minister.
Is it though? The last 5 years, 3 months have been a political shit show that has managed to mix engrossingly treacherous leadership beat-downs with incredibly tedious and repetitive 'debates' in which no one was convinced of anything. The reality is treacherous leadership beat-downs are the only thing Australian politics has going for it at the moment.
As if this is news to anyone, but the public is now so clearly detached from the political process that memories of this week's events will fade into a fog of indifference. Wake me up when we have a new Prime Minister.
There does seem to be a sense of relief in Turnbull's ascension, and a sense that propriety has returned. An actual Prime Minister: born to rule attitude, leather jacket smugness, the too-rich-to-be-touch-with-the-electorate arrogance. This guy will still fuck you, but he'll most likely ask first before ignoring your protests. And hey, look: he's wearing an iWatch.
Shorten is panicked of course, because for the last two years he has been up against a cartoon character. He's been fighting a Wile E. Coyote type figure that constantly opened Acme cases that exploded in his face. Abbott's most spectacular achievement must be the fact that he made Bill Shorten look like the Road Runner. Bill Shorten is not even convincing when asked if his name is Bill Shorten.
His incredibly tedious rhythm of speaking echoes a ten year old reading a social studies presentation his mum wrote for him, or a class of six year olds reciting "Good morning Miss Voter" at the start of each day. He has the gravitas of an acrylic sock puppet, and whoever has their hand up his arse is anyone's guess. His appearance in the middle of the Liberal Party spill coverage to recite a paragraph of instantly forgettable dross speaks to his complete lack of political instinct. Just what that did, other than provide an instant, inferior comparison to Turnbull's slick, confident statement announcing the challenge, is beyond me.
Turnbull's main rival will not be Shorten in any case; it will be elements within his own party who wish him ill. There are many that do. If Turnbull is constantly fighting leaks and animosity from former Abbott zealots then he may stumble, and give Bill Shorten the most staggeringly undeserved election win since, well…the last election.
And then the shit show will continue.
Wake me up when we have a new Prime Minister.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Outbreak
If things were stupid earlier in the week, then it's hard to think of a word to describe what is happening in the ALP right now. There have been challenges to the leadership before, and yes, challenges to the Prime Ministership, but those were carried out with a reasonable degree of decorum. What is happening now is not decorum. It is both a measure of how much Kevin Rudd is despised in cabinet and how good he is at keeping that fact separate from his public persona. I can not recall a politician from a major party who could produce so much hatred from colleagues yet be so popular with the public. It is usually the other way round.
Kevin Rudd's press conference yesterday announcing his resignation as Foreign Minister was essentially a self serving whinge setting up a challenge, without explicitly committing to a challenge. All that was missing was the tiny violins and a minder offering him a big bowl of strawberry ice cream. It was ridiculous, and perfect. Rudd managed to sound a convincing victim, he decried the soap opera, the attacks and the undermining. He almost made you forget that what he was actually doing was describing his own behaviour of the last 18 months, rather than that of anyone else. After ten minutes of chewing out his attackers for taking the media focus off the issues and asserting that the Australian public will not stand for it, he then went ahead and asked his caucus colleagues to consider who is best placed to beat Tony Abbott at the next election.
He is taking the piss.
That he was able to say that within the context of his announcement with a straight face and sound compelling at the same time is deeply disturbing.
What followed was an outbreak of candour that spread through the Labor caucus like a particularly nasty stomach virus. It spewed forth almost involuntarily; like they were suddenly overcome by a long inactive gag reflex. They ran to the media latrines and deposited their rancid internal discourse. This is what the media had longed for; for the ALP to finally step up and publicly soil themselves on national TV. The ALP obliged.
Wayne Swan released an extraordinary statement opening a can of whoop arse on the state of the Rudd Government in 2010, Tony Burke went on 7.30 and essentially said that Kevin Rudd was biggest prick he'd ever met, Greg Combet and Simon Crean continued their earlier attacks basically telling Rudd to shut his pie hole, and Julia Gillard, while announcing a Monday leadership ballot, accused Rudd of the electoral sabotage of the 2010 campaign. What is clearly evident is that if Kevin Rudd wins the upcoming ballot, a large portion of the current cabinet will find their positions untenable.
On the other side, Doug Cameron went on Lateline to defend Rudd and decry the 'faceless men', which he refused to name even though he said he knew who they were, presumably because people would then attach faces to them, rendering his catchcry useless. 'Faceless men' doesn't really even mean anything anymore. It's essentially a reference to a political bogey man who represents an obstacle to any given MPs agenda. It is meaningless twaddle.
