All the morality of tomcats
This was a week in which many players on the political stage revealed their feet of clay. As primus inter pares, Cruddy led the way. During one of his now interminable hospital visits, he stopped pretending he was at a masked ball and showed his real face. Gone was the darling of the teen scene – anyone remember the halcyon days of Kevin 07? – and in his place the one they used to call Dr Death. Yes, welcome back forked-tongue man. There were many who wondered where you were hiding and many who had succumbed to the belief that you had changed. But, no, the nasty little beast that lurks within your breast assumed the ascendency again.
The source of this revelation? The great big new somersault on everything once held dear. He who verily vibrated with indignity when declaiming that global warming was the greatest moral challenge of our times has suddenly gone cold on the concept. His eternal flame of moral indignation has been snuffed out. And for what? Base pragmatism! All who thought moral leadership was above such tawdry concerns can now feel well and truly cheated. On ya, Cruddy!
As part of this repudiation of righteousness, Cruddy re-defined the national electoral franchise: as of the 2010 federal election, voters will be authorised to cast a ballot only on the topic of health and hospitals. This new decree has ruled all other considerations irrelevant. In the face of howls of protest, Cruddy was terse. “You didn’t heed me on climate change so you have forfeited your right to offer me guidance. I know what’s right for this country so just go and get on with your lives. Oh, and keep paying your taxes; I need those funds.”
This was Curt and Dismissive Man who had at last come out to play. There have been many sightings of him behind closed doors but rarely in public. CDM spotting usually happens when staff or subordinates are seen leaving his vicinity with brimming red eyes.
Having dismissed global warming as an imperative, Cruddy clearly decided he liked this persona and thought he’d stay in the role. Which led to his full frontal assault on tobacco-tokers. These poor bastards thought their only problem was having their health destroyed but now they are to have their wealth destroyed, too. But all for the national good. Or is this just for Cruddy’s benefit? Hmm . . .
Those with a peccadillo for pointillism might have perceived a linkage between the abandonment of an Emissions Trading Scheme and the assault on smokers: if Cruddy curbs ten squillion lungsful of noxious fumes each day, he can still claim moral leadership on carbon pollution reduction. And to think there were sceptics who doubted his ability to create torrents of empty hospital beds across the nation! By enforced healing of all those piteously unhealthy smokers, elective surgery lists will now be able to be slashed in no time. Who dared doubt his capacity for programmatic connectivity?
Another to reveal her clay tootsies this week was She Who Couldn’t Lie Straight in Bed, Queen of the Shady State. Faced with a Boxer Rebellion at her own team’s Labour Day March on Monday, she decided to flee to America (home of the capitalist oppressor). In this manner she will avoid the widely anticipated outrage of organised labour objecting to her massive sell-off of state assets. In keeping with her alienation from the masses, Queen Bligh will fly business class to the States but will fork out $10,000 for a First Class air bed for the strenuous return leg. No wonder she needs to flog off the silver. Of course, there were those unkind enough to suggest she realises she is so on the nose that she may as well enjoy some perks while she still has the chance.
Clay modelling was all the go in sandgroper land, too, where Runaway Bus Crash was another revelation. With such a superabundance of turbocharged sexuality, how did he ever decide to pursue politics instead of just becoming a gigolo? Perhaps his utterly inappropriate antics over recent years stem from an innate realisation that his notional appeal is all just his own little fantasy. But Bus Crash was just as profligate with the public purse as he was with his sexual favours. One could be forgiven for thinking his modus operandi as Treasurer was a peculiar form of tithing: nine for the state coffers and one for me. His utter laxity in respecting the public purse mirrors the recently-revealed British parliamentary approach to rorting and thievery. His enforced resignation will no doubt be followed by public repudiation in his own electorate. With such a fate already presaged for his Greens’ dalliance, they can splendidly swan off into the sunset. Oh, but he has a family? Hmm . . . well, that says more about him than anything else. Won’t be missed.
And the true believer hopefuls in the Failed State were eagerly optimistic with a new poll showing that Krispy Kornflakes has more sex appeal than any other leader in the nation. Their optimism, however, was as short-lived and messy as a wet dream for it turns out that voters there have finally learned not to fall for the three-card trick. They love Krispy but won’t have a bar of the Workers’ Guild. The Lovelies, on the other hand, were left to ponder just when their party will elect a leader to challenge Krispy. There was a rumour that someone called Bazza O’Fazza had got the job some time ago but he’s never been seen since and many think he must have passed away. Anyone seen a funeral notice? At least Krispy has the honour – thus far – of having feet that appear decidedly flesh and blood. Here’s hoping at least some of our dreams can be salvaged.