Tony Abbott has threatened a return to power. If another leadership spill comes to pass, I say the blame is entirely ours, as we continue to validate their behaviour come election time.
Do you remember the last time we were left out of the discussion when Australia changed its leader? Of course you do. It was the best Spillsmas Day since the last one. Everyone remembers Uncle Malcolm, steeled by the manna of daytime Tooheys, boldly wresting control of the nation’s barbecue; how we cheered because we thought Tony’s well done was a bit too well done. Well done, Malcolm.
Now we’re cooking.
Well, sort of. Flash forward to three summers later, and upon the horizon walks an ugly figure with an ugly gait. A lumbering supercilious troll that habituates the caves of political loopholes, sniffing out its prey by the caustic pang of dipping approval polls. Roll our eyes we might at the sound of the mouth-breathing, feet shuffling utter waste of space, but I if we’re going to point fingers, I suggest we dig into our own sternums, preferably drawing blood, leaving a scar that makes us remember, as we tend to forget.
Having lived through many we can simplify, and simply put, a leadership spill is a failure of government. The person elected can no longer do the job, so someone else does it. The party doesn’t change, the face of the scapegoat does. It’s a sleight of hand on par with Malibu Stacy’s new hat. A lazy cash grab so obvious that it bamboozles us with the awesome power of simplicity, so much so as the last two post-spill elections has seen us vote on the side of the usurper. As Julia bested Tony in 2010, Malcolm did to Bill in the (doubly) disillusioning winter of 2016.
It’s a sleight of hand on par with Malibu Stacy’s new hat. A lazy cash grab so obvious that it bamboozles us with the awesome power of simplicity.
As for the lasting lessons, we lose. But, it’s entirely our fault because we make it ok. We’re no better than the partner that discovers their spouse was unfaithful, and instead of emptying their possessions on the front lawn, they welcome them back with warm arms.
To use the correct monogamist parlance, we’re cucks. Whether we glean any pleasure from being fucked over by numerous different partners remains to be seen, but what is clear when the circle completes itself in 2019, we have ourselves an opportunity. An opportunity to break the pattern of our self-destructive behaviour, to finally move our shit out of the apartment, slamming the door in such righteous fury that the framed picture of happier times falls off the wall and shatters on the floor.
We can dream.
I would like to add a caveat. If he pulls it off, I’m not saying don’t vote Abbott because Abbott, I’m saying don’t vote for him for us. Because a lover who treats you wrong, solely keeping you by thousandfold promises of change, doesn’t love you. Even if they show up on your doorstep wearing a different face ever four years.
Always remember: A cheater is a cheater is a cheater.