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Having been released from the constraints of the red in tooth and claw capitalist running dogs by retirement the grumpy one now expresses opinions that would have previously limited his career options. (The pseudonym is used simply to avoid familial arguments with Tory-voting kin.) A loathing of Tory politicians is supplemented by an equal disdain for bad language - the corporatese and the flim-flam of sales spruikers, marketers, spin doctors, bureaucrats and politicians. Red-penning the tosh from such types was an upside to having to work with them. The crankiness is offset by a love of motorbicycles, the occasional glass of claret too many and the sun glittering off a blue swell just down the road. Could possibly be identified from the ash down his shirtfront and the egg in his beard.


A farce only a monster could love

The ‘No’ campaign and the Trumpifaction of the tinpotato

It has been said that Donald Trump appealed to many millions of Americans because he gave them permission to be the very worst of what they always were. In a divided and acrimonious USA a scandal-weary public has become numbed to the orange Trumplethinskin’s outrages, while others have gleefully embraced them.

The botoxed, duck-lipped Fox News Barbies, the goateed ammosexuals, the evangelical god fodder, antisemites, trailer trash and white supremacists, the defiantly ignorant oicks, evolutionary dead-enders, low information, chuckleheaded moon units, the proto-nazi authoritarians and the kooks and goons admire his cruelty. They like the hideous aspects of his character. An increasingly desperate Trump may be headed to prison but Trumpism lives on in the GOP. He has normalised the nasty.

“MAGA voters won’t change. They’re in a statist, authoritarian cult driven by racial animus, lurid conspiracy twaddle, and a corrupt media-entertainment outrage complex that has conditioned them to constant outrage with a steady drip of agitprop.” (Rick Wilson – American political strategist and former member of the Republican Party).

Meanwhile here in Oz, Trumpism hasn’t just infiltrated the L/NP it has been embraced by them.

P. Duddy and the biggest collection of halfwits and felons to ever pollute the political discourse of this country have, through their successful sabotage of the Voice referendum, established the template for their future behaviour – imported American culture wars (“the woke agenda”, “the radical left”, undefined “elites”, whatever “other” scapegoat du jour comes in handy), outrage politics, manufactured grievance and the deployment of an overflowing Trumpian swill bucket of lies and distortions. And season that with some of Spud’s not so secret sauce – good ol’ Howardesque racism.

Pulling out all stops to destroy the Yes campaign for purely political purposes as they always intended and then blame Labor for its failure is Trumpian in its chutzpah – peeing through our letter box then ringing the doorbell to ask us how far it went¹. Coached by apparatchiks from the US Republican party with its capacity for excess and extremism the Spud has taken to GOP perfidy as a supplement to his natural FUD instincts and his ‘oppose everything’ Mad Abbott-redux mendacity. The Voice referendum saw Spud’s Trumpy play – field testing the efficacy of blatant falsehoods where truth becomes meaningless, his lies, one after another, his hole-in-the-bucket pretext for ever more details “flooding the zone with shit” and denying space for challenges to his deceit while directing resentment at some manufactured grievance all while going unchallenged by a lazy or complicit media.

To further his own base ambitions Herr Shickltuber has shown he will abandon truth as a foundational principle of a functional democracy. Remember, this guy is so appalling the Tories chose the fabulist Skiddy Morrison over him. He’s less popular than herpes but as with the American’s Tangerine Man he’s now tapped into the worst in us via his Voice duplicity, one element of which is the anti-elitist from the Chairman’s Lounge and the Tories’s tame aborigine who gave the racists permission to openly piss into the hand generously offered by indigenous Australians. “A weaponised conservative woman who can say things out loud that white conservatives haven’t dared to say since the early 1960s²” Jacinta Nampijinpa Price gave Spud his “some of my best friends are Aborigines” cover for kicking our First Peoples when they are down.

While we in Oz have our share of the comfortably dumb, window lickers, frank spankers and people whose faces are too small for their heads are we not immune to the American’s port-a-loo in a cyclone Trumpism? We flatter ourselves that we’re more egalitarian, we’re the land of the fair go, we’re fair dinkum rugged individuals who can think for ourselves and who look after our mates. As the ‘Yes’ option in the Voice referendum got torched we were rudely awakened to what a load of old flannel that self-image is. Could it be that instead we’re a nation of timorous Chicken Littles who in 1999 declined the opportunity to put our big boy pants on and become a republic? Frightened, nay-saying, gullible, gormless dullards, wilfully ignorant, selfish, compliant sooks lacking in imagination and ambition?

There is some comfort that many millions of us supported the Voice, and that the systemic disadvantage of indigenous lives has been brought to the fore so that even the nasties must acknowledge its reality (while denying any accountability for enshrining it). But large swathes of the public who inhabit the trailing end of the decency bell curve have been gamed by a nasty campaign of racist tropes.

Not once did Spud, his pet dragon – the less than fully shevelled LeyZ Sussan or that feral fright wig in a pants suit the egregious Michaelia Cash call out any of this repugnant behaviour – the standard they all walked past. Instead there have been Trumpian attacks on our institutions including the courts, the AEC and government itself.

Trump: “The electon was rigged.

Spud: “…I don’t think we should have a process that’s rigged and that’s what the prime ministers tried to orchestrate from day one.”

The mere idea of Old Chum Dutton as PM is sticking a Grange label on a goon bag. He’s a physical palindrome – afflicted with Zachary’s disease he’s an arse whichever way you look at him. A visionless plodder who confuses bullying the powerless with strength, validating willful ignorance as a legitimate excuse for nastiness – “if you don’t know, vote no”. Tories prefer their electors to be uninformed and apathetic.

His bald-faced, opportunistic tarring of Albo with the Alan Joyce stigma – “hanging out with Alan Joyce, red carpet events and, you know, they’re besties having dinner together, all the rest of it”.

His risible claim that the rabidly anti-union, low wagers are the party of working Australians.

In government the Tories needed the parameters of common decency to be written down – perhaps not so much to provide guidance on what constitutes acceptable behaviour from adults but as a means of identifying loopholes. Spud has no core beliefs about anything. He makes it up as he goes along.

The Tories’ pals from Advance’s stated tactic of instructing its volunteers to use fear and doubt rather than facts to defeat the Voice.

The Tories have a shared ethos of the increasingly rabid right – neo-Nazis, cookers, Karens, heirs of the murderous squatters, the Christian Taliban, racists suddenly discovering they’re against racism. Given the success of the right-wing baggers’ carpet bombing of a polite invitation to progress reconciliation we will now see an orange-tinted potato amping up the lies and misinformation.

When tested do we manifest anger and hostility to defend an identity that is based on dominance? Are we susceptible to far-right ideology that attacks democracy and normalizes violence against progressive agendas and liberal values³? Post-Howard the Tories are a party of opposition and resentment playing on fears and prejudices defined by what they’re against. The Liberal Party of Robert Menzies has devolved into authoritarian demagoguery while the Nationals, as ever, just tag along for the free ride.

‘No’ voters have not only denied First Peoples a means to improve their systemically disadvantaged lives they have also endorsed Dutton’s Trumpification of Oz politics where truth, integrity and fidelity are entirely dispensable.

* * * * *

¹ Author Maureen Lipman

² Tony Wright, SMH

³ Trumpism, the extreme far-right

* * * * *

Good reading

Peter Dutton bids for the mantle of conspiracy-theorist-in-chief. Crikey.

“No” camp has been seeking to sell even our most venerable institutions down the river to gain political traction. There is no conservatism in that – it is Trumpian. The Monthly.

“Importing US approaches into Australia [during election campaigns] has rarely worked … but a referendum is very different,” said Axel Bruns, a professor in Queensland University of Technology’s digital media research centre. “The choice is more similar to US voting. You can run these polarising, polarised campaigns that are about two stark choices”. The Guardian.

The right’s No campaign is a Trojan horse. Crikey.

Mark Kenny | Could Opposition Leader Peter Dutton vacate the middle entirely? Canberra Times.

Peter rabid. Rachel Withers, The Monthly.

Stunt man. Rachel Withers, The Monthly.

Peter Dutton is the exploding fire hydrant of politics pushing his party to the angry fringes and electoral oblivion? The Guardian.

What are ‘Advance’ and ‘Fair Australia’, and why are they spearheading the ‘no’ campaign on the Voice? The Conversation.

“Compare that with Opposition Leader Peter Dutton’s latest op-ed in the Herald Sun, which is riddled with misleading statements and scaremongering. He continues to claim we do not have the detail about the Voice – we do – and that the High Court could give the Voice to Parliament undue power – it can’t. He says the constitution has been a source of stability for 122 years – in fact, Australians have voted to change it eight times. Dutton called the Voice “the most consequential change to our system in history”. In 1967 we quite literally voted to give the Commonwealth the power to make special laws for Indigenous people, and to count Indigenous people as people in the census (they were never covered under a flora and fauna act, however, as the ABC debunked) – rather more significant changes than an advisory body, one might think.” (Crikey).

“If the world’s post-truth era is just getting started, and if the Coalition is determined to take advantage of it, then the last few weeks will seem, in hindsight, quite mild. And in case you don’t think things can get worse, remember this: every time you’ve thought that in the past two decades, they did.” (Sean Kelly, SMH).

