Behold this munted, bloated, failure of a grotesque gargoyle.
Gaze upon his rubicund, booze-fueled mien, and try to grasp that he is, once again, the Deputy Prime Minister.
Installed by his party – which is itself a dysfunctional barn-dance of moleskin-wearing reptiles – for the good of the Australian people, apparently.
You can see this dumpster fire of benighted yokels and rustic mouth-breathers – including that slimy gronk and Member for Manila, Christensen, everyone’s fave personal nudie-bar connoisseur – for yourself.
Yes, that’s right. People voted this shower of rancid excrement into power.
Other people voted in the clown-car of alleged rapists, rape-enablers, desk-jizzers, pork-barrelers, snake-handlers, liars, spivs, con-men, and religious nutters that make up the Liberal Party.
And together, they have made an alliance, dubbed it the Coalition, and are in charge of everything.
They have fucked the economy. They have fucked our Plague response and vaccinations. They have fucked our environment. They have fucked our rivers. They have fucked our biggest trading partner. They have fucked our old people. They have fucked our poor people. They have fucked our media. They have fucked our education system. They have fucked manufacturing.
They have fucked pretty much everything they have ever wanted to fuck, and they will happily continue fucking things up because that’s how they roll. It’s what they do.
They have, however, staunchly supported the paedophiles in the Catholic church. And they have increased the size, scope, and power of the police state we have become. They have also given themselves pay-rises, and pork-barrelled their electorates to ensure the window-lickers who voted them in will continue to do so.
They have done this at every level of government – both federal and state.
And they don’t give a fuck.
The evidence for this cannot be any more blatant that the re-installation of Barnaby Joyce as the leader of the National Party and Deputy Prime Minister.
Ya’ll remember Barnaby, right?
Yes, he’s the one who likes fucking his staff, despite being a married man who preaches family values. He’s also the one who provides government reports via SMS. He’s the one who falls asleep in Parliament after a few too many shandies.
If you live in his electorate, you may recall his daughter driving around with loudspeakers attached to her car and telling everyone in earshot what a massive cunt he is as a husband and father.
Didn’t make any difference. The sheep-fuckers, cow-rooters, and wheat-rubbers still voted the prick in.
But when his behaviour got too much for even his party of entitled, mouth-breathing shit-stompers, they replaced him with something called a “McCormack”, which was actually a knitted cardigan animated by wires and ropes.
It was only temporary; Barnaby was always coming back.
And now he’s back, and he’s our Deputy PM once again.
But that’s alright.
The world, which has been laughing at us for years, probably needed a reminder about how hilarious and stupid we are.
I was wrong. The government is not a clown car which has crashed into a dumpster fire.
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Boris is a writer who has contributed to many magazines and websites over the years, edited a couple of those things as well, and written a few books. But his most important contribution is pissing people off. He feels this is his calling in life and something he takes seriously. He also enjoys whiskey, whisky and the way girls dance on tables. And riding motorcycles. He's pretty keen on that, too.