The Masked Liberal

About The Masked Liberal

The Masked Liberal is an employee of the Federal Government, and because of his political views, he must keep his identity secret. He seeks justice and even political discourse. His car is the LibMobile, and yes, it's right-hand drive.

Twitter wants a Libspill, but Morrison has already changed the rules

This morning, Twitter is speaking of another Libspill, but those interested should heavily salt their expectations.



As the serial number tattooed on the inside of my eyeball dictates, I’m a registered member of the Liberal Party. Why? Well, because I believed in Australia. I believed in the values that they purported, and the people they put forward. Mind you, this was back before the dark days today, one where I’m forced to write under a pall of anonymity, hidden by a mask of cartoonish stupidity. While it’s been rather too easy to blame our detractors (and I’ve fallen into this trap numerous times), I think it’s time we be honest and wipe the mirror clean and finally be honest with ourselves…it’s us, it’s not them. We’ve been worse than bad, we’ve been a self-flagellating nothing.

This morning, in the darkened and cloth’d halls of the mysterious Twitterati, there are rumours abound. As rumours go, they’re bound underneath a hashtag. If it is to be believed, we have another #Libspill on our hands.



The parade of disappointment has been easy to spot, as are the numerous white elephants soiling the pavement. Scott Morrison radicalised the youth of tomorrow against his party, deciding to insult children, with Matt Canavan derided them as “dole bludgers”, subtextually pushing the two parties to fisticuffs, probably in the hope that if the kids swing first and the assumption that they’d lose the upper hand in the argument. Last week, the PM disappeared for most of the week as his state was ablaze, seemingly the tinder to this internet fire. Clearly, we’ve had enough, and because they were unable to vote him out, some are hoping his party boot him out.

The recent history of the Liberal Party is unbelievably lurid, as we witnessed the Montagues and the Capulets of Auspol joining forces, with Tony believing that he could get his old job back, and Malcolm castigating Morrison for bending the rules to save his own. Already we want to already topple Morrison, the man who saved us from Peter Dutton Prime Ministership.

How quickly the worm turns, for never was a story of more woe, than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

However, there’s something we should note, as the sitting PM unexpectedly called upon his flock to toggle the rules, thereby making it harder for a sitting leader to be knifed behind a curtain.

According to Morrison, more people will have to hold the blade. In the mind of Morrison, he’s ushered in a new age of stability, stating that the power to choose will solely* be in the hands of the populace. Which makes no sense, considering that no-one chose to give him the job in the first place. Morrison is the spoiled kid offering a panicked ‘no returns’ to the punch buggy he ruthlessly tagged us with, all in an effort to make sure that the rules were crystal clear, and mum has no power when she finds out.



This is not my beautiful home, this is not my beautiful wife. Well, how did we get here?

I’m unsure, but an increasingly unpopular PM making sure he’s safe to make it to an election he’s absolutely going to lose is our new normal. The cherry on this particularly rancid pastry is the fine print, in that a leader that wins an election is safe(r) for the term. Which, of course, doesn’t apply to Scott Morrison. He’s saving tomorrow. The question is, however, is if the rules can be retroactively applied, and whether said rules count for elections previously won. If so, welcome the renewed march of old foes. Hell’s teeth.

Those are questions. But another is what happened to my party? The wrongdoing, the pans of corruption so obvious, so naked, it reels the mind. It’s akin to seeing a mugging in public, you’re frozen by the sheer unexpected gall of it. Morrison might be the preeminent purse snatcher we shriek in opposition to, but in reality, he’s merely a product of his environment. Morrison just wears the plague mask, the disease has already taken hold. We’re at the Chatroulette stage of government. No-one wants another spill, but grim curiosity forces us to push the button, blindly hoping for someone decent to appear in the mire of masturbators, the odd and the deranged.

O happy dagger, this is thy sheath.




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