“Opposition Leader Peter Dutton always looks sincere. The trouble is that he says things that are objectively untrue, things he cannot possibly believe.” (Michael Bradley. Crikey).

This article was originally published on Grumpy Geezer.


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From national embarrassment to personal humiliation

One man’s journey

”Luv, we all get taken out in a box.” (Paul Keating to Julia Gillard after she lost the leadership ballot to Kevin Rudd).

The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt.” (Bertrand Russell).

It is self-evident that anyone aspiring to be PM has a robust self-regard. Even the wiser ones harbour some illusions about their indispensability, but it is the bovine dullards and the zealots who despite all evidence to the contrary are the most convinced of their own exceptionalism. Overlay that conceit with an intransigent religious literalism and we have Tomás de Torquemada redux (sans the austere lifestyle but with the familiar sparse coif and man boobs) – a happy-clapping, prosperity gospelling mutation of that Old Testament fantasist Mad Abbott where their shared dogma is righteousness (theirs) vs the unworthy (check for daily specials). Government to them was a comforting, authoritarian patriarchy where the womens do the ironing, grateful they’re not shot when they get a bit toey (but they are useful for explaining the nuances of rape. Not good according to Jen). And it’s where the flock need not trouble themselves with the Godly mission of the annointed one.

He was a smug windbag, a smirking oaf who lost a staring competition with an electric arc welder and who thought it a good idea to publicly wash the hair of a stranger – a laying on of hands for a retinue of obsequious press flacks to help cultivate an image of not-a-weirdo.

He believed his guile had his deity’s imprimatur – further evidence that the worst people are commonly those affectedly professing their godliness. Having a God whose interests always align with your own is a self-sustaining contrivance – ‘because I have God’s favour everything I do is God’s will’. Quite useful whether you’re burning heretics, brutalising toddler asylum seekers or steering Covid vaccines away from a Labor-oriented state.

He thought of himself as special. Not just the smartest guy in the room but on a mission from his God who showers the pious with earthly wealth but has little sympathy for the poors or the non-believers – a convenient celestial licence to intimidate, silence and persecute.

Bad things only happen to bad people according to the handbook for Jesusing neoliberals:

There shall no evil happen to the just: but the wicked shall be filled with mischief” Proverbs 12:21.

The Public Service was told to unquestioningly toe the line, the AFP raided the ABC, universities were nobbled, whistleblowers were prosecuted, welfare recipients were demonised and harassed while wealthy fridge magnates, party mates and the temples of Yahweh wallowed in buckets of public largesse – no strings attached.

Endorsement from the ethereal realm also over-rides the scientific method. Voices from burning bushes prevail over the observable phenomena of quantum mechanics, expert concensus of pending ecological collapse are ignored because, ya know, the Rapture. Selective, credulous acceptance of biblical contradictions facilitates literal beliefs in comical superstitions that excuse all sorts of bad behaviour – persecution of non-conformers being an historical favourite. It also dispenses with any need for accountability to anyone other than a omniscient, omnipotent yet paranoid phantasm whose tantrums kill millions. The Oaf’s whole Jesusing routine was more than just a PR ruse; he truly believes that secularists are ungodly heretics to be re-educated or reviled.

“Australia is not a secular country… As US Senator Joe Lieberman said, the Constitution guarantees freedom of religion, not freedom from religion. I believe the same is true in this country.” (From his maiden speech to Parliament).

He was fully onboard the 7 Mountains Mandate looney train, at least in spirit (no pun intended).

He facilitated the infiltration of fellow pulpit pushers and the punishers and straighteners of the anti-gay/anti-trans bigots and he sought succour through fellow fabulists – flight risk Brother Stuie and personal bag carrier and co-conspirator Alex Hawke.

He has not introduced one single policy of benefit to this nation – indeed he has failed to even articulate any vision or forethought beyond politicking. During his tenure the country has not progressed in any way – going backwards in most international rankings.

His incompetence, the vindictive nastiness, government as a manelovent force, the hypocritical piety, the cultivation of division, the rampant cronyism and graft, the secretiveness and intolerance of dissent, the five ministries megalomania, the incoherent gibberings designed to frustrate enquiry, the bullying, the tearing down of conventions and standards, the denigration of expertise – the whole horrendous revivalist circus of the worst PM in our history; a national embarrassment who is deserving of the most humiliating removal from our consciousness.

Serial fuck-ups and the application of the smirk removal cream of public approbrium for his failures and his facile, dress-up brand management failed to dent the impervious narcissism of belief in his own ‘genius’ and self-image as a ‘master strategist’. His shamelessness has survived his ostracism to the opposition backbenches where his unemployability stands out like a hi-vizzed walrus at a choir practice – the guy whose smarm included “if you’re good at a job you’ll get a job“, the guy who initiated the dob-in-a-bludger hotline. This is schadenfreude tied in a big, pink bow.

The denigration from his Tory cohort was shrugged off:

He fucked us and his fingerprints are absolutely fuckin’ everywhere on that. The bloke thinks he is a master strategist. He is a fuckwit.” (Anonymous federal Lib MP).

Everyone wants him to piss off. But people don’t want a by-election,’’ a senior Liberal source told (Julia Banks, ex Lib MP – “menacing controlling wallpaper”).

Catherine Cusack ex Lib MP – “… it’s just all come a bit late for the Liberal party. The party I joined 40 years ago and loved. The party he has ruined.

Concetta Fierravanti-Wells – an autocrat [and] a bully who has no moral compass,He has used his so-called faith as a marketing advantage.”

Gladys Berejiklian – “a complete psycho”.

His appearance before the Robodebt Royal Commission elicited humbug not humility.

It took 330 years before Torquemada’s remains were dug up and belatedly burned auto-da-fé. The NACC may be a more timely seal on The Oaf’s deserved humiliation but I doubt we’ll see any genuine contrition.


In 2007, Howard repealed the Parliamentary Pension scheme. This means that he is not entitled to any pension besides his 15.4% Public Service super than cannot be accessed before he turns 65 . Bwahahahahaha!


Me: Who will I transfer my loathing to once this prick is levered off the public teat?

Spud: G’day.

This article was originally published on Grumpy Geezer.

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Silence of the damned

When the Liberals run out of money they come after the poor


“Calculated assaults on the most vulnerable and marginalised are reduced to the natural order of things.” Maeve McGregor, Crikey

The Robodebt royal commission’s findings clearly demonstrate why the Tories fear scrutiny and accountability. They have long abandoned any pretence of principled governance, relying instead on the complicity of the Murdoch spitoons’ fabrications and the fever swamp of RWNJ radio to provide cover for their mendacity. Their behaviour was always there to see for those who could be bothered to look beyond the propaganda but now their ugliness has been paraded down the main street like a turd on a flat-bed truck accompanied by brass band and marching girls.

The ‘guilty til proven innocent’ atrocity that was Robodebt is only now the cause of some red-faced shoe inspections by those who would rule over us, and while they may modify their artiface it won’t change their innate bastardry. They’ll amp up the dissembling, projection and obfuscation; dead cats will be thrown onto tables, dogs will be whistled but they will never demonstrate any humility or genuine contrition and will be only briefly distracted from opportunities to practice their nasty craft.

Aware of the pending exposure Brother Stuie Robert legged it for the exit, following the onomatapaeic Alan Tudge into the perdition of historic damnation for “venality, incompetence and cowardice”. The hubris of Christian Porter, of the born-to-rulers’ catalogue of big swinging dicks, has seen this once PM-in-waiting reduced to Lionel Hutz status, touting his wares on sandwichboards on servo station forecourts.

Brother Scotty still haunts the periphery, trousering the public coin as corporate Australia, conscious of reputational damage, lets his calls go through to voicemail. Never before has the country been led by such a repugnant, bullying blowhard who, convinced of endorsement from his eagle-staffed deity, saw a licence to ignore propriety and undermine anyone who stood in the way of the acclaim he thought was his God-given due. A feckless drudge who’d struggle to meet the KPIs of school hall monitor, a shonk who “disappeared” billions in rorts, a spiv who’d eBay his crusty undies as the shroud of Turin and a serial sackee who through guile and happenstance failed upwards into his risible, karaoke performance of PM – the role he debased with a “sly contempt for political norms” as Maeve McGregor of Crikey puts it.

Spud Dutton has walked into the cubicle after Morrison. A year after the Tories were thoroughly rinsed across the country it would be reasonable to expect he’d take the opportunity to air the place out. Spud’s Cuddly Pete re-imaging is a work-in-progress – stitching together a human skin suit as cover for his mix of Myra Hindley warmth and Norman Bates bonhomie – a teddy bear tied to a bin lorry, a ruse that won’t cover the smell. (Surely though it’s apocryphal that visitors to the Chez Spud basement find themselves coughing up moth pupae.) This Silence of the Lambs metaphor should be qualified with the observation that Buffalo Bill at least showed an artistic bent that entirely escapes the beige that is our real-life lockless monster.

Spud’s newly deployed Clark Kent specs don’t disguise his inner Tubermensch – a truncheon-headed autocrat we’ve grown to loathe and despise since he came to notice with a range of outputs from his racist oeuvre. Untroubled by the burdens of either wit or intelligence he has ridiculed drowning Pacific Island nations, tormented toddler asylum seekers, denigrated Melbourne’s Sudanese communities and exploited division and rancour in the Voice debate, all as supplements to his hobbies of drowning puppies and putting nails in the hoola-hoops at daycare centres.