Bruce Hawker was everywhere, saying words. No one wanted to listen, but that has never stopped a pundit before. He's like a homeless man on the edge of sanity, all he can do is walk around with his shopping trolley full of cans, half-screaming 'Kevin 07' at semi-attentive ducks in a nearby water fountain.
For a change, Tony Abbott has said basically nothing. The silence is deafening, because it's clear that he doesn't need to do anything now.
Just to wait.
Wait.
And then win.
Kevin Rudd's press conference yesterday announcing his resignation as Foreign Minister was essentially a self serving whinge setting up a challenge, without explicitly committing to a challenge. All that was missing was the tiny violins and a minder offering him a big bowl of strawberry ice cream. It was ridiculous, and perfect. Rudd managed to sound a convincing victim, he decried the soap opera, the attacks and the undermining. He almost made you forget that what he was actually doing was describing his own behaviour of the last 18 months, rather than that of anyone else. After ten minutes of chewing out his attackers for taking the media focus off the issues and asserting that the Australian public will not stand for it, he then went ahead and asked his caucus colleagues to consider who is best placed to beat Tony Abbott at the next election.
He is taking the piss.
That he was able to say that within the context of his announcement with a straight face and sound compelling at the same time is deeply disturbing.
What followed was an outbreak of candour that spread through the Labor caucus like a particularly nasty stomach virus. It spewed forth almost involuntarily; like they were suddenly overcome by a long inactive gag reflex. They ran to the media latrines and deposited their rancid internal discourse. This is what the media had longed for; for the ALP to finally step up and publicly soil themselves on national TV. The ALP obliged.
Wayne Swan released an extraordinary statement opening a can of whoop arse on the state of the Rudd Government in 2010, Tony Burke went on 7.30 and essentially said that Kevin Rudd was biggest prick he'd ever met, Greg Combet and Simon Crean continued their earlier attacks basically telling Rudd to shut his pie hole, and Julia Gillard, while announcing a Monday leadership ballot, accused Rudd of the electoral sabotage of the 2010 campaign. What is clearly evident is that if Kevin Rudd wins the upcoming ballot, a large portion of the current cabinet will find their positions untenable.
On the other side, Doug Cameron went on Lateline to defend Rudd and decry the 'faceless men', which he refused to name even though he said he knew who they were, presumably because people would then attach faces to them, rendering his catchcry useless. 'Faceless men' doesn't really even mean anything anymore. It's essentially a reference to a political bogey man who represents an obstacle to any given MPs agenda. It is meaningless twaddle.
Bruce Hawker was everywhere, saying words. No one wanted to listen, but that has never stopped a pundit before. He's like a homeless man on the edge of sanity, all he can do is walk around with his shopping trolley full of cans, half-screaming 'Kevin 07' at semi-attentive ducks in a nearby water fountain.
For a change, Tony Abbott has said basically nothing. The silence is deafening, because it's clear that he doesn't need to do anything now.
Just to wait.
Wait.
And then win.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Let's Get Stabby
It takes a lot to wake me out of my political slumber these days. Outrage is tiring, everyone knows that, but who would have thought you could get jaded about being jaded? How can you be too cynical to be bothered coming up with something cynical that makes your friends send you worried text messages? Well, whatever the level of numbness that is required for that to happen has happened to me with federal politics.
A level has been reached. When the same stuff continues to happen over and over again; the same catchphrases, the same predictable responses, there comes a point when you yourself become predictable and catchphrasey. In short, there are not enough synonyms for bullshit. Or despair. Or galloping incompetence. If the Inuit People have 100 words for snow (they don't by the way), then why don’t Australian political journalists have 100 words for mediocrity? It would come in handy for both describing the political landscape and for padding out award announcements at the Walkey's.
Anyway, as with everyone in this country, I got bored after a while and watched My Restaurant Rules.
This is all moot anyway, because something has poked through the numbness. Although it is bullshit, involves despair, galloping incompetence and mediocrity, it was the near perfect juncture of all of those things that managed to tear me away from a TV show of people cooking things in houses: a classic ALP leadership bullshit-a-thon that ever so casually urinated on the highest office we have. It has everything: premature number counts, a ridiculous video leak that was so ham fisted no one could work out who leaked it and why, Tony Abbott breaking out his 'election' chant 2010 style, Peter Garrett being on TV and wishing that he wasn't, and bullshit, oh so much bullshit.
Whether Kevin Rudd actually wants the Prime Ministership back or to merely detonate Julia Gillard's I do not know. Ether way, it's clear that he has a head injury of some kind.
