- Bettina Arndt’s Order of Australia is further questioned after allegations surface
- Being strip searched in public was one of the most terrifying ordeals of my life
- McKenzie joined gun club mere days before rubber stamping their funding
- What refereeing your kids taught me about our politics
- The local organisation solving homelessness without government help
With the election too close to call, and social media trumpeting the value of the donkey vote, there’s only one group to blame.
To mug a line
once repeatedly uttered shouted by Walter Sobchak: You see what happens Australia? Do you see what happens? Do you see what happens when you fuck an election in the *expletive deleted*?
As it stands, the main thing we know, is nothing. At the time of writing, 9:14 in the PM, were are no closer to knowing the name of our PM. The seats won thus far are L/NP 65, ALP 67. Not that that means much. A hung parliament is rather likely indeed, and with it another round of Auspol Russian roulette with the electorate shouting “Mau!”, slapping the process across its teared, beaten face. How did we crash through the basement of parliament?
Well, there’s one political party we can all hang the sombrero of blame on. Not the neo-cons, nor the far left, but those who rode into the booths atop a mule.
Before, during and after Saturday, the Lib-O-Vision (Facebook – Ed) was flooded by neg vibes and smugness. It was suddenly in vogue to donkey vote. From the most minor of social media trends (in which the largest phallus drawn on the ballot was deemed the winner by popular vote #irony), to The Simpsons references (voting for Kang and Kodos), to the man who etched a kebab order on the paper, all because voting didn’t matter…oh, you fools; how it does.
Your gripes of “It wouldn’t have made a difference”, and/or “they’re both the same” are void, and true coated in the most vicious of ironies, because this is where the numbers currently lie:
Those who decided not to decide have missed a bleedingly obvious point: we’re not electing Miss Summernats (which probably would have been taken more seriously). We’re electing the man all of us have to live with for the next four years, and moreover the shape of the future. Even those who correctly saddled up el burro will have to endure whatever is yet to come. Presumably, the response from that set will be: “Not my fault, I didn’t vote for them”. Brilliant, if you’re going to act like children; let me put it this way for you:
Think of a classroom. We’re all there to learn, but the cool kid continually disturbs the learning process with his tittering voice, raised hand and etchings of the male reproductive organ. While we may all momentarily laugh at the cool kid’s juvenile rhetoric, we soon return to our books. Because we’re there to do something important, not validate the cool kid’s existence.
Being the cool kid in the polling booth is the same as being the cool kid in class. As adulthood repeatedly teaches us, forgoing the big boy pants in life’s events that require such clothing leaves you forever wearing the culottes of the cool kid. And who has heard from the cool kid since school? Beyond barely recognising them behind the counter of the service station they are currently pissing their lives away at, holding onto the memories that everyone else has moved on from. Man. That’s cool.
And so it goes with the Australian political system, as we all will rightfully complain about the disturbance made by the cool kid, the cool kid will misconstrue this judgement as attention, and validation, and thusly will not learn, carrying on with this behaviour next election, pulling the same moves, telling the same jokes, rebelliously chewing the gum soon to be rebelliously stuck underneath the chair.
But know this: the cool kid covets attention – attention to divert from the fact that they don’t understand the class, because they weren’t smart enough to listen. To all those reading this who donkey voted, yes, we’re all now in political detention because of you, and no, we don’t think you’re cool.