Spud’s predictable duplicity with his response to the Indigenous voice to Parliament shows a change-over of personel has not improved the Tories’ amorality. His framing of the Libs as victims of Labor’s scheming in the Robodebt saga is Trumpian in its up-is-down audacity.

Not to be outdone in the scorched earth approach to acceptable standards the Lib’s partners in crime, the Nationals, are reportedly again considering a return of pink pachyderm spotter Barking Barmy Joyce. When Barmy remains a viable option it says so much about the lack of talent pool that is the ignorant oik’s party of choice. Temporary leader, the nominative-deterministic David Littleproud projects an image of himself looking for his own brain, but aesthetics aside he’s yet another National committed to their cause of steering pork and the white elephants to regions in need instead of some fundamentals such as health and education that could be serviced by, and hear me out, a fully functional NBN.

Barmy’s mouth is the source of fevered allusions to a woke, left-wing dystopia and home to a random placement of teeth like long-forgotten headstones in an abandoned graveyard. His lack of credibility is not matched by the certainty that his name is amongst the wideboys, spivs and persons of interest who have been referred to the newly opened National Anti-Corruption Commission.

The outcome of the royal commission provides some succour to those citizens demonised and persecuted by their own government. The NACC will provide huge amusement for those of us who can’t wait to see these toads cop some real consequences for their bastardry.

“Given the opposition is clearly in a state of denial over the report of the robodebt royal commission, it has obviously learnt nothing from past mistakes and would, if re-elected, presumably not hesitate to repeat them.” (Editorial in The Canberra Times).

* * * * *


Is Barnaby Joyce after the leadership again? – The Saturday Paper

Taxpayers forked out $2.5m in legal expenses for eight former Coalition ministers, including two prime ministers, to be represented in the robodebt royal commission, with almost half a million for Scott Morrison. – The Guardian.

This article was originally published on Grumpy Geezer.

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Submarines and Parking Tickets, and High Farce in the ‘No’ campaign

A waft of V05 and humbug hung in the air when the tinnitus in a trouser suit that is Michaelia Cash was handed the drivel shtick for the Tories’ latest FUD campaign – their vilification du jour being the Indigenous Voice to Parliament. “Thoil innerfear with our summaroines ‘n’ parggin’ tiggeds, moite. Anythink they doan loike thoil toike to the hoi cawt. Air cunnry will go to the dorgs” intoned Blah Stupenda in a strident tirade of sanctimonious cant and poorly disguised bigotry (I may have paraphrased a tad given the semi-intelligible, high velocity boganese of ol’ Helmet Hair but the tone is authentic).

In the absence of ideas, vision, empathy or morals it was a given that Schrödinger’s Opposition, in desperate attempts at relevance, would oppose all government initiatives – but the Voice was a gimme for their ‘open tongs in the kitchen drawer’ attitude to fairness and decency. The profusion of flight risks that is their party room has awoken to the notion that their repertoire of punching down, dog-whistling to racists, provoking culture wars, terrifying the tremulous, deceiving the ignorant and cultivating the stupid could all be weaponised for the one issue they’ll take to the Führer bunker. In the midst of the Coalition’s existential crisis, keeping the Blackfellas in their place is THE issue the Libs are prepared to fight for survival on.

And no ‘No’ campaign would be complete without the presence of Captain No himself – Tony “Strop” Abbott, flicking his tongue and licking his eyeballs and giving creedence to the notion that lizard people do walk amongst us. Crusader Rabid has joined the fray to deploy the same level of watery stools that passed for policy in the Credlin-Abbott “government” (sic) – destroying the nation-building NBN and carbon neutrality, and the cringe-de-la-cringe, his knighting of a foreign monarch’s consort. The most laughable aspect of Tone’s argument, and that’s quite the challenge, is that this forelock tugging, knee-bending arch-monarchist thinks that hearing disenfranchised Indigenous citizens’ opinions is akin to annointing them with House of Lords status. This is fish looking for a barrel stuff.

They’ll bow and scrape to the monarch of a foreign land, they’ll profess “humble affection” and “obedience” to the head of England’s special breeding program for hooray-Henries, chinless wonders, lords and nobles, they will prostrate themselves before inherited privilege who “cannot be other than a member of the Anglican Church, can never be other than British and can never be an Indigenous person.” They’ll listen to lobbyists, they’ll hear the rent seekers, they’ll take note of the carpet baggers and grifters but they’ll continue to ignore those most deserving of a sympathetic hearing.

They don’t belong in Opposition. They belong in the discards pile of too-offensive pub trivia questions.

* * * * *

Michaelia Cash: Why Liberals won’t support Indigenous Voice to Parliament. The West Australian. Shovel this bullshit on your roses.

Supporting a YES vote. University of Melbourne.

This article was originally published on Grumpy Geezer.


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The Abominable No Man

When too much RWFWittery is not enough

“I have a leadership style which I believe they appreciate, which is why people very strongly are expressing their support to me.” (Mr 25%, Spud Dutton).

There go my people. I must find out where they are going so I can lead them.” (Alexandre Auguste Ledru-Rollin). I’m not sure why this came to mind.

* * * * *

How to succinctly describe Australia’s worst ever Prime Minister? A miasma, an effluvium, a whiff of eau de low tide… a funk that clings to clothes and hair long after his departure? The unlamented ScoMo’s awfulness was so all-encompassing that no one pejorative was sufficient to capture the spectrum of his deficiencies. Scotty From Marketing, Scummo, Smirk & Mirrors, Scooter, Sooty, Skiddy, Liar from the Shire, Diddley Scott, the Great Schmo, Scurry, Shirko and more were all wryly derived from his own facile marketing contrivance and thrown back in his face as a “no way, get fucked, fuck off” chorus from the sentients in the crowd.

Phone in hand as he scrolls through Seek while languishing on a nose-bleed seat on the backbenches, his calls going unreturned, he’ll be struggling to reconcile his current status as unburied landfill with his self-image as God’s emissary. But really, who gives a fuck? Now he’s nothing more than a phantasm representing Tory decline into neo-fascist bigotry and wretchedness; a benchmark for whether they can go subterranean in their search for the ultimate in nasty. Turns out Scooter was no outlier; he was a symptom. Enter Bubba and Squeak – a lumpen tuber with the head and attitude of a copper’s truncheon with the befuddled Suss as the Lib’s no.2 slot showcasing her sad loser pique, her misplaced ambition and a lack of self-awareness that, in comparison, promotes Liz Truss to icon of perspicacity.

“Conservative, Dutton-supporting MPs said that Ley had been taking soundings from the backbench for weeks, but they rubbished the prospect of the Liberal moderate becoming the party’s leader.” (James Massola, SMH, 31/3/23).

If you’re the Tories’ Leader Of The Opposition yet also Labor’s best weapon, when your own party hides you away from electors in favour of defrosting the cadaverous John Winston Howard to waddle the streets quacking at startled passers-by, when you’re a hard-right head-kicker in a party abandoned by once conservative, heirloom electorates as the entire country rejects your antediluvian, divisive manifesto then a prudent politician would indulge in some considered introspection. Such sissy reflections are not for our potato-headed hard man Herr Shickltuber – he’s doubling down on the nasty (“I yam what I yam”).

Spud has marked his territory – Abbottesque blanket negativity, culture wars, fear and division, accusing opponents of that for which they themselves are guilty and that old Tory favourite of nurturing resentment by demonising those least able to fight back – cultivating suspicion of the gay folks, blatant transphobia and not so much dog-whistling their racism as broadcasting it by loudspeaker from the back of a truck.

People in outer suburban areas were “very worked up” about trans rights claims Spud, the Libs lost Aston because Labor was mean to them, there’s no need for him or the Coalition to change their brand, they just have to wait for electors to come to their senses. All very amusing given that in a party of roadside dumpers, shrunken intellects, onanists, P76ers, pelvic thrusters, doggers, Trumpers, pimps, Nut Bush lip synchers and shout absconders he’s the best the unelectable Tories have to offer.

What is not amusing is Spud’s response to the proposed referendum for an Indigenous Voice To Parliament. Just as Donald Trump gave permission for the worst of American society to be open and proud about how stupid and ugly, they really were Spud’s “No” campaign has given permission for the racists to be openly racist – albeit clothed in the pretense that they actually give a fuck about the welfare of our Indigenous fellow citizens.

The referendum will be a pivotal moment in our history – an opportunity to capture a mutual generosity of spirit, to give a voice to the longest surviving culture on the planet, for Aboriginal Australians to no longer be marginalised in their own unceded land. It’s a time for empathy and good will, for inclusiveness, and for leaders to show themselves. And it’s only that very last bit that applies to the loathsome Dutton.

His dishonest framing of “the Canberra Voice” or “Albanese’s Voice”, the dishonesty of claimed Voice interference in everything from the Reserve Bank to tying up the High Court in endless litigation, never ending calls for “more details”, a fantastical Aboriginal veto on ANZAC day. The whole No case rests on misinformation, deceit and lies.

