Rest assured, if the polls hold and Tony Abbott wins this election, he will be carried to a Victory of Shit on the shoulders of dingbats and dogfuckers in electorates with frustratingly low suicide rates.
A few weeks ago, when the media was still trying to make this corpse of a campaign dance, much was made of Abbott's remark about the sex appeal of Fiona Scott, who looks likely to reclaim the seat of Lindsay for the Liberals, which was lost in 2007 by the known but not convicted ratfucker Jackie Kelly. Barely had the sex appeal furore calmed when, a week later at an exceptionally odd press conference in St Marys, Abbott saved Scott from a tremendous pratfall by declaring 'she ain't just a pretty face.' It was a perfectly executed piece of misdirection by a master troll, replete with hues of absurdity. The true depth of the pathetically subservient Scott's miserable stupidity was veiled, the newsmakers caught a fine headline, and Lindsay still looks set to fall to the NSDP.
Of course, no one has the time or inclination, amid the hurly-burly of this shitpot national backslide, to properly analyse Abbott's language when he isn't being deliberately aggravating. “Is Kevin Rudd man enough to [preference] the Greens last?” he challenged from a netball court in Caboolture, flanked by the improbable personage of Wyatt Roy. Admittedly, 'Gender Discoursegate' doesn't make for a particularly snappy headline, but what can you expect from the chorus line of sub-literate hype addicts furiously Dutch-ruddering over an alpha-bigot asking a narcissistic, has-been pussy if 'he ever shuts up'?
But I digress. If the blobs on the bus need their soundbites gifted, fine. After all, it is true that Abbott's 'gaffes' are indicative of just how badly he will decimate this country's reputation and international relations. Given the man's track record, it wouldn't surpise me if he turned up in Washington on his baptismal visit as PM, called Obama "Boy" and then propositioned Michelle for a group session with Nicolle Flint and Julie Bishop.
Verily, what can one expect of a brash, handsome egomaniac with a healthy working knowledge of the reptilian brain? Let us not forget David Marr's damning 2012 chronicle of Abbott's formative years in politics, which saw Young Tony use physical and sexual assault to intimidate his political opponents, while relentlessly trolling the campus lesbians and their 'counterfeit of love'. Marr might be a muck-raking communist who looks like a sharpened pencil, but there's nary an act of profligacy recorded in Political Animal that isn't consistent with the Tony Abbott we were dealing with until a few weeks ago, when all this Daggy Netball Dad bullshit started.
Make no mistake, Ladies. Tony Abbott barely even hates you. Shit-stirring notwithstanding, his contempt seems increasingly less like active chauvinism than celestial entitlement. In Abbott's world, women are ingénues, divinely consigned to a life behind the apron, crocheting curtains, administering blowjobs and smoothing Band-Aids on the knees of abortions that could have been.
In the meantime, Kevin Rudd's bastardised neopopulism has moved steadily towards its logical conclusion: he has followed the mandate and gone and fucked himself. Shit, the dude couldn't even parlay an interview with VICE, so I guess he'll have to stick with The Project for now. Political manoeuvre or not, the day Rudd tried to out-dick Abbott with his asylum solution was the day the left wing finally folded totally onto the right, and now the whole goose is plummeting towards doom. Rudd has always been spectacularly full of shit, and never really made any bones about it, but it was never going to play forever. Still, I for one will miss the glory days of his ill-engineered personae. It's a squalid choice, but I'd rather smile faintly at the humanising image of a flushed Rudd being hustled out of a New York strip club than picture Abbott punching out the bouncer and rushing back inside to defile the dancers.
So who's going to vote for this asshole and his legion of protozoan candidates? My suspicion is that the grubby winning ballots will be cast by people who fuck animals. Bestiality, after all, is significantly more common than most Decent People care to consider… though in the interest of Political Correctness, a distinction must be made between gentle zoophiles who make sweet, erotic love to animals and those who stick it in or slot on during fits of wanton bourbon-depravity. That is the fundamental difference between, say, Malcolm Brenner, and that 'prankster' Joel Monaghan.
Though statistics are hard to come by for obvious reasons, it is my contention that the margins in the swing electorates that will probably effect an Abbott regime are roughly congruent to the proportion of opportunistic bestialists in our midst… and make no mistake, they're out there. I have had the displeasure to personally know at least one, a violent speed-freak who is said to have been among those implicated for inciting the Cronulla Riots. Once you accept the grim reality, these gangrenous miscreants become easier to recognise. Take a look at some of the prime specimens who appear in Sophie McNeill's morbid tour of Blacktown and tell me there's not a soul among them who's never even so much as considered a little interspecies action. Now, we may be approaching heavy slander here, but consider this: these people are going to vote for Jiymy Diaz, who, as we all know, is a few points short of a Six Point Plan.
The trouble is that many decent, moderate citizens have something in common with these repugnant deviants—a vengeful disinclination to vote for Labor. The only thing to do now is try and lock up the Senate, and fling the preferences as far from the Coalition as possible. The division an Abbott government will cause in this country is already stirring the hard left of the underground into palsies of desperate aggression… late at night my sources call, tripping on bad acid, rasping about how they'd like to see Abbott dosed with psilocybin and torn apart by pighounds on Peptides. There have even been whispers of a conspiracy to kidnap Abbott, beat the shit out of him and then film John Hopoate vigorously fingering him in the back of a van… but so far these are just psychotic fantasies, and I for one would like to see them remain that way.
So let us Good People prepare for damage control… but if you're thinking of going there, remember this: a vote for Tony Abbott is a vote you will never quite wash your hands of. Sometime over the next three years you may find yourself stewing in Golden Staph in an understaffed public hospital, waiting for a student doctor to Google treatments for Bovine Tuberculosis on dial-up internet. On the television overhead the news anchor throws to a story about the Australian Navy machinegunning another asylum boat in the Arafura Sea. And at that point you may realise, if there is still a neuron flickering dimly somewhere in your syph-addled brain, that this is the bed you made.
Follow Nick on Twitter: @HighBarbary
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