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Name that Tory: A Quiz

The L/NP regime is hardly a model of diversity. It’s a conglomeration of toffs from private schools where sex education was limited to rumours about the sports master, entitled spawn of the squatocracy, sticky-fingered mining lobbyists, scorched earth cow cockies, suburban accountants and lack-of-life-experience political careerists. They have much in common – a flat earth religiosity and a disdain for facts, an authoritarian born-to-rule mentality, greed and mendacity. But they, and their fellow travellers on the loony fringe parties try to craft an image – their “personal brand”.

Some buff the ca-ca, others need to camouflage their unpalatable true selves ala FauxMo’s farcical daggy dad routine. All fool themselves more than they fool us.

Tory 1

Self image: astute retail politician, heroic champion of the Weatherboard Nine, speaker of truths, man of the land, author, sage.

Reality: A puce-hued, handsy lecher, gormless gofer for mining oligarchs, waterboy for big ag boondogglers and a rumpled bumpkin who parts his hair with a fence paling. If his charred remains ever need recovery from plane wreckage he will be identifiable from his tooth. He marks his territory with a lingering waft of Eau de Ugg Boot and gets his best ideas from a magazine he found in a hedge.

Familiar call: “carp, caaarp, caaaarp!” and “Another schooner please sweetcheeks.”

Tory 2

Self image: Champion of downtrodden coal mining magnates, chocolate eclair connoisseur.

Reality: He emerged like Tim Robbins escaping from Shawshank, and climbed from obscurity to the dizzy heights of irrelevance.

When he was a child his mother put blackout curtains on his humidicrib, as an adolescent his bed was put out on the nature strip in the hope he’d be taken away in a council clean up. Being an inadequate furniture salesman encouraged him to try his hand at being an inadequate politician, the only life goal he’s ever achieved.

Tory 3

Self image: Urbane entrepreneur and future PM.

Reality: Grifter with a talent for re-purposing tax payers’ money for familial gain. Wears the guilty expression of a spaniel caught mid-shit. Poisoner of endangered native flaura, born with a silver foot in his mouth. Modern day Don Quixote tilting at wind turbines.

Tory 4

Self image: Maverick jet-setter, chick magnet.

Reality: Ping pong ball fieldsman and used G-string collector. A voodoo doll could be made of this bloke by rolling a doughnut in a kitty-litter tray. The only time a woman ever saw him naked she screamed and ran out of the park.

Tory 5

Self image: Raconteur, leader of men, dam builder, the reincarnation of Elvis.

Reality: An empty Comcar pulled up to Parliament House and he got out(1). He puts “pull” labels on his desk drawers and formed a Rolf Harris tribute act to tour country child care centres. His head-nodding is symptomatic of the impenetrable dullness of an oratory so obtuse that he can send himself into a stupor mid-sentence.

Tory 6

Self image: A shiny-headed Fabio taking the salute, legs akimbo, from legions of brownshirts armed with flaming torches and housebricks goosestepping their vengeful way to MONA.

MONA is Hobart’s Museum of Old and New Art, a den of leftie degeneracy, that once had a wall display of plaster casts of ladies’ pink bits that Fabio mistook for an indoor climbing gym only to become entangled by his lederhosen halfway up (but he did appreciate the Gewürztraminer stocked by the gallery café).

Reality: With limited train services in Tassie to dictate should run on time he spends his days tracing his DNA back to Beowulf and machine gunning shepherds on his Playstation attack helicopter.

Tory 7

Self image: A crusading exposer of the conspiracy of the world’s scientists, academics, environmentalists, NASA, the CSIRO, the BoM, the EU and Boris Johnson to take over the world.

Reality: A ridiculous little homunculous who would fall through the hole in a massage table if it wasn’t for his oversized head; he resembles an unsold toffee apple. Thinks the spinning blades of wind turbines are slowing the earth’s rotation thereby causing bushfires.

Tory 8

Self image: Brylcreemed Jimmy Olsen with aspirations for the most Hitler Youth merit badges.

Reality: A graduate of the IPA masturbatorium whose daily schedule is provided to him in Alphabetti Spaghetti. So pale he’s translucent – he could get skin cancer from a crescent moon. Possibly he’s the outcome from Eric Abetz’s turkey baster getting jammed in a Howdy Doody doll.

Tory 9

Self image: Urbane sophisticate and man-about-town. Help yourself guru. PM material.

Reality: Smarmy elitist twat and preppy try-hard who’s his own biggest fan. A big, swinging dickhead, an enthusiast for free speech and public order by watercannon for those whose speech he disagrees with. An ideology for every occasion.

Tory 10

Self Image: Sophia Loren from Wollongong and proud homophobe.