Alice Springs revealed Dutton’s true, vile character. Recent images of street crime has been represented as a new phenomenon, except it is evidence of institutionalised, generational failure – failure that Spud cared not one whit for when he was in power. However, exploiting child sexual abuse to paint a picture of undeserving Blacks to score opportunistic political points for his “No” campaign is a new low for a bloke who has form when it comes to demonising those of a darkish hue.

Dutton is as stupid as he is odious. If the “Yes” vote succeeds in the referendum he’s toast – a minor footnote in political history. If “No” prevails his reputation as a naysayer and wrecker will challenge that of Tony Sluggos Abbott but with racist overtones.

But he will never take Scooter’s crown as our worst ever only because he will never be PM.


The gravedigger. Rachel Withers, The Monthly.

‘Dog act’: NT police minister reacts angrily to Peter Dutton’s claims of Alice Springs child sexual abuse. Peter Dutton’s claims that “young Indigenous kids are being sexually assaulted on a regular basis” in Alice Springs. Lorena Allam Indigenous affairs editor, The Guardian.

This article was originally published on Grumpy Geezer.


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An appetite for evil

Beyond incompetence and corruption

Untroubled by the burdens of either wit or intelligence the embaldened tubermensch who, for now, leads the meritocracy trading as the Liberal Party seems to be struggling with his personal brand, as is manifest in his Howardesque, too tricky by half cavilling over the Voice to Parliament. A vuvuzela in a chamber orchestra hoping no-one notices the discordance.

Not being Scott Morrison is a prudent image; albeit one that was obligatory given the level of loathing due that perfidious galoot. Yet Spud Dutton’s headkicking, homophobic, warmongering, race-baiting reputation is hardly a winning alternative, particularly when such a persona is widely seen as authentic, ironically unlike FauxMo’s shamelessly contrived, yet G-rated daggy dad flimflam which in no small way helped to bring the shyster undone.

“Cuddly Pete” had only a brief run – the Murdoch manure machinery’s efforts to sustain such an obvious deceit being counter-productive given their rustadon audience of rightwing nutters celebrates bastardry, culture war attacks on the “wokes” and persecution of the others*.

*As of publication the “others” is the trans youth but subject to change without notice and as may be determined by the political advantage to be gained from tormenting the victims du jour ala Robodebt.

Tory noir is a smoking ruin of creeping nastiness, sleaze and graft yet there is no contrition, there’s hubris but no humility and there’s shameless hypocrisy to camouflage their embarrassment and their terror at the prospect of the national integrity commission. Over nearly a decade they shat in our collective handbag yet now rely on a humourless automaton pulling the wings off butterflies (“they love me, they love me not”) to recoup some credibility. Spud will never trump Smirko as our worst ever Prime Minister because he will never be PM, but for now, as tuber supreme in the L/NP vegie patch this visionless, reactionary hack is the representation of who they really are.

I have no fkng idea what I’m doing

Lined up behind the tinpotato is his idiot sidekick, the gormless Sussan Ley. Suss got the deputy dork role to help offset the Tory’s infamous fella ratio – the swollen but karmically shrinking ranks of sex pests and big, swinging dicks. (Author’s note: Dutton and Morrison are two of the remaining BSDs).

Desperately shrieking Sussan’s shtick, apart from consonant abuse, is her feigned outrage and droning whine topping the sour expression of someone who pickles her own vag.

Dutts & Suss/Bubba & Squeak – the A Team from the et al shonks, God shoppers, spongers and dullards who’d spent their years grifting like no-one was watching; who took the game of mates to a level that would shame a Saudi royal.

He’s still there, isn’t he? That plastic garbage bag of grass clippings; the beer view mirrors, the claret-complexioned coagulation of cirrhosis and stupidity, that menace to sobriety known as Barking Barmy Joyce.

Barmy’s role is to champion the monetisation of planetary destruction on behalf of his miners & frackers constituency. And therein lies the evil at the core of the Coalition – the purposeful destruction of ecosystems to feed the insatiable greed of the filthy rich who have convinced themselves that with their wealth they can isolate from the consequences of environmental collapse.

Gawd, I shoulda passed on that last slab

Barmy has an excuse. He’s a moron. What excuses do the climate science denying cookers such as Matt King Coal Canavan, Alex Antic and Gerard Rennick have?

Corruption and incompetence are bugs in politics. Morrison made them a feature of his nudge, nudge, wink, wink sleaze fest. What they have now demonstrated is their appetite for evil.

Evil is a standard now embraced by the Tory ecosystem.

Evil is the illegal pursuit and willful persecution of powerless Robodebt victims for non-existent debts.

Evil is abusing people’s lives and wellbeing to score political points.

Evil is directing disaster support funds away from Labor-voting electorates.

Evil is the fossil fuel mates who know the truth yet persist with planetary destruction.

Pure evil is that Tory accomplice, the scrotum-headed media magnate and his willing flunkies who not only know the truth but promote the lies regardless. There is no hell hot enough for Rupert Murdoch and his flying monkeys. There is no stretch in chokey long enough for the Tudges, Porters and Roberts of the Lying Nasty Party.


Hellbound (Image from


This article was originally published on Grumpy Geezer.


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Fact hunt – the worst person of 2022

The End of an Error

Nominating those most worthy of their fall under the 2022 karma bus provides both a shortlist for fuck-knuckle of the year (FOTY) and solid evidence that the human species is at an evolutionary dead end when such bilge is the best we can come up with to run the world. It’s also a somewhat cathartic end to the year to call out these cockwombles, and it holds out some small hope for a better 2023.

I’ve pruned back a long list and may have overlooked some strong contenders – if you think someone truly worthwhile has not got a mention then please nominate them in the comments.

The Liberal Party. One of the great oxymorons of Oz politics, the Liberal (sic) Party is a collective noun for losers.

Corrupt by inclination, incompetent through habit, mean and nasty by nature there is no con they’re incapable of in any attempt to recapture the graft.

Kicked in the nuts at state, territory and federal levels, 2022 may have been the beginning of the end of this cabal of dolts, vandals and thieves.

Their dissolution can’t come soon enough – replaced by sensible independents and Greens with a few harmless nutters like Bob The Mad Hatted Katter retained as a repository for the irredeemable RWNJ vote and as occasional comedy relief – it can only be a good thing.


Image from Twitter (@TomRed43)


Spud and Suss – the meritocracy that is the “natural party of government” threw up the tuberesque undertater and his whiney sidekick. Bubba and Squeak are the best that Schrödinger’s opposition has to offer. These two are so ineffectual they barely even register as bad guys.

Liz Truss may have survived longer if she’d also gone that extra consonant – “Liz Trusss” has a certain multi-dimensional, reptilian cold bloodedness that could’ve keep the warm & fuzzy milquetoasts of the British financial establishment at bay until she fully sank the economy.

The horseshit producers from the Murdoch stable are another collective nomination. The plagiarists, phone hackers, bin rummagers, fossil fuel boosters, airheads and entropied fuddy duddies from the outrage factory of a withered, tax avoiding sociopath were left sobbing into their Tanqueray London Drys as their best efforts to turn Oz into a neo-liberal hellscape came to nought. $40 million in Lib government grants provided some consolation. Phil Coorey from planet Costello is an honorary member of this shameless Tory cheer squad.

Vladimir Putin‘s award of murderous psychopath of the century is likely assured but karma won’t have finished with him until his bloodied corpse is pelted with potatoes as it’s dragged behind a tractor through Red Square. Next year maybe. In the interim Vlad will not be admiring the views from any high windows.

Elon Musk, the world’s richest shitposter torched US$44 billion for Twitter and tanked Tesla shares as a consequence simply to show the cool guys how funny he is. He’s just a gormless twat with inherited wealth and Saudi riyals to squander but it’s his now revealed autocratic RWFWery that earns him a place on any list of prominent arseholes.

Honourable mentions

Cookers. No crazy is crazy enough for these whackadoodle ‘sovereign citizens’. Nutters desperately seeking relevance and importance as revealers of great truths in their otherwise dreary, meaningless existence?

They could be laughed off except these are the same types of deluded beer belly putschers, gravy seals and ammosexuals who invaded Washington’s Capitol seeking to murder Mike Pence and Nancy Pelosi and are of the type who did murder two young coppers and a neighbour in Queensland.

Barnaby Joyce. No list of fuckwits is complete without Baranaby’s name being included.

Matthew Guy. “Call me Matt” ex-Vic Lib leader and the loser of losers smashed by Dan Andrews at the last state election. Not the worst of the worst because he’s such a loser and so never achieved the level of prominence that would have allowed him to let loose his worst mobster instincts.

Brian Houston‘s invisible BFF rewards the worthy with riches so with the tithe taps turned off Brother Brian is learning what it’s like for those of us who are out of favour with the Big Guy in the sky. Karma ran over his prosperity dogma. Sad!

Katherine Deves. Apparently there’s blokes going about chopping off their cocks so they can win ribbons at women’s swimming carnivals but like most, I can spot a genuine minge a mile away.

The final contenders

The final three are possibly obvious – they have in common a natural affinity with lying, a talent for the grift, a narcissistic self-belief that goes beyond delusion and a physical presence that would make a cadaver dog gag. They are the smirking, prosperity god-fodder who disproved the Peter Principle six jobs ago, an adulterous £5 haircut on an unmade bed and an apricot-coloured fatsuit filled with congealed hamburger grease.

ScoMo, BoJo and Fuckhead.

