In September of last year images emerged from the White House of a doe-eyed Scott Morrison licking the pumpkin-coloured ear-lobe of Donny T the deranged narcissist-in-residence which filtered Australia’s traditional obsequience to the U.S. through a distinctly different prism. The personal rapport between our incontinent crotch-stain and their bloated, venal spiv was built on an obvious shared value – they both adore Donald J. Trump.
Let’s get beyond the optics. (Yes… please).
“He’s always trying to see what he can get away with and, as I have seen through the course of his life, he’s always got away with everything. No one holds him accountable. He constantly gets rewarded for failing.” Mary Trump on her uncle.
“Every president takes politics into account but with Trump it’s qualitatively different. It’s not just a factor. It’s the factor.” John Bolton.
Tweak those 2 quotes and they align nicely with any rational assessment of our own corpulent blowhard. Did Smuggo go the full Raquel Squelch at Trump because he saw a reflection of his own character?
Smuggo’s fan-girl admiration of Trump cannot be based on the latter’s towering intellect, his mastery of oratory, his incisive wit, his devoted family man reputation or his fondness for puppies. Perhaps it could be Morrison’s Audis-R-Us Jesus Inc. veneration of the ostentatious trappings of wealth but I’m more inclined to believe it’s motivated by Trump’s disregard for institutions, norms, oversight or decency, his narcissistic self-aggrandisement and his pursuit of unfettered power and personal financial benefit.
Smuggo the marketing man and his spin-minions have no doubt watched Trump and his GOP enablers closely for ideas on how far they may be able to adopt and mould the orange one’s brand of blatantly opportunistic, self-serving plundering and abuses for local deployment.
Ratbags and robber barons
Politics is a dirty game, and the Labor ranks are not squeaky clean but the right-wingers are awash with dodgy operators, wideboys, touts and chancers, and they’re the ones in power.
Disregard the moon units of the looney right such as One Nation’s chippie Pauline Hanson, a beached flounder of incoherent glibberings shadowed by a diminutive blind mullet of a sidekick Two-Bob-Short Roberts. Grievance mongering is a nice little earner for Bubblehead and Pipsqueak but they’re just Morris dancers in the corner of the big grifters’ ballroom.
Ignore also fringe-dwellers like Craig Flaccido Domingo Kelly and his fellow untethered bouncy castle Gorgeous George Christensen both of whom, when not touting the weight loss benefits of hydroxychloroquine and cream cheese sliders, are swiping right on Tinder profiles of Proud Boys, Boogaloos, MAGAs, QAnoners and heavily armed banjo strummers decked out in Walmart cammo pants covering the frilly knickers they’ve pinched from their sisters’ dirty laundry. The aim of our two fruits from the dullard orchard is to expand their profiles which, given their oblate spheroid physiques is quite the challenge as it’s hard to tell whether their Instagram pics are in landscape or portrait.
Forklift hitch-hiker Clive Greasy Palmer further feeds the fat fuck theme (pun intended). With his private jumbo-passenger jet and Smuggo’s $80 million IOU in his pocket he likes to think of himself as a big wheel. But Clive’s relationship with the levers of power is purely transactional – if he runs out of funds with which to steal elections on the Tories’ behalf or should justice prevail and he ends up giving reach-arounds in cell block D’s showers he’ll be binned like a ruptured inflatable girlfriend.
The freaks and the developmentally challenged are on the periphery. The main game is centred on the PMO (the Wriggle Room) and its lumpy carpet. The nasty is developed, distributed and driven from the top by the SchMo Bros. And their pin-up boy and role model is the porcine prisoner-in-waiting Big Donny.
The differences between the GOP oligarchs and our Tory big swinging dickheads is one of packaging more than substance. They both have the same aim of shovelling wealth upwards, clipping the ticket on the way through, by pillaging national assets at the cost of our collective well-being.
But even Smuggo the twice-sacked tourism spruiker recognises that the persona of a discoloured psycopath is a hard sell in the local market. One Abbott was more than enough thanks and so the Daggy Dad routine was contrived to hoodwink the complacent, the forgetful and the easily led.
Integrity and competence MIA
Regardless of their position on the moderate left-right political scale I suspect most punters would agree that the two basic characteristics of a legitimate government are integrity and competence. What non-partisan, clear-headed observer would conclude that the Republicans or the L/NP (or the UK Tories) possess either?
We are at the point now where we have ineptitude, unadulterated bastardry and blatant criminality enabled by complicity, obedience or apathy.
Smuggo’s marketing temperament leads him to try to disguise his Trumpian inner bully, his disdain for proprieties and his hammock ballast laziness. He’s as subtle as a drunk uncle at a Christmas lunch but he’s not quite so stupid as to replicate Trump’s juvenile sales pitches. His palette of focus-grouped personal brands has more colours than Donny’s trademark putrescent-carrot tinge.
The schmooze of curries, cubbies and chook pens is Daggy Dad V2.0. Further refinements are expected after beta testing by fully-funded empathy consultants Ploy & Gambitt.
Fatuous slogans substitute for substance, such as Smuggo’s JWH-inspired dog-whistles – “If you have a go you’ll get a go” and “If you’re good at a job you’ll get a job” meaning if you’re unemployed it’s your own fault.
“Look over there, a squirrel” is a dodge deployed each time a Squizzy Taylor or a Barmy Joyce or an Alan Todger or a Stuart “My Bad” Robert spills another of their turds on the carpet.
Then there’s the Gunnadoo ruse. The purpose of announcement upon announcement is to put them back in the drawer for re-announcement after a suitable time lapse to re-use as another announcement of a pending announcement. Any dates for delivery will be suitably long – stretching into the next election cycle and beyond.