Rudd's chances of taking back the leadership without triggering the election Tony Abbott wants oh so much is sketchy. Rob Oakeshott will not openly support him, if a challenge does happen he'll go home and think about it for three weeks before giving a four-hour press conference that makes everyone want to kill themselves. Windsor will be much the same, except his speech will be shorter. It's actually more likely that Rudd would be relying on neither of them, instead approaching Wilkie and Katter for support. If he thinks that will work he is high. He can look forward to being the leader of the newest minor party in Australia.
If he knows that a return is impossible and he is simply trying to destroy Julia Gillard, then words can not explain the depths of his insanity.
The other scenario is that this is all just bullshit the media have drummed up because of the things I talked about in the first few paragraphs, you know, the depressing stuff.
Whatever the scenario I'm awake now. How long I'm awake for will depend on how many times I hear the phrases 'great big new tax', 'we need an election' and 'luxury refugee apartments with free walk in humidor and speedboat timeshare.'
Won't be long I'm sure.
A level has been reached. When the same stuff continues to happen over and over again; the same catchphrases, the same predictable responses, there comes a point when you yourself become predictable and catchphrasey. In short, there are not enough synonyms for bullshit. Or despair. Or galloping incompetence. If the Inuit People have 100 words for snow (they don't by the way), then why don’t Australian political journalists have 100 words for mediocrity? It would come in handy for both describing the political landscape and for padding out award announcements at the Walkey's.
Anyway, as with everyone in this country, I got bored after a while and watched My Restaurant Rules.
This is all moot anyway, because something has poked through the numbness. Although it is bullshit, involves despair, galloping incompetence and mediocrity, it was the near perfect juncture of all of those things that managed to tear me away from a TV show of people cooking things in houses: a classic ALP leadership bullshit-a-thon that ever so casually urinated on the highest office we have. It has everything: premature number counts, a ridiculous video leak that was so ham fisted no one could work out who leaked it and why, Tony Abbott breaking out his 'election' chant 2010 style, Peter Garrett being on TV and wishing that he wasn't, and bullshit, oh so much bullshit.
Whether Kevin Rudd actually wants the Prime Ministership back or to merely detonate Julia Gillard's I do not know. Ether way, it's clear that he has a head injury of some kind.
Rudd's chances of taking back the leadership without triggering the election Tony Abbott wants oh so much is sketchy. Rob Oakeshott will not openly support him, if a challenge does happen he'll go home and think about it for three weeks before giving a four-hour press conference that makes everyone want to kill themselves. Windsor will be much the same, except his speech will be shorter. It's actually more likely that Rudd would be relying on neither of them, instead approaching Wilkie and Katter for support. If he thinks that will work he is high. He can look forward to being the leader of the newest minor party in Australia.
If he knows that a return is impossible and he is simply trying to destroy Julia Gillard, then words can not explain the depths of his insanity.
The other scenario is that this is all just bullshit the media have drummed up because of the things I talked about in the first few paragraphs, you know, the depressing stuff.
Whatever the scenario I'm awake now. How long I'm awake for will depend on how many times I hear the phrases 'great big new tax', 'we need an election' and 'luxury refugee apartments with free walk in humidor and speedboat timeshare.'
Won't be long I'm sure.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
The Call
Swan: Hey Bowen
Bowen: Make it quick Swan I'm having breakfast.
Swan: What are you having?
Bowen: I said quick Swan.
Swan: Okay, well, you know how I'm acting Prime Minister?
Bowen: No one gives a shit.
Swan: But I am right?
Bowen: (sigh)….yes.
Swan: Okay, cool. And you're aware of this Malaysia thing we've got for those boat guys.
Bowen: Dimly.
Swan: You serious?
Bowen: No I'm not serious numb nuts, get on with it.
Swan: Alright, so we've got this shitty Malaysia thing right?
Bowen: Sure do.
Swan: But no one likes it.
Bowen: Nup
Swan: Do they?
Bowen: No.
Swan: Why?
Bowen: Does this have an ending Swan?
Swan: Yeah, okay, alright. Well, do you remember that shitty policy Howard had? Moro
or something?
Bowen: Nauru.
Swan: Yeah, sorry, I was thinking of the chocolate bar.
Bowen:…Anyway, Nauru yeah, the Lib policy.
Swan: Well what if we had our crappy Malaysia thing AND their shitty Nauru thing? Everyone would be happy right?
Bowen:….what?
Swan: It'll be win-win.