After an uninterrupted run 2016-2020 Trump misses out this year, a has-been loser wandering the despot kitsch of Mar-a-lago accosting patrons with his tired schtick of the Big Lie as the walls close in on him.

Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson still maintains the collosal conceit of a Churchillian resurrection of his interrupted career as one of Britain’s great PMs. A dilettante, a wastrel, a shambolic opportunist and agent of chaos with no fixed principles he gave top spot as FOTY a good run but conceded the win to our very own Grange label on a goon bag – Smirko von Skidmark.

Purging Scott Morrison from our system requires that we be exposed to some bit more Scott Morrison. The brighter the light shone on the behaviour of Resting Smug Face, that reprehensible black hole of honesty where truth bends around him, the less likely it is that hypocritical God shoppers like him will ever again steal such high public office.

Smirko’s shortcomings are many, manifest and of consequence. A colourless non-entity who through happenstance, arrogance and a disdain for common courtesies and proprieties, whose abuse of trust and loyalty gained him a role for which he was entirely unfit. Devoid of decency this Jesus-espousing hypocrite bullied and hectored those least able to fight back. A mongrel; a coward loathed by those who know of him and those who know him.

The final, public humiliation of Scooter Morrison is a play in two parts – his parliamentary censure and his appearance at the Royal Commission into Robodebt.

His Scotty The Saviour-themed response to parliamentary censure included apocalyptic eschatology (“staring into the abyss”), blame-deflecting and, self-congratulatory claims to the efforts of others and wholly-invented assertions of heroism. His responses to questioning at the Royal Commission were a Morrisonian masterclass in deflection, avoidance and dissembling. If anyone was to blame it was those public servants, who upon his gaining office he instructed to do only what they were told and no more. What a gold-plated minger he is.

If justice prevails there will be part 3 – Smirko fronting the The National Anti-Corruption Commission. Perhaps there the dawning realisation that he is the most widely loathed politician in our history will elicit some <sarcasm> genuine contrition </sarcasm>.

*The End of an Error – from a sign held up at the inauguration of Joe Biden.

Former prime minister Scott Morrison does not intend to remain in parliament for the long term and is likely to start thinking about pursuing a business career in the new year, according to confidants. (Aaron Patrick, Australian Financial Review, 22/12/2022).

Who can imagine the standards of any organisation that would employ this POS?


This article was originally published on Grumpy Geezer.


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I see dud people

Australians all lettuce rejoice

They may have dropped the constant, asinine, look-at-moi dress-ups of the moronic galoot but they’ve not abandoned the concept entirely. It’s now band camp for the miffed – the smirking, one man band in hi-viz has morphed into collective, performative outrage to feed to a conflict-hungry media pack.

Their chutzpah is admirable – their acting skills not so much.

High dudgeon from the scolds seems to be the key theme for the Tories right now, filling the void of their miserable, ideas-free existence. The entitled, senior girls’ hockey team from St Salubrious School for Pretentious Mingers’ rampage through the lolly shop ended at the check-out when the electorate, insufficiently whelmed, refused their credit cards. And they’re not happy.

Proving that awfulness is no longer gendered in the “natural party of government” the ladies ga-ga is a rich pallette of Prus and Trudes, trolley ragers, flabbagers and dimwits.

Whine sommelier Sussan Ley, taking advantage of her natural expression of perpetual bewilderment is the ladies’ team captain – sooking and sulking and blowing snot bubbles at her media displays of disaffection. Rather than gravitas her performances convey a tone of ‘a few too many slides down the banisters’. LeyZ has assumed the mantle of national whinger from the bright red dipstick from Queensland, deciding that constant complaint is an easier gig than regaining credibility through, here’s an idea, actual thought and effort.


I see dud people (Haley Joel Osment from The Sixth Sense)


The Tories have two major problems (well, that is apart from their record of corruption, incompetence and depravity). Bullying and misogyny is their brand. Their game plan so far is to accuse the dog of farting – pointing the finger at Labor for their own failings, where their every accusation is a confession. Their latest, rather too obvious ploy was to accuse Albo of shouting at one of their own. These are the crumb maidens from the Ditch The Witchers, the party that believes it is owed some gratitude for not shooting women protesters, the party of accused rapists, up-skirters, sexual harrassers and desk-jizzers. Their <eye roll> faux indignation </eye roll> is at a pantomime level of authenticity.

The Team Karen line up is a dial-up modem in a broadband world – squawky, slow, unreliable and not fit for purpose:

While not present at Operation Finger Albo it was good to see a return to form of Michaelia Blah Stupenda Cash who’s fully invested in her own well-paid ‘kick-the-workers-in-the-nuts’ persona, complaining loudly (obv.) that any concession to those worst off would “broing Astroiya to its knoise“.

Bam Bam McKenzie always looks as if she’s been dragged from storage in a cardboard box under George Christensen’s bed. Changing gears without using the clutch has loosened Bam Bam’s grasp on reality, or perhaps it’s her Trumpian version of alternative facts when complaining of the kyboshing of her sport rorts (i.e. theft of public money) followed her declaration that “Australians have no tolerance for corruption in sport”.

Holly Hughes – a Joan of snark and what a UTI would look like if a bag of flour blew up in its face, is a self-righteous windbag of no identifiable achievements beyond complaints that Labor has not yet fixed nine years of Tory theft and incompetence.

Jane Hume, with the obsequious eagerness of a head prefect, would happily serve the canapés at a puppy drowning if directed to do so by the Big Swinging Dicks club. Linda Reynolds of “lying cow” infamy is as suspect as a scoutmaster’s lolly bag when it comes to credibility on bullying. Sarah Henderson, Anne Ruston, Melissa Price, Nola Marino and the anonymous et als of the backbench were all complicit in the illegal hounding of Centrelink recipients that went far beyond bullying. None has any credibility nor a sense of shame.

Meanwhile in the UK, thick Lizzie’s 4.1 Scaramuccis as PM, outlasted by a leafy vegetable, you’d think would have set a low water mark for Tories. A neoliberal dogmatist crashing the world’s 6th largest economy in just one day with her Hayekian brain farts had the Tory press rapidly dropping Truss from their Christmas card list.

Here in Oz within a global conservative shift to crazy we can be grateful our RWFW vegie patch is now no more than bubble and squeak; left-overs pushed to the side and largely ignored. Our version of Liz Truss is reduced to bleating her whinges to an audience that has lost interest <cue sad trombone>.


* * * * * * *

Good read: UK’s Tory papers call it: it’s Boris! No, wait… Crikey


This article was originally published on Grumpy Geezer.

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Newscorp polishes the knob

The tattered remnants of the “natural party of government” experienced a collective bout of the vapours when their keys to the nation’s treasure were confiscated and the very real prospect arose that some of their most egregious persons of interest would be held accountable for the boondoggles, daily scandal and general douchebaggery. They are now re-grouping under new management to reactivate the fear and loathing that is their brand.

The Game Of Mates is the Tories’ raison d’être – it gives the tawdry existence of their party some meaning, it puts the ‘dicks’ in Big Swinging Dicks®, it’s their viagra, their self-esteem. It’s the foundations of the Tory ecosystem, it’s the glue that binds their warring gangs who otherwise despise each other. The Thatcherites, cutpurses, chancers and urgers and glory holers, the bible-bending mammonites and the poofter bashers that make up their number were all collectively bereft that the grift without access to our money is unworkable.

Now no lie is too outrageous, no sanctimony is too hypocritical to facilitate the big con, to once again seek to serve their neo-liberal instincts for national asset stripping and stealing our money to gift to their pals. Their big problem as they arise from the fainting couch and straighten their hair is how to sell their shitfuckery anew to punters who had abandoned them due to that very same shitfuckery.

You can accuse the Tories of many things and if any of those things is derogatory then there’s a fair chance it will be true. Like herd stupidity. Thinning this herd by taking out the lame and the dimwitted is futile if the objective is to improve the breed. These dullards actively disenfranchise their best and brightest (i.e. the less repulsive) leaving a shallow gene pool that has an animatronic legume as its figurehead and as 2IC a befuddled ditz who’s out of her depth at the wading end. What these clowns in their wisdom seem to have decided upon is a threefold strategy:

After moderate electors abandoned their party the worst-of-the-worst are pushing further right and doubling down on the issues that saw them thrown from office. Yet unless they win back the seats lost to independents they’ll need an unrealistic 54% of the 2PP for majority government.

Then also they adopt the blanket negativism of the rabid Abbott’s clownship regardless of the harm to the national interest. After being laughed from office Abbott’s been haunting the periphery with delusions of a Churchilian return, reminding voters of the Christo-Taliban who infect the Tories yet the modus operandi of a bloke whose term as PM was shorter than the shelf-life of Leonardo DiCaprio’s girlfriends still inspires the surviving Tory by-catch.

They will politicise every issue ala Punchable McSmirkFace. Morrison personified the most soporifric, contemptible, mercenary government in our history, yet the Libs have never seen a bad idea that they aren’t prepared to repeat. The stage 3 tax cuts being a perfect example – they are salivating at the prospect of a political wedge. What’s best for the country is entirely irrelevant in the pursuit of political point scoring.

Lessons learned? These idiots keep pressing the close button on the elevator doors that their heads are trapped in. Their attempts at reputational recovery are at Sideshow Bob level.