And of course they lie, lie, lie. When caught out on camera lying about lying Smuggo just lies that he hadn’t lied. They all lie so habitually that it’s shrugged off as BAU. Good tip, Donald.
The “Labor, Labor, Labor” feint doesn’t get traction after eight years of Tory fusterclucks. Now Smuggo’s under-the-bus road spatter includes anybody up to and including Jen and the girls serving as his human shields. Such a nice man. “I don’t hold a hose, mate” was not a throw-away line, it’s a Smuggo character trait.
The soup nazi gambit (“vote as you’re told or no soup for you”) is their big play. It’s thievery and malfeasance on a grand scale. $100 million in Sports Rorts and $1.126 billion in community development grants used as L/NP election slush funds. Tory shameless fuckery is so ingrained it was replicated at a state level when St Gladys of Berejiklean approved more than $100 million in local council grants in Coalition-held electorates in the lead-up to the NSW election.
And Murdoch’s man bites dog “journalism” will, as always, provide covering fire.
FatuousMan and Boob-boy
Tories have an in-built belief in their status as the natural party of government. Elections are an inconvenience, Parliament a hindrance and Labor governments are an aberration – a failing of the governed to know their place and acknowledge their betters.
Their arrogance shines through, personified by Smuggo’s ever-present smirk and his shameless deputy douche Micky The Dip McCormack, a man so soporifically uninspiring that funeral homes do stocktakes whenever he appears on the telly.
But autocrats are thin skinned. When questioned in parliament Smuggo goes postal, his head explosions reveal his little man in a fat suit insecurities. Behind that smarm and practised theatrics lurks the same space-invading, hand-grabbing creep of bush-fire infamy. He dreads exposure, his corruptocracy fears an integrity commission.
It’s been said that Trump is not the cause of America’s travails but a symptom of it, whereas Morrison and Abbott and Howard before him are the cause of ours.
The Americans may dump Trump soon but it will take them years to shed Trumpism.
We have to wait awhile for our next election – we need a federal ICAC now!
* * * * *
BAU. Business As Usual. In Toryland that means enriching the mates and the cronies while demonising the unfortunate.
JWH. John Winston Howard. The unlamented architect of Australian stagnation. Other uses – a dog turd. “Look out, don’t tread in the JWH.” With thanks to @KleinRevd.
PMO. Prime Minister’s Office. Aka the Leni Riefenstahl suite.
* * * * *
Fun with anagrams Part 2
Morrison, Taylor – Moron Tory Liars. (from reader Chris.)
Christian Porter – Arthritic Person, Prehistoric Rant.
Alan Tudge – Dale Gaunt, Dual Agent.
Stuart Robert – Bert’s rat tour.
John Barliaro – Bro John, a liar.
Gladys Berejiklean – Genially beds a Jerk.
Angus Taylor – Anal Yogurts, Grant A Lousy, Stay = Gaol. Run
Barnaby Joyce – Cab nearby, joy.
This article was originally published on Grumpy Geezer.
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Leaning on the history and on the opinion of Machiavelli, Trump will get back in…OR…will get the backing of the US Supreme Court after a LONG, “LEGAL” battle not to have to step out of the White House.
We’ll see if the examples of historical precedence repeats…
Brilliant Swiftian invective, though deepening the despair about democracy- yes, the alternatives are worse… intelligent horses would govern us better.
Exceptions exist: a former State MP told me how a male (Liberal) fellow MP ridiculed him because he declined to espouse the aims and values of mining companies, developers and their like with a view to securing a promised , lucrative job post political career.
Ah, Grumpy: you’ve done it again.
(An echo of an ad from yesteryear bouncing around time-damaged synapses)
Mr McGoo wasn’t it Geoff?
Grumpy, you seem like a bloke who could easily command an audience.
I can picture you in your local pub, arm testing on the bar, beer nearby … and you start talking.
Within 15 minutes everyone in the bar is crowded around you, listening at every word. Roars of laughter echo through the pub.
People line up to buy you a drink.
Hey, there’s an idea. Give it a try. 😀
Roswell, my politically-themed forays beyond the man cave are only semi-regular catch-ups with a small group of fellow geezers to argue and indulge in a bottle too many of clarets.
While the group is lefty oriented there are 3 Liberal voters included.
One does it out of familial habit, the other two because of unashamed selfishness. In other words they’re typical Liberals but unlike the Liberal Party they actually pay their fair share of the tab.
” they’re typical Liberals but unlike the Liberal Party they actually pay their fair share of the tab.”…watch it, Grumpy…they’re sure to be “sucker betting” you.
No loonie left, grumpy?
The working slogan is not your:
The “Labor, Labor, Labor” feint doesn’t get traction…”
but the devastating
“Labor and the greens”.
Regardless, scummo et al show their arrogant disregard of the house by not being there or, if forced to attend, by concentrating on their phones to pass the time between a labor member droning a complaint and the sweet sound of I move this member not be heard.
ps ‘able gran dethrones’
The morning shows are the key to elections and albo could use them to delve into chicanery, once he has cleaned up his own nest.
Yes, joseph, all politicians quickly learn that their pay is for the bank any money, goods, services and travel the require is paid for by the public purse. There used to be base level clerks who knocked back dodgy claim but they went second after the tea ladies and left the process to ‘self-regulation and we all know what happens when pigs get access to the trough.
There needs to be published the diary of the politicians outlining the who, where, how long and outcomes of meetings and that would obviate the need for an ICAC..