Bowen: Wait…who's going to win?
Swan: Us.
Bowen: I don't fucking think so.
Swan: Well who will?
Bowen: Abbott you fucking idiot. This is madness. Are you on the cold tablets again?
Swan: No I've moved to Echinacea, it really is ver…
Bowen: Shut the fuck up Swan…just….FUCK.
Swan: What?
Bowen: You want to give Abbott his policy; Howard's policy?
Swan: And ours. We'd have ours. We'll both have something, that's a solution.
Bowen: It's not.
Swan: It sort of is.
Bowen: Not really.
Swan: I can't really see any other solution than everyone having what they want.
Bowen: There's a reason for that.
Swan: What?
Bowen: Nothing. How will this work? The policies are in conflict.
Swan: But we're settling the conflict.
Bowen: No, they have parts that are mutually exclusive.
Swan: …
Bowen: It means you can only do one or the other.
Swan: This is my decision.
Bowen: To make no decision?
Swan: Well, that's sort of a decision.
Bowen: (sigh)
Swan: Julia said I'm in change.
Bowen: Charge.
Swan: Yes, charge. I was thinking of the coins, you know the one in you poc…
Bowen: SWAN! Fine, look, fine whatever, both policies, we'll do both policies. When are we doing this?
Swan: Well, you're on ABC News Breakfast in five minutes. Just, you know, hit it out of the ball park. You know, a hole in one?
Bowen:…
Swan: Bowen?
Bowen:…
Swan: Bowen?
Bowen:…
Swan: Are you there Bowen?
Bowen: Yes.
Swan: The phone went funny, the Libs really did a hash job on Telstra…
Bowen: Shut up Swan, just shut up. I've got to go.
Swan: Seeya mate, have fun! Can you call me back when you're done?
Bowen: -click-
Swan: Must have been disconnected.
Bowen: Make it quick Swan I'm having breakfast.
Swan: What are you having?
Bowen: I said quick Swan.
Swan: Okay, well, you know how I'm acting Prime Minister?
Bowen: No one gives a shit.
Swan: But I am right?
Bowen: (sigh)….yes.
Swan: Okay, cool. And you're aware of this Malaysia thing we've got for those boat guys.
Bowen: Dimly.
Swan: You serious?
Bowen: No I'm not serious numb nuts, get on with it.
Swan: Alright, so we've got this shitty Malaysia thing right?
Bowen: Sure do.
Swan: But no one likes it.
Bowen: Nup
Swan: Do they?
Bowen: No.
Swan: Why?
Bowen: Does this have an ending Swan?
Swan: Yeah, okay, alright. Well, do you remember that shitty policy Howard had? Moro
or something?
Bowen: Nauru.
Swan: Yeah, sorry, I was thinking of the chocolate bar.
Bowen:…Anyway, Nauru yeah, the Lib policy.
Swan: Well what if we had our crappy Malaysia thing AND their shitty Nauru thing? Everyone would be happy right?
Bowen:….what?
Swan: It'll be win-win.
Bowen: Wait…who's going to win?
Swan: Us.
Bowen: I don't fucking think so.
Swan: Well who will?
Bowen: Abbott you fucking idiot. This is madness. Are you on the cold tablets again?
Swan: No I've moved to Echinacea, it really is ver…
Bowen: Shut the fuck up Swan…just….FUCK.
Swan: What?
Bowen: You want to give Abbott his policy; Howard's policy?
Swan: And ours. We'd have ours. We'll both have something, that's a solution.
Bowen: It's not.
Swan: It sort of is.
Bowen: Not really.
Swan: I can't really see any other solution than everyone having what they want.
Bowen: There's a reason for that.
Swan: What?
Bowen: Nothing. How will this work? The policies are in conflict.
Swan: But we're settling the conflict.
Bowen: No, they have parts that are mutually exclusive.
Swan: …
Bowen: It means you can only do one or the other.
Swan: This is my decision.
Bowen: To make no decision?
Swan: Well, that's sort of a decision.
Bowen: (sigh)
Swan: Julia said I'm in change.
Bowen: Charge.
Swan: Yes, charge. I was thinking of the coins, you know the one in you poc…
Bowen: SWAN! Fine, look, fine whatever, both policies, we'll do both policies. When are we doing this?
Swan: Well, you're on ABC News Breakfast in five minutes. Just, you know, hit it out of the ball park. You know, a hole in one?
Bowen:…
Swan: Bowen?
Bowen:…
Swan: Bowen?
Bowen:…
Swan: Are you there Bowen?
