Andrew Wicks

A well done Angus: Musings on a truly cooked election

Well, we survived the most moronic, divisive and boring election campaign in living memory. I think we all deserve a round of applause and/or onions on our sausage.

 

 

Well, barring any massive personal injury on the way to the polling booth, we made it. We lived through it, the Great Culture War of 2019. My feelings? Well, to use the legendary tone of a recently-departed public figure:

 

 

There has been severe ocular trauma suffered by the voting public, as the rolling of one’s eyes has been a daily nuisance. It has been an election so grating, so tepid, that Labor’s finest leader felt he had to cease living to spice it up. Vale Hawkie and all that, but having to rub death on something is the same marketing strategy as those hoverboards from two Christmases ago – no-one really cared until they spontaneously caught on fire.

 

 

The clip packages cobbled together to salute Bob merely indicated how far we’ve strayed from an environment of politicians doing things. Hawke gave us Medicare, this election gave us a headache. The closest thing we have to an equal transformative change was the marriage equality vote, but it was framed in such a way that Malcolm’s own people wouldn’t knife him, and for that, the needlessly bullied were also slapped with a bill.

But, let’s focus on this election cycle. Or maybe we shouldn’t.

 

 

For my pesos, it was an election of lows supplanted by lower lows. Considering one of the main topics last week (and hell’s bells) was the inability of Scott Morrison to answer the question ‘do you think gays are going to hell?’, the tone is fairly obvious. Not keen on that? What about the egg as our primary tool of criticism? Pauline Hanson victimising herself on television after one video in a strip club and/or having her position threatened by an equally distasteful Anglo-Saxon numpty.

 

 

No? How about the millennial Warren Commission, the Twitter force that looked into the conspiracy theory that Scott Morrison sullied the toilet at Engadine McDonalds in 1997? It’s ‘anus horribilis’, there had to be a second pooper. There was the rich elderly crying foul from the deck of a leisure yacht (at our expense), there were the swift opening and closing of Christmas Island (at our expense), the bi-partisan plan to bring back Captain Cook (at our expense), and frequent biased opinion, not least Peter Dutton and Tony Abbott being defended in the media by their family members. Pick your poison, freeze it, fashion it into a club and bludgeon yourself with it.

 

 

But wait, there’s more. There were the shape-shifting lizards, Bill Shorten calling out our “gotcha sh*t”, the overcooked taste of a well done Angus, but worst of all, it was tainted by something we cannot abide, the inability of action. The cynicism set in early, only briefly subsiding the moment The Daily Telegraph picked on Bill’s mum. The rest, I believe, was akin to an unenthusiastic handjob by one’s spouse. No-one is really into it, and we just want it to be over and done with.

Whoever wins today, let us learn from this election cycle. We should try to not do the same again.

Or, if we have to, please can we endure less jingo-poetry?

 

 

Please?

 

Andrew Wicks

Andrew Wicks is a country boy with a penchant for movies and sport. After a few years working in health, he decided he'd rather work with today's youth and studied arts and education in rural NSW. His main interests are religion, health and lairy shirts.

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