If you’ve ever peed on an electric fence you’ll recognise the presentation skills of Lib deputy douche, the Tories’ head tosser Sussan Ley. Bed hair, rapid eye blinks and facial tics suggest the speaking points on her whine list are being transmitted via vibrating anal beads. Suss elicits an image not so much of windswept, womanly intuition, more a blancmange in a wind tunnel; barely holding together a coherent sentence in her stream of contrived outrage at whatever the Tory spin machine has nominated as the deflection du jour. Bluster serves as camouflage, shame and embarrassment ooze from her pores as <head toss> she snivels her self-pity <head toss> where, after 9 years of neglect, incompetence and criminality everything is the fault of someone else <head toss>.

Trotting out LeyZ to front the media highlights at least some instinct within the party that the big tuber, Spud Supreme, was not yet ready for full, uncensored public consumption. Unfortunately for them most people know exactly who he is and so the Cuddly Pete treatment will be trowelled on by the pamphleteers at News Corp as cover for his innate, menacing, deadpan shtick on the occasions he escapes his keepers.

Spud is sticking with his greatest hits – fear, uncertainty and doubt; Spud’s FUD. Brownish toddlers threatening our way of life by inspiring invading hordes of suicide bombers, fearful Melbournians seeking refuge from dark rampagers, union thugs, indigenous Australians, the gay and trans communities, “an over-tolerant society”, dirty lefties, climate protesters, refugee advocates and rude Tweeters besmirching his reputation.

RWNJs always need an enemy on whom to project their own worst instincts and Spud’s marked his territory. If you’re of “the other” you will be demonised. The flaw in all of this of course is that when you add up all the others you have a majority – hence, the Tories and their News Corp muck-spreaders will prosecute the culture wars to divide and conquer.

Venality unites the Tories. What they cannot understand is that empathy, the fair go, the helping hand unites the rest of us and so they will fail. Big time.


Cartoon by Cathy Wilcox


This article was originally published on Grumpy Geezer.

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The horse’s doovers

An amuse-bouche of mainstream news: A round-up of items that barely rated a mention in the mainstream coverage

Following a renewed push for an Oz republic the Australian Monarchist League has appointed Liberal senate loser Eric “Otto” Abetz as chairman of their group whose objective is to retain the Windsor (née Saxe-Coburg and Gotha) monarchy. Eric said he was delighted to contribute to any campaign that helped to keep the Germans in charge.

In unrelated royal news Liz has gifted a guidebook of Parisian road tunnels to Meghan Markle following Meg’s latest ploy to pap The Firm. Reportedly the ex-actress, now pro gold-digger ‘rediscovered’ her diary in which she recorded her experience in the Royal Family as an ‘insurance policy’. “Nice little earner you’ve got there Liz. Shame if anything should happen to it.” The Australian Republican Movement has put in an early bid for publishing rights.

* * * * *

Arch-monarchist Tony Abbott, the red-sluggoed, forelock-tugging, groom of the stool candidate and technophobic visionary who was ejected by his party from the PM chair and rejected by otherwise reliable Tory voters from his own seat has been recruited by the Victorian Liberals to improve their own electoral palatability. Which reminds me of Piggy Mudloon’s crack about Kiwi immigrants to Oz improving the average IQ of both countries.

The other key plank in the southern Tories’ clever pre-election PR campaign is to shorten their leader’s name from Matthew to Matt in a cunning reprise of the ScoMo™ strategy. As a distraction from previous proclivities such as sharing lobster & Grange with a mobster and drunkenly crashing their prestige motor into a child’s bedroom it may not be as effective as they may hope given the ALP in Victoria increased its large election-winning lead from a month ago: ALP 60.5%, L-NP 39.5%.

* * * * *

At the national Jobs Summit the Australian Retailers Association has called for the rescinding of the Factory Act (1883) so as to legalise the employment of 13 year olds. Director of Workhouse Gruel, Ezra d’Tripe, defended the idea claiming it would help to keep the youngsters out of the reach of the clergy.

This is a multi-faceted approach to statistical manipulation as it offsets the aging demographic of the workforce that was exacerbated by the Tories’ bold initiative of forcing retirees back on the tools.

At this same forum the Nationals’ Dave Bradbury Littleproud volunteered his idea of bringing back blackbirding to keep the price of fruit within reach and offset the collapse of the food chain brought about by his Party’s digging up of all fertile agricultural land in search of additional raw material with which to cook the planet.

* * * * *

Numerologist and one-woman whinge fest Sussan Ley has continued her campaign to re-connect with disaffected women by disparaging the “union thugs” at Albo’s Jobs Summit. The average unionist is a 35 year old female nurse.

Suss – when the vacuum in your head causes your face to cave in. Her latest pitch takes up Spud’s line, whining about the “forgotten people”, forgetting that it was their lot who forgot them.


Tosser. Aging like a fine whine


* * * * *

Sarah Palin, an Alaskan, Trump-endorsed version of Bridget McKenzie on crack, has lost a special election for Congress to a native American Democrat in a state that has been red for almost 50 years. The blow-back from the Roe v Wade decision by the GOP cookers on the SCOTUS has put the frighteners on the gun toting right-to-lifers and law abiding insurrectionists of the Republican Party whose Big Lie has now become their standard concession speech – “the election was stolen”.

The USA may yet be saved from its rapid descent into busted-arse status if enough sensible Americans decide that saving their democracy is worth delaying their trip for a Cholesterols-R-Us triple-decker burger with spray-on cheese, family fries and a Bucket-O-Coke and instead register a vote.

This article was originally published on Grumpy Geezer.


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The Tory talent pool

This is the best they’ve got!

While Scott Morrison was rooting the country daggy style, with every emergency met with the best stage-managed photo-ops he (we?) could afford, he cultivated a cohort of wideboys and carpet baggers, he indulged his cronies and stood over a coterie of nutters, fabulists and no-hopers. Many were dragged behind the cow shed in the Great Cleansing of 21 May 2022 with the surviving dross now charged with reframing the tainted Tory brand.

But, the L/NP machine is so invested in the grift, so committed to quackery and deceit that they won’t shift. They can’t. There’s a consistent theme when it comes to Tories – a resistance to progress motivated by the privilege that is threatened by change. They have a yearning to cling to the past yet have a desperate need to remove the fingerprints of their complicity in it. And they are so intimidated by competent governance that in opposition, rather than seek to emulate it, they’ve piled on with a campaign to discredit it.

Pending further attrition due to criminal charges there are some prominent contenders for a future Tory regime – the crème de la crime, the semi-sentient and the sociopathic effluvia of a reviled cartel.

Placeholder opposition leader Peter Cuddles Dutton toyed briefly with the notion of smiling in public. After squeaks of alarm from small children he’s reverted to his default expression of a Rottweiler shown a card trick. Pete’s throttled back on the overt racism in favour of undermining the idea that after 200+ years of ostracism and failed paternalism indigenous Australians should have a say in their own future.

Sussan Ley (rapper name LeyZ) has the frantic demeanour of someone who’s escaped through a hedge after being attacked by badgers. Histrionics and snark appear to be the style that Suss has elected to run with. She’s dipped into the Lib’s clutching-straws basket and drawn out Michaelia Cash’s puerile 2019 EV fear campaign. Is that really her theme for delivering on her “message to the women of Australia…we’re listening. We’re talking. And we are determined to earn back your trust and your faith“?

“No one in the world is making an electric ute…”

2IC in the “technology not taxes” party. FMD!

The Tories’ strategy of winning back women involves rolling out the strap-ons. Holly Hughes’ petulance at Labor’s cheek of actually governing comes across as air escaping from the bycatch of a deep-sea trawler’s fishing net. Jane Hume, needy and clingy, is not the feminist ideal that right-wingers may imagine. Bang Bang McKenzie, MS Excel super-user and Miss Appropriation 2019 has settled upon an ‘up yours’ approach to redemption while the sound of shovels scraping on gravel has faded now that Michaelia Cash has foregone many of her screeching engagements.

Being mentored by Barnaby Joyce is not a sign that you’re a visionary on top of your game. Matt King Coal Canavan’s testicles remain undescended and his mum still irons his jeans. His pontifications on climate and energy are a waft from soiled laundry, redolent of stale socks and undie crust and should be of no importance. His presence in other circumstances would be as consequential as a shiver from a passing breeze. However Matty has dedicated himself to the cause of profit from planetary destruction and hence contributed in no small way to the wipe-out in once safe Lib enclaves across the country. The coalition’s response to this is that, as a Nationals oik, he’s entitled to say the quiet bits of their manifesto out loud.

As for Bananaby Bender, the fleshy root vegetable and wobbley-booted national embarrassment whose greatest fear is the call for last drinks – he remains on the front bench, a literal and metaphorical hang-over. He’s an imbecilic, walking wardrobe malfunction (who let the boob out?). Adorned with a comically large hat for the rube cred, BJ fancies himself as a rustic sage, a champion of the rural underdog, blessed with insights that escape those with an education, an enquiring mind or serviceable IQ. Facts, logic, science, arithmetic, history – all are entirely dispensable to Barns who has accumulated his wisdom from the back of beer coasters, check-out queues at IGAs, backblocks mayors and Wally the servo mechanic who does his dentistry.