Bowen: Yes.
Swan: The phone went funny, the Libs really did a hash job on Telstra…
Bowen: Shut up Swan, just shut up. I've got to go.
Swan: Seeya mate, have fun! Can you call me back when you're done?
Bowen: -click-
Swan: Must have been disconnected.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Ode to Harry
Harry Jenkins was cursed with being really good at a really shit job. So good was he at this job, that when he last tried to resign the very people who spent the majority of their time making his job shit wouldn't let him. They even went to the extent of trying to make his job not shit for five whole minutes; they said nice things, they were polite, they flattered, and then they went back to making him want to kill himself.
But cursed he is no more. This morning he successfully tricked somebody into accepting his resignation with no backsies. He's done, and he's managed to serve the Coalition a shit sandwich in the process. But that's not the most important thing for him, the most important thing is: he's not the Speaker anymore.
The amount of patience required to be the Speaker in the House of Representatives, particularly this current House of Representatives, is on a plain of existence few of us can reach. I don't know if Harry meditated, got frequent massages, or had the occasional wristy release behind the big chair, but whatever he did: it worked. How he never stood up and screamed at Pyne to shut his pompous pie hole I will never understand.
How many censure motions did he have to sit through? How many ridiculous and childish question time spit ball fights did he have to adjudicate? Remember, most MPs can just sit back and ignore this stuff when it gets too much, or better yet, leave the chamber. Harry though, not only had to listen to all this shit but because of the peculiar nature of debate in parliament, it was all addressed to him. "Mr. Speaker, I believe the Member for Lyons is talking through his hat Mr. Speaker, and Bob Brown is the Prime Minister Mr. Speaker, and I've spoiled my trousers Mr. Speaker." Literally like a bunch of annoying five year olds telling you about their most recent bathroom adventure.
He sat through all that, and yet he still managed to be funny, withering and to not go completely bat-shit insane. That is probably the greatest single achievement of any elected official during this term of parliament: "Successful maintenance of sanity while babysitting group of contemptuous fuckwits." That should go on his resume.
His replacement will be Peter Slipper, who counts among his many achievements falling asleep in parliament and dressing himself. Parliament will soon resemble that episode of the Simpsons where Ned Flanders takes over as Principle. Rob Oakeshott will be suspended in a cage above the floor of the House of Reps meekly complaining that his waterbowl is empty; Joe Hockey will squirt tomato sauce on his naked torso and happily exclaim that he is forgetting stuff he used to know. In short, parliament will descend even further into a debauched freak show exhibiting the baser elements of the human condition.
We will miss you Harry.
But cursed he is no more. This morning he successfully tricked somebody into accepting his resignation with no backsies. He's done, and he's managed to serve the Coalition a shit sandwich in the process. But that's not the most important thing for him, the most important thing is: he's not the Speaker anymore.
The amount of patience required to be the Speaker in the House of Representatives, particularly this current House of Representatives, is on a plain of existence few of us can reach. I don't know if Harry meditated, got frequent massages, or had the occasional wristy release behind the big chair, but whatever he did: it worked. How he never stood up and screamed at Pyne to shut his pompous pie hole I will never understand.
How many censure motions did he have to sit through? How many ridiculous and childish question time spit ball fights did he have to adjudicate? Remember, most MPs can just sit back and ignore this stuff when it gets too much, or better yet, leave the chamber. Harry though, not only had to listen to all this shit but because of the peculiar nature of debate in parliament, it was all addressed to him. "Mr. Speaker, I believe the Member for Lyons is talking through his hat Mr. Speaker, and Bob Brown is the Prime Minister Mr. Speaker, and I've spoiled my trousers Mr. Speaker." Literally like a bunch of annoying five year olds telling you about their most recent bathroom adventure.
He sat through all that, and yet he still managed to be funny, withering and to not go completely bat-shit insane. That is probably the greatest single achievement of any elected official during this term of parliament: "Successful maintenance of sanity while babysitting group of contemptuous fuckwits." That should go on his resume.
His replacement will be Peter Slipper, who counts among his many achievements falling asleep in parliament and dressing himself. Parliament will soon resemble that episode of the Simpsons where Ned Flanders takes over as Principle. Rob Oakeshott will be suspended in a cage above the floor of the House of Reps meekly complaining that his waterbowl is empty; Joe Hockey will squirt tomato sauce on his naked torso and happily exclaim that he is forgetting stuff he used to know. In short, parliament will descend even further into a debauched freak show exhibiting the baser elements of the human condition.
We will miss you Harry.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)