Reality: Aunty Jack sans motorbike – a hard-to-starboard looney who is offended by the “right wing” component of the designation “right wing nut job”. A typically oblivious Tory dullard who thinks Sinai is the plural of sinus and that feng shui is arranging the sand bags around sinking Pacific islands. Like Kevin Andrews in drag she uses the back of a spoon to draw her eyebrows on with a lump of coal while her use of digital technology is limited to a dildo shaped like a thumb.

* * * * *


Tory 1: Too easy. Barking Barmy Joyce, aka The Beetrooter. 5 points

Tory 2: Craig Sausage Rolls Kelly. 5 points

Tory 3: Doctor Le Numbers, Black Angus Taylor. 5 points

Tory 4: Gorgeous George Chistensen. 5 points.

Tory 5: Michael McSomebody. 5 points. A bonus 5 points if you can recall his full name.

Tory 6: Eric-Otto Abetz. 5 points.

Tory 7. Tinfoil titfer Malcolm Roberts. 10 points.

Tory 8. Little Jimmy Paterson. 10 points.

Tory 9. Tim Freedom Boy Wilson. 10 points.

Tory 10. Concetta Ferrari-Wheels. 10 points.


60 – 75. You know your Tories and are consequently despondent at the the nation’s spiralling toward entrenched corruption, serfdom and international pariah status.

40 – 55. The headline acts in this circus – the Liar From The Shire, Spud, Fraudburger and the Conman are as much as you can handle without projectile vomiting so you tune out. Who can blame you?

20 – 35. You can smell the stench but you don’t know where it’s coming from.

0 – 15. Shouldn’t you be reading The Spectator?

How easily can you see through them? Take the quiz and find out – name that Tory.

(1) Paraphrasing Winston Churchill

This article was originally published on The Grumpy Geezer.

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  1. Phil Pryor

    Mince that lot together and one might prefer diarrhoea in a sleeping bag as being more aromatic. Phew. The worst load of turds, ever, as a federal government. And they are backed by other rejects from kindy…

  2. Bruce Winchester

    Thanks for the entertainment Grumpy.
    I enjoyed your delightful barbs as much as the challenge to match the sad tawdry descriptions with the even sadder, even more tawdry political realities.
    Never have I had so much fun with a such truly depressing subject.
    I scored 40 and yes the headline acts numb my brain with their intransigent lust for lies.

  3. John OCallaghan

    Wonderful funny descriptions of these misfits and chromosome challenged factory rejects…. gave me a good belly laugh as well….. love your work.

  4. Kaye Lee

    This is the first time getting full marks in a test has left me feeling….despondent is not an adequate word.

  5. New England Cocky

    AW shucks GG ….. you have a natural talent for the accurate description of our elected politicians.

  6. totaram

    Kaye Lee: I sympathise. For once getting full marks is not a cause for joy and celebration of achievement. Even that can happen. Pity.

  7. Max Gross

    “A voodoo doll could be made of this bloke by rolling a doughnut in a kitty-litter tray.” And that’s another wasted glass of wine and damaged keyboard!

  8. Michael Taylor

    I failed miserably. I refuse to tell you my score.

  9. Pingback: Name that Tory: A Quiz #auspol - News Oz

  10. Kronomex

    All I see is a bunch of self-serving greedy and corrupt bastards who really don’t give a shit about anything else but lining their pockets and sucking up to the big end of town and Rupert.

  11. ajogrady

    Scotty from marketing is the vile swollen and painful haemorrhoid on the rancid faeces encrusted arse whole of the flatulent L/NP.

  12. Paul Davis

    Horrifyingly accurate depictions, GG.

    Whilst amusing it is also stomach churning to realise that these vile grifters are deliberately inflicting so much harm on millions of people. Let’s not mince words, these creatures are not gormless clueless incompetents bumbling and stumbling around like amiable but misguided idiots. This is willful vindictive criminal cruelty. I don’t want just a change of government, i want Nuremburg.

  13. Patagonian

    I heard Tory 1 is a free agent again. And Tory 2 couldn’t climb anywhere. The thrust needed to get that tub of lard off the ground would be equivalent to that needed to launch Apollo 11.

  14. Kaye Lee

    I wondered about that Patagonian. All those sob stories about how being away from home had taken such a toll on his family. So he starts a new family and, with two babies, decides he wants to be leader and hence away from home all the time again? Don’t tell me there is trouble in paradise? What happened to we’re so in lurv?

  15. Patagonian

    As a sandgroper I’m disappointed that no Tories from WA got a guernsey. I mean to say, we’ve inflicted Car Crash, the Corminator and The Price is Right on unsuspecting punters, to name but a few WA charmers. Anybody would think WA wasn’t Goodenough.

  16. Kaye Lee

    There is a wealth of non-talent that could make the list – the never-elected-always-available-happy-as-a-pig-in-shit-and-you-can-quote-me-on-that-not-so-retired Jim Molan.

    GG shares the ridicule around

  17. Patagonian

    What I heard was that they aren’t together any more and there may be a new woman somewhere in the mix.

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