Despite Mal putting everything into his budget, and the uber right weeks that preceded it, he’s still trailing Labor. Guess what happens now.
There’s an old Monty Python sketch that follows a man who trudges through the muddy streets of pestilence-riddled Medieval England, banging a pot, repeating “bring out your dead”. Eventually he happens across a man with an elderly gent heaped over his shoulder, who, despite the continued assurances from his family member is not quite dead.
Somehow, the lines of AusPol now run parallel to those of Python, bringing us the news that the new and improved, edgier Malcolm action figure – with light-up fiscal cannons that fire real centrist budgets – is faulty, and thus, a risk to children of all ages. The latest Newspoll has him further trailing the ALP in the two-party preferred race to the glue factory. Looking at it in unfair, black-and-white, pedestrian assumptions, it looks like he’s done all this work just to lose.
Yes, he’s losing by less now, but with the results of the post-Budget poll, he probably could have announced that he’s transferring the GDP of Australia to his account in the Caymans, while flying there in a lavishly adorned private jet made entirely from the skin of welfare recipients. Like Ed Gein’s G6.
— The Australian (@australian) May 14, 2017
All of that grandstanding and compromise for a minus figure. What’s a Mal to do? Well, we all know what comes next: something we’ve seen before; in fact, twice in not very long at all – a new Prime Minister we didn’t vote for. Very quietly, the pox of parliamentary no confidence will seep into the corridors of power, and soon it’ll be time to roll the wagon down the street as the bodies line the landscape. Bring out your deeeaadd.
This is something which I personally am not keen on. Last election, I voted for Labor, but the one prior to that I voted Liberal. I became a swing voter in part to increase the chances of my choices being relevant in the public sphere – to proudly think, I voted for that; even if it was the wrong choice, I made it. It was me ruining my own chances at security. Me. Not them. Unfortunately, the undercurrent that has long-saturated the heels of AusPol, pooling in deep dankness of backroom dealings, has now morphed into a typhoon of acceptable political thought, and surf is definitely up. Gnarly. It seems we’re not trusted to be able to choose our PM. We wax our boards, but we can’t ride them, because we don’t know how. We never learned for ourselves, so we just pose at the beach, polishing our meaningless fibreglass vote. Every four years they let us loose, but that seems to be more a pity vote, if anything, like our parents rationing out the M&M’s that we bought with our pocket money, because they’re not good for you. It seems to me that the elections do little but enable the pretext of the next spill. Oooh, Mal kicked Tony out, so now Tony will get Mal back. Oooh. See you at the flag pole.
Also on The Big Smoke
- Last night: Who got the best of the budget’s loving?
- Current Affairs Wrap: Trump trumps Trump, ScoMo’s budget drops, KFC’s romance novel
Sadly, that flag pole flutters above that strange looking house in Canberra, where the entirety of our lives as citizens are run – a fact which has me reaching for what lives under the sink.
However, I will close on sickness, and finish with the punchline of that Python bit. The old man, despite feeling happy about his prospects and unwilling to join the cart, is ruthlessly clubbed in the head and heaped into the pile.
That nasty cough you hear in headlines is the first symptom of the next leadership spill.