Cec Poole, Australia’s finest political nuisance, sets out his reasons for turning to Trump. ‘Tis the season, after all.
If there’s a Trump-inspired candidate standing for PM at the next election he or she is absolutely assured of my vote because I wouldn’t so much as break wind with any of the current mob.
Malcolm can’t tell whether he’s feeling the heat from all the red in his bottom line or whether it’s his arse that’s on fire. Surely after suffering Kevin, Julia and Tony you’d have thought the law of averages would deliver a reasonable incumbent as PM, especially as the next Labor cab off the rank promises to be more disruptive than Uber.
If Bill ever became PM he’d run the country like a union which would mean that paying taxes would become like paying union dues and failure to pay would prompt a visit from a CFMEU debt collector.
I’m absolutely sick to death of that dreary dogsbody Dreyfus crapping on about that barking boofhead Brandis.
And what a bogan bunch of hypocrites the Greens are. They went environmentally apoplectic over a bunch of sceptics who entered Parliament House to condemn the carbon tax but kissed and cuddled an anti-Manus mob who should have been stuck in a detention centre once they’d been unglued from the public gallery.
I frequently ask myself what on earth’s the bloody good of the Senate? The only answer I can possibly conceive is that it enables Nick to blackmail Malcolm into saving South Australia from becoming an extension of the Simpson Desert.
And let’s face it, if the economic future of this country is at the tender mercies of the Greens and Independents in the Senate we should already be making preliminary enquiries at the World Bank about a bailout.
Jacqui Lambie now remains the only thing left behind by PUP. Clive has gone, so have the Brick With Eyes and Dio, not to mention Queensland Nickel, the fleet of executive jets, countless appearances on the ABC and the Palmer Coolum Resort. Surely it’s Clive’s responsibility to clear away the last of his political mess and leave Canberra just as he found it.
Somehow I can’t believe that Pauline will emerge as the Trump troubadour in Australia but you never know. If it was possible to perform such a miracle with loaves and fishes perhaps it may also be possible with fish and chips.