This morning, Malcolm Turnbull and Scott Morrison started a fight. Now, while it’d be entertaining to see them sort it out, I feel our focus should remain elsewhere.
This morning on the bus, there were murmurings of a fight. The rich kid, Malcolm, was back from holidays, and he was going to fight the other rich kid, Scott, and they were totes going to finish what they started. Ooooh mama, the bus cooed when Scott called Malcolm the bad names.
— Graham Young (@GrahamY) October 31, 2018
For the first time since it was on, it’s totally on. Three o’clock at the flagpole, be there.
Pardon the juvenile preamble, but it’s the only accurate way you can define this nonsense. It’s a schoolyard scrape. The one we’ve all participated in, or witnessed. Two people who were friends, suddenly now aren’t, and are now at each other’s throats. Scott and Malcolm are exactly those two. They’re acting like preteen pugilists. No-one is really sure why they’ve drawn fists, or if they’re prepared to use them, but the whole year is watching, so don’t call me a dog, ya dog, or I’ll smash ya.
I suppose the difference between the schoolyard punch-ups of yore and modern political discourse is the lack of misplaced testosterone. In the days of old, we’d fight for something that didn’t mean anything to us, just because the big kid told us to. At least Malcolm and Scott’s scrape is about something meaningful, like the question of moving the Israeli embassy to a place that everyone thought was a bad idea…everyone except the Americans.
Classic. #PMScum reaches out to @TurnbullMalcolm, the man he knifed to help sooth the Indonesian feathers he ruffled. Turnbull in turn, sides with Indonesia and fires a broadside at Morrsion’s foreign policy incompetence. Dysfunctional much? #auspol https://t.co/9B4mVF0BNU
— John Wren, Scomophobia Advocate. (@JohnWren1950) October 30, 2018
Maybe the difference is the crowd that watches on. Since our last joint viewing of three confused rounds behind the bike shed, we’ve grown older. We have hair where there wasn’t hair before, and we have less hair where there was. We pay taxes, we set our own bedtimes, and we have our own pocket money. We should we able to call bullshit when we see it, and we certainly should be beyond dropping everything to focus on the giddy promise of a fight. We damn sure know that we should be back in class, paying attention to the meaningful curriculum, say the peoples and geography of Nauru, instead of watching these two rich twits bait each other.