Bananaby no doubt maintains a belief that he can yet again regain his rightful position as big knob of the Frackers & Miners but the pork barrel bonanzas he favours as the price of his “best retail politician” gyp have been kyboshed by his exile to opposition. Any ambition of his for resurrection will be vigorously undermined by both his current and previous bosses – dopey Dave (known by his Sioux name of Littleproud) and MickeyMac McCormack, the man in the muddle, a gormless dullard of such bovine vacuity that he’s been rejected by rescue dogs as too far gone.

Conjecture has it that Brother Stuie and Fingers Taylor may be too busy inventing alibis and shredding evidence to figure prominently – other than on wanted posters.

Since failing the Burke and Hare quality test John Howard the beloved icon of the calcified has been kept in cold storage for emergency deployment. Whenever the Tories feel the need to resort to their culture wars Johnnie gets thawed out to stalk the streets of marginal electorates accosting alarmed strangers to remind them of how good the 1950s were. This has never paid off and so we can expect Einstein’s maxim to be re-activated some three years hence by the geniuses of the Lib PR unit.

Some of the Tories most vociferous RWNJ cheersquadders have faded from view. When much of the once-prominent queen of confected outrage Alan Gloria Jones’ audience began ‘pining for the fjords’ he retreated to his sprawling southern highlands manor to shout at clouds and restock his butler’s pantry. In his absence a chum bucket of Trumpist Fox News wannabes have stepped up to monetise the idiocy at the trailing end of the IQ bell curve. Their powers of persuasion are as sophisticated as their shitty takes – they’re shouting down the hallway at those befuddled simpletons who want their opinions to be formed by others.

If this is what Labor (and the Greens and independents) are up against then the Tories will be in opposition for some time yet. Perhaps we can now regain our national dignity.

This article was originally published on Grumpy Geezer.

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The conceit of a serial failure

The messiah complex: Brother Scotty’s weird grab for power

The reflexive criminal behaviour of the grift & congealed bacon grease that is Donald Trump can be understood if you test his every action against his primary motivation – pleonexia, the all consuming greed of a grotesque, amoral fraud. Burying his dead first wife Ivana at his Bedminster golf resort for the tax breaks is penny-pinching avarice that defines this corrupt vulgarian. The upside of that affront is that it may encourage Melania to double the salt and cheese content of his hamburger intake to ensure he’s not around to have her future, naked corpse displayed in a glass case at Mar-a-Lago for $50 a peek.

That the ludicrous, tangerine ballbag is entirely driven by the accumulation of ostentatious wealth is clear, whereas it’s trickier to pin down what enthuses our very own unchained malady – the artifice trading as ScoMo™.

I was intending to move on from sledging the dolt after his ignominious banishment to the bleachers but his miasma clings to one’s clothing. His behaviour has always been a clear indication he’d be a continuing source of derision as evidenced by his post-election squatting at Kirribilli House when it looked as if the only way he could be removed was to notify the Israeli military that a Palestinian family was living there.

Morrison’s a particularly peculiar unit. Possessed of a self-regard that exceeds the bloated ego of a talentless politician favoured by happenstance to always fail upwards he seems to have interpreted his luck as the beneficence of an all powerful deity, a god who has a grand plan – Scotty the Chosen One. Not for Scooter the standard issue narcissism that drives seekers of high office or the ‘God’s on our side’ invocation of self-righteous self-interests. Scooter has a fully-blown messiah complex.

Pastor Supreme, Blessed Leader, Shepherd of the Flock, The Keeper of Truth, Beloved Father of the Nation, His Benevolence, Keeper of all Wisdom. The latest revelations (there will surely be more to come) of his usurping of power by taking his squatting inclinations into the portfolios of five of his own ministers was Morrison’s take on Trump’s sedition customised for local conditions and in accordance with his fervent belief that he’s the next best thing to the second coming. Brother Scotty the missionary creep.

“Only I could really understand the weight of responsibility that was on my shoulders and on no-one else…” (Scott Morrison).

“Nobody knows the system better than me, which is why I alone can fix it.” (Donald Trump).

Source photo: Mick Tsikas/AAP

Apart from their shared awfulness and mutual admiration comparing Scooter to Trump is fraught. Whereas Deckstain Donny cynically exploited the profitable gullibility of ‘Jesus was a white American’ rubes and dullards, Scooter’s motivation seems to have been a sincere belief in his own godly specialness. As Minister For All Things could he facilitate an imminent Rapture – the further accumulation of riches by the wealthy righteous while he encourages the incineration of the planet? To me his Pentacostalist-inspired weirdness is a convincing explanation of his aberrant mindset.

When you have the warmth of a Cobargo handshake, suffer from the underlying conditions of smarm and a suite of off-putting personality tics, if you’re aesthetically unpleasant with the physique of a lasagne thrown from a speeding car and with a head better suited to Jeffrey Dahmer’s fridge but yet retain a skerrick of self-awareness, when lying and artifice are second nature it is understandable you could be tempted to disguise your lack of appeal with a barrage of his “I’m not pretending to be someone else” dress-ups and role plays.

Image: a Twitter clever clogs

But Morrison’s deceit goes deeper.

A give-away was the ever-present, know-all smirk. Morrison has always had an aversion to scrutiny. His modus operandi is secrecy. With God on his side, untroubled by scruples, honesty or shame he thought he’d get away with his despotic power grab pending the end times.

Now with a new government checking the books, with enquiries and royal commissions in the offing, the Morrison carcass is not yet picked clean. I am anticipating further material.

I wonder what Jesus is telling him now.

* * * * * * *

Why the former prime minister saw fit to amass such immense secret power may never be properly explained. But his former cabinet colleagues, many of whom have been horrified to learn what had been concealed from them, say it speaks of a psychology of control, distrust and even paranoia. ABC. Behind the scenes of Scott Morrisons power grab.

“It’s clear what Morrison and co are doing here. It would be “indefensible” for them not to cooperate with an inquiry into what happened, as Guardian Australia’s Paul Karp noted yesterday. So they are instead doing everything they can to undermine it – to turn what the government is seeking to make a calm, judicial process (Labor even rejected a bid to take this to the more political privileges committee) into a “political circus”, one that is not credible or genuine because it doesn’t fit some expanded parameters they have created. It’s surely only a matter of time before we hear the term “kangaroo court”, a Morrison favourite. All throughout this saga, the Trumpian parallels have been hard to ignore. But there is something especially concerning about a former leader seeking to delegitimise an investigation into his conduct, and a once-legitimate party that is more than happy to enable him.” Taking full irresponsibility. Rachel Withers, The Monthly

Why did Donald Trump bury his first wife Ivana at his golf resort? Irish Central.

* * * * * * *

Interesting reads:

What drives Donald Trump? Greed, and greed alone. Catherine Rampell, Tampa Bay Times.


This article was originally published on Grumpy Geezer.


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Papering over the crackpots

How will they sell the tattered remains of a discarded and discredited rabble?

Now that Stooge McFuck has been consigned to a nosebleed seat on the backbenches from whence to idly speculate on the humiliating turn his miracles have taken and to importune potential post-politics grift it will be interesting to watch how the Tories repackage their unsellable bunko brand as being a credible alternative government.

The thinning of the Tory herd has provided their tattered remnants with an opportunity for renewal, for some introspection on their electoral drubbing, for a dash of humility or contrition as redress for the embarrassment that was that Jesusing, self-regarding calamity DiddleyScott Morrison.

The light shone on their monetising of crises, their turpitude, cronyism, incompetence and mendacity should’ve elicited a profession of regret or apology or perhaps some distancing from the most odious of their spivs. Now that we’ve been spared many of the colourful personalities who’d come to define the character of the L/NP they could’ve dialed back the awful.

Two outstanding examples of the colour that has drained from their ranks are persons of girth Gorgeous George Christensen and Craig Kelly, both having voluntarily left the building – Georgiebuoy to flog RWFW merch and his conspiratorial fucknuttery via his poor man’s Alex Jones social media, while Cray Cray’s status as “our next Prime Minister” has been down-graded to bouncy castle consultant.

Another of my favourites was Eric Abetz. When, like Eric, you have real Nazis in your family tree – great uncle SS Standartenführer Otto and then also Erwin Rommel, an alleged cousin of his maternal grandfather, you’re a sitting duck for innuendo and cheap shots. Who am I to resist such temptation?

If Eric had harboured any ambitions for launching a panzer attack on Stalingrad he kept it fairly quiet; his right wing fuckwittery was kept within the traditional Tory boundaries of racism, homophobia and cutting the wages of lowly-paid Parliament House cleaners. Eric’s appeal to proto-Nazis in the Tory base became redundant once the embaldened Dutton-dressed-as-yam became tuber supreme.


From Twitter


A broad sweep of other funsters was also lost to the L/NP. They cover a range of personality disorders from a-holes to Zed. Canny share trader Diamond Dave Sharma, blunderkind Joshie Frydenberg, shrubbery lurker Andrew Laming, Red Gladys Liu aka Bimboo (she’s a thick Chinese plant), Mandy-Jane Stoker (somewhere there’s a camel missing its toe), prayer room supplicant Tim Wilson and that tosser Greg ‘Berkeley’ Hunt. Christian Porter the Tory princeling and darling of the born-to-rule set, those entitled types who complain about the bald kids getting priority in the queue at SeaWorld, had his privileged, consequences-free life evaporate as he punched himself in the face with futile lawsuits against those calling him out for the dirtbag that he is. After such a cleanse how have the Tories behaved?

