Will the premature defecator make an early run for the polls?
“Morrison’s poor judgment, the debacle of the vaccination rollout, the failures on quarantine, the monumental debt created by the monumental spending, his intolerance of criticism will all catch up with him eventually, most likely not until after the election, when he will reap what he has sown.” (Niki Savva, journalist, author, and former senior adviser to Prime Minister John Howard and Treasurer Peter Costello).
Sydney, 26th June 2021…
Somewhere, hiding within the sheltered confines of the QAnon clubhouse at Kirribilli, Scurry Morrison shat his pants.
Head prefect Gladdy Twoshoes’ hubris had set the meanest, nastiest, ugliest virus variant loose after Scurry had expended considerable political capital pissing in our custard and telling us it was a trifle – “envy of the world“, “it’s not a race“, “NSW is the gold standard“, “I commend the NSW Premier, she hasn’t gone to lockdown…” and then Poor, Sad Gladys® went and announced the inevitable – another lockdown.
A smooth vaccine roll-out was Scurry’s ticket to any easy run to the polls. The big flaw in this all eggs in one basket strategy was of course Scurry’s considerable talents for fucking up. And here we are.
Scurry typically practises social distancing whenever the going gets tough, disappearing for days and maintaining radio silence while his team of flunkies catch their breath to war game the options. Their boy’s vulnerability can always be gauged by the frequency and duration of his disappearances and the volume of the covering fire from Murdoch’s night-soil spruikers. Burying the bodies, inventing distractions, blame shifting – spinning up more revs than a choirboys changing room until they regain control of the news cycle with announcements re-announcing old announcements or announcing upcoming announcements.
Such practices have served Scurry well during his tenure – the billions in rort fests, shrubbery lurkers and rapists, pissed off wimmin, ecocide, disaster capitalism to further enrich cronies, abandoned citizens, jailed kindergartners could all be forgotten with the virus soaking up all the air time but the very thing that was providing cover for the smug yob’s indolence, nastiness and grifting is the thing that will finish him.
As with the bushfires, the pandemic has exposed Morrison for who he truly is. No Facebooked curries, no borrowing of chickens or mounting of heavy machinery, no be-medalled general nor tame premier can hide his vacuity and uselessness. A coward who baulks at scrutiny and bullies any defiance, a clueless charlatan, a pig, a QAnon adjacent prosperity cultist who celebrated an affinity with Mr Tangerine Man, an overtly religious moral void, an inveterate liar, a poseur whose first instinct in a crisis is flight, whose vision is shaped by the rapture and whose ambitions are informed by an eagle painting will be desperately rifling through dumpsters for dead cats.
This was Morrison’s chance to shine, to show up the doubters and haters, to prove he was worthy of the office, that he could confidently go to an early election. Instead, he shat himself. Again.
Did you spot the musical reference?
Where is the PM when the country needs him? On LinkedIn. Women’s Agenda.
This article was originally published on Grumpy Geezer.
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