by Ross Sharp
… I were in the audience of ABC’s “Q&A” program, and there was one federal Liberal MP and one Labor on the panel, this is the question I would ask …
“The last company I worked for a decade and a half until February this year, embarked upon a “restructure” about four or five years ago, “restructure” essentially meaning sacking a few busloads of people and outsourcing and offshoring the work to India. These were men and women who had given that company ten to thirty years of their life, men and women in their late fifties and early sixties, suddenly sent packing, none of whom could afford to retire as they did not have enough in savings or superannuation, none of whom were yet eligible for the aged pension.
We know, from evidence, from fact, that men and women of this age often struggle to find employment, and so, may be compelled to apply for unemployment benefits, and we know, from evidence, from fact, that if they do, they shall no doubt be referred to by the maggots of the Murdoch tabloid media mafia, “bludgers” or “rorters”, a stain upon the face of our society and an embarrassment to our kind.
My question is this … When one of your mob decide to call it quits so you may “spend more time with the family” or you were kicked from your electorate because you were crap at your job, and other such rubbish, and then proceed to write another dreary bloody memoir in dead, dull, self-serving prose that makes the average reader want to stab themselves in the eyeballs with a pencil, why do you feel you are entitled to receive one or two hundred thousand bucks a year for the rest of your miserable, useless lives, and why do you believe we, us “little people” out here have to damn well pay for it?
Could you kindly justify that entitlement for me please, and why you feel you deserve it?
Can you defend that?
Can you? Do you dare?
It’s certainly got me buggered, that’s for sure. So, here’s a suggestion …
When you call it quits, when you are thrown from your electoral train a failure, why don’t you all just piss off out of it, and GET ANOTHER GODDAMN FUCKING JOB LIKE THE REST OF US ARE EXPECTED TO, YOU SACK OF BLUDGING FUCKING SUCKHOLES?!”
Question posed, I would no doubt be frog-marched post-haste from the studio, and, in the aftermath, the wash-up from it all, the trash, the bottom-feeding filth, the commentators, the shock-jocks, stuffed to the gills with their own sense of self-righteous, self-importance would do doubt begin to dig into my life, my private life, my past.
They would contact former employers, partners, they would hack my phone and my Facebook page, they would trawl through every comment posted, every blog I had written, and there would be painted a picture most unflattering, a portrait, no doubt, of emergent evil and psychopathy.
Headlines would read “Not So Sharp”, or perhaps, “Foul-Mouthed Pot Smoker Too Blunt In The Head To Make Sense”, Miranda Devine, Andrew Bolt, or the Herald-Sun’s most odious Damon Johnston who would no doubt tweet with impish glee “FRONT PAGE TONIGHT!”.
Satirised. Demonised. Crucified.
Yet, the question would remain unanswered.
It has no defence. It cannot be justified.
And nothing, nothing at all would be done, or would ever be done to correct this most foul of inequities.
Count me in, and BRING IT ON.
Together, we will break us free.
Together, let us storm the gates of Vaucluse. With pitchforks and flaming torches shall we march, to throw the demons and monsters from their gaudy towers of conspicuous consumption, of wankery and greed, eviscerate their corpses, their entrails to crows to feed upon, and we, Night’s Black Angels of Righteous Vengeance shall scatter their remains, beaten and abused, into the seas.
Viva la revolución!