Hint: They’re not taking it well.


Cartoon by Alan Moir (


Sulking and public tantrums were on display from the “natural party of government” as the lolly jar was removed from their grasp. Toys were chucked, dummies were spat, fainting couches were deployed. Tory-spruiker talk shows indulged the pouting and shouting from the remaining dross that populates the smoking ruin of the Lying Nasty Party. As if to demonstrate that women can make it in Tory politics provided they are just as egregious as the men the umbrage was led by Holly Hughes, most notable for her pearl necklaces (subliminal messaging as to Holly’s favourite past-time perhaps) and her crusade against the Marxist ideology of the teaching profession and her dismissal of climate change as a “luxury issue”.


From the Tory brains trust


When confronted with their malfeasance the Tories are capable of embarrassment but not shame. They circle the wagons – obfuscating, quibbling, blame-shifting and projecting albeit while blushing and looking at their shoes. Any regret is only ever at getting caught.

DiddleyScott led the Nasties to new levels of heinous behaviour, clad in his belief he had celestial licence to indulge his megalomania. Can the Nasties change? They won’t. Morrison and his messiah complex may be toxic and while now a figure of derision he moved the dial on acceptable behaviour way beyond norms and conventions. He tested what he could get away with; who knows what he was capable of had he been re-elected. The stench still clings to the shady characters who survived. I doubt that Spud has the inclination, the character or the stones to do anything about it.





This article was originally published on Grumpy Geezer.


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So long, and thanks for all the pish

Here’s your hat. What’s your hurry?

And so we bid farewell to inarguably Australia’s worst ever Prime Minister.

A shameless liar, a humbug, a serial failure, a belligerent bully, a duplicitous toad oozing smarm from every pore. A pig who appealed to worst instincts, who saw opportunity in the dogma of a prosperity cult to justify the exploitation of the vulnerable and indulgence of the wealthy. He treated natural disasters as photo opportunities, he was an indolent incompetent who bungled problems and fled crises. A bellicose grifter masquerading as Scotty from next door, a facile galoot mugging for the cameras to fill the void of actual effort, a Tupperware area manager playing dress-ups as Dear Leader. He was contemptuous of all expertise or insight that challenged the small notions of his own repressed experience and his selective, biblical literalism. Simply, he was a vacuous, smirking clown who thought he was getting away with it.

This genius political tactician, the master campaigner took to market a sales pitch of licenced corruption, of “more CO² is less” and the feeding of anti-trans tropes to a usually reliable constituency of hateful religious bigots. As a desperate off-set to The Oaf’s blunderfucks the Tory machine resorted to re-animating the spectral John Howard to haunt the streets making noises like a trod-upon duck in once-safe blue-ribbon enclaves whose posh inhabitants fled for the exits.

Scooter left the office as he came to it – with self-serving duplicity and bastardry. Our affected Jesus Freak In Chief, a Christian of convenience, specialises in the demonisation of the desperate for personal benefit. His final wretched act as Prime Minister was to instruct the Australian Border Force to over-ride his own protocols and publicise an interception of a suspected asylum seeker boat on election day.

“I’ve been here to stop this boat, but in order for me to be there to stop those that may come from here, you need to vote Liberal and Nationals today.”

The last, frantic flailings of a fraud. No eagle painting this time but chickens coming home to roost – in an unused Bunnings flat-pack chook pen.

To stretch the metaphorical ironies – this useless shonk has burned down the House Of Liberal and charred the paint on the National Party outhouse as a bonus. If you listen carefully you can hear the ‘fwit fwit fwit’ of his chubby thighs as he flees the scene smelling of petrol and hubris, a sound not quite drowned out by the tantrums of entitled Tory born-to-rulers.

Perhaps, in a few years after a little of his damage is repaired, some may recall his name as they drop into Engadine Maccers and see, there in the corner, the Scott Morrison memorial stool.


(The entitled are not known for a capacity for introspection and self-analysis.)


Looking for Mr Right

From Howard to Abbott to Morrison the Tories continue to search for the bottom of the barrel and their scrapings have revealed what many dreaded. Herr Schickltuber. This is a man who clenches his butt cheeks to force a smile, who thinks “ex-Queensland copper” is a positive on his résumé and “lefty” is a pejorative and whose aesthetic runs to menace and black uniforms, side-arms and dark-sunnied goon squads. A hairless Lurch sans the joie de vivre.

Ersatzgruppenfritter Dutton, unlike his predecessor, possess some modicum of self-awareness but his human skin-suit is a work in progress. The warmongering of a belligerent hawk is to be toned down, a cuddlier, softer, kinder style of refugee abuser is to emerge – handing out a free kitten with every poking stick.

“I’ve always seen Parliament as a disadvantage frankly for sitting governments.” (Peter Dutton, 10 December 2018).

Let the re-imaging begin. FMD!

Meanwhile the rubes of the Nats contemplate a future continuing with a befuddled oik at the pointy end, hands clasped over his beer belly at pressers, puce of face, snaggled of tooth reciting the names of country towns he’s been pissed in like some bizarre rendition of I’ve Been Everywhere.

* * * * * * *

Regardless, Labor, the Greens and progressive independents have routed the bastards. It’s a bright new day and I will now retire my ScoMo sledges and direct my energies to developing a portfolio of potato-themed invective.




This article was originally published on Grumpy Geezer.


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Oh loathsome me

There has been no occasion too small for Smirko to fail to rise to.

Have you heard about the loathsome loser? He’s a loser but he still keeps on lyin’.

Loathed in Tory heirloom electorates, despised by many of his own MPs, hated by Victorians and Western Australians and abhorred by women, he’s even been called out by the puce-headed, bibulous slothario of bovine stupidity and dodgy morals who is his deputy. How low can you go when you cannot even meet the standards of a fornicating Father Jack in a comically over-sized cowboy hat?

His values are not so much formed by self-interests as being entirely replaced by them. A delusional narcissist and reflexive liar in the Trumpian style he’s devoid of introspection and hostile to critique. His kevlar self-belief is centred on the ludicrous notion that an omnipotent, super-natural being, creator of all things, took a personal interest in his career. ‘Everything is permissible when The Big Guy is on your side’ was too tempting a concept for an amoral hypocrite – he embraced the god-helps-those-who-help-themselves sophism like Barnaby clenches a cold beer.

It takes a monumental ego and a cloth ear to campaign on the concepts of acceptable government corruption, lowered wages, disenfranchisement of women and the legitimisation of trans trauma. WTAF, apart from a belief in his own genius and celestial sponsorship encourages him to dismiss the concerns of all but the hard-core arseholes and wannabe Big Swinging Dicks, to lie so casually and so conspicuously, to trumpet his failures as successes, his indolence as hard work and his grift as virtue and then shamelessly lay claim to the achievements of others? Is he that bereft of self-awareness or is he merely an unapologetic, whatever it takes shyster?

I. Am. The. Prime. Minister.” This is a bloke who preens and smarms as heroic leader. The alpha male, a national saviour who enjoys a beer with the boys, the boss cocky who’s good on the tools, the big dog who can run up a chook pen, a Churchill pointing at maps, resolute leader of men in times of strife. Is he fooling himself as much as he tries to fool the rest of us?

More timorous coward than the Brave Sir Scotty of his own narrative, he hid behind the curtains when confronted by angry women. He fled from flood victims. He abandoned the country in a crisis. He was laughed at by backbench oblate spheroids Craig Kelly and Gorgeous George Christensen whose only claims to formidability would be at a hoppo-bumpo jamboree.

Everything this fucker does is calculated. He may have an unwavering belief in his own god-ordained destiny but he’s prepared to dispense with any principle, any standard of integrity and degrade any institution to fit his own agenda – himself. He frames decency as weakness, he shouts and hectors, he punches down and bullies. He is, by any measure, a complete turd.

The focus groups have confronted him with an uncomfortable truth. Despite the anti-Labor histrionics and ScoMo™ hagiographies of Murdoch’s pamphleteers, the bias of the Stokes/Costello bobble-heads and the Vichyesque collaborators and whipped dogs in the ABC the revealed truth is that he is a widely detested creep. For a wanker who saw himself as the Tories’ best selling point, as a marketing savant and an admired man of the people and showed every sign of believing his own “I saved the country” bullshit it would have been a rude shock. I would’ve paid good money to be the PMO operative who broke the news to him. It would’ve been a challenge not to snigger.

Now he says he will change but he will see no need to do so.

His nastiness is innate. His disdain for the unfortunate, the underprivileged and the merely unlucky and those not voting for him is genuine. If you’re not prospering it’s your own fault, if you’ve been the victim of a disaster you’re on your own, if you didn’t vote for him then ‘fuck you’. It will be women who will contribute the most to the demise of this bullying misogynist but the ultimate irony is that this loathsome loser is about to be sacked when according to his personal dogma it’s his own unworthiness that will bring it about.

Sit down, take a look at yourself

Don’t you want to be somebody?

Someday somebody’s gonna see inside.

You have to face up, you can’t run and hide.

(Lonesome Loser, Little River Band)


This article was originally published on Grumpy Geezer.


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