by Ross Sharp

Dear Kevin,

I give up.

I swear to God, if there’s a drearier little knobhead currently farting about in Australian politics today, I’m damned if I know who that may be.

And yes, I voted for you.

My first inkling that trouble may lay ahead came on the night of your election.

As I sat watching the results come in, expecting (at least) some sense that this had been a victory for the “true believers” and, from you, perhaps an enthused exhortation to those involved that after 12 years of the Horrid Rodents reign, some unrestrained celebration may well be in order, instead you babbled on and on in a confounding fashion for God only knows how long and told everyone to go have a cup of tea and a biscuit and get to work.

My God, man, you make Malcolm Fraser look positively bohemian by comparison and John Howard like one of the Chaser boys.

You’re the Gummo Marx of political life.

And I’ve had a gutful of it.

There you are, from day to day, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, forever creeping in this same dreary pace, strutting and fretting, strutting and fretting, until a beckoning dusty death appeals as blessed relief from all this cheerless claptrap that dribbles from out your foodhole.

Well, just piss off, poor player and be heard no more, I say.

No matter what it may be, whether some media concocted populist moral panic, or the latest so-called “scandals” about the private lives of public figures, or how we entertain ourselves, or how people legitimately choose to go about raising their children, up pops your Poppin’ Fresh head from the Canberran murk on a regular basis to have a fucking rattle on at everyone about it all.

And if that’s not bad enough, there’s you and a whole bunch of your colleagues on both sides of the political spectrum feverishly tripping over yourselves to proclaim your holier-than-thou piety with all manner of self-righteous, self-serving statements about what Jesus means to you and why and blah, blah, blah, blah.

Kevvie me boy, I really couldn’t give a flying fuck what Jesus means to you or anyone else for that matter, because it don’t mean a damn hill ‘o’ beans to when it comes to RUNNING A FUCKING COUNTRY, OKAY?!

And throw this other ignorant, no-nothing, venal little cunt into the political cakemix, and it’s game over far as I’m concerned.

So, take your Brissie and your Sidders and your Tassie and your brekkers and your sangers and your barbies and your cuppas and your fucking Iced Vo-Vo’s and all the other infantile, orchestrated, man-of-the-common people bullshit you’re so fond of and cram it up the length of your arse with a broomstick handle.

I’m voting Green straight up in the next Federal election.

Although, if there’s someone standing for the Australian Sex Party in the Senate, I might plump for them.

God only knows, it would certainly be a refreshing change to have someone in Government who appreciates the benefits of a good root just for the fucking hell of it.

Sincerely Yours,
Ross Sharp