Hypocrisy

Many ALP supporters are like footy fans, if those footy fans were incapable of tracking a bouncing ball with their eyes to follow a game, or remember what jumper their team was wearing, or make their way to a footy ground without getting lost in a dark forest, welcomed into a house made of gingerbread, to only narrowly escape being cooked and eaten because their would be murderer is old, like their old, rubbish, useless bullshit political party.

Footy fans pay attention to the various capabilities of their players, the strengths and weaknesses of their coach’s chosen strategy, tactics, short term and long term planning and the ruthless decision making that is required to win, because sometimes what's going on is not good enough, and it's time to make some real changes. ALP fandom is a prize winning source of amusement that people could be that shit at knowing why their team exists or what it’s like. And are fiercely committed to never finding out. No self respecting crow would peck at these roadkill deadshits. I hate them and I can’t fight it baby. It feels awesome.

Freakishly self righteous ALP onanists are a distraction for me while I lie in wait like a very talkative sniper for a revolution, or Jesus, I don't care which at this point, I'll take anything and clearly so will the ALP cheer squad, who reported over the weekend that they went to the Australians Brimming with Confidence website and completed a thing called a political compass, which tells you where you sit on the political compass, which is sort of a political compass. Not a spectrum, a compass, so I guess there's some attempt to reflect the complexity that lives everywhere but between the holes where ALP social media champions keep their prized collections of ear wax. Or that time is a flat circle and all this has happened before, or that I’m confusing a clock with a compass, or that as the world approaches a great ending my consolation will be confusion and then a blessed madness in which I will hide from naughty reality, until in a moment of clarity I operate heavy machinery into a concrete freeway overpass. Maybe I’ll have talk radio blasting out so I don’t have any last minute doubts.

Australian Lambchop Party legends of political slapfightery flocked to the socials like they’d just been brutally sheared by an underpaid bloke with a mullet, to report that they did the political compass thingy and it told them, “Brohemious, you're a Greens voter. That's where you're at according to your own box tickery. According to the information you willingly supplied to this assessment tool, the Greens are your party.” And they hated it. They were very mad at being tricked into being the themselves they would be if they had a self.

Let's get one thing straight. I would never fill out a political compass to find out where I'm at, because I once completed an IQ questionnaire and it told me that my intelligence was average. I never recovered from this attack. No more of that kind of self assessment for me, I’ll stick with waking up at 3:30 in the morning, struck with the thought that I’ve never noticed that I'm terrible precisely because I’m terrible. Perhaps that approach isn't scientific, but I'll take that over the horror of being told that my brain is normal. I’ve seen normal people. You have to cover yourself in bits of dead normal person so they don’t notice you judging the shit out of them.

Australian Labor Party compliants complained, “Why am I being told that I'm a Greens voter? This is an outrage and I want to see the manager of my feelings. I'm an Australian Labor Party voter, it's what I've always been and always will be. Why? Because of Gough Whitlam, an ALP Prime Minister who was removed in a CIA coup. I remember every detail of this injustice, I can talk for hours about what happened across the course of those fateful days, who said what to who, the whole timeline.”  However ALP heroin addicts profess to know nothing about later Prime Minister Bob Hawke, who was so outraged at this American intrusion on Australian sovereignty that he cleverly went to work for the CIA*, probably to change them from within, which is what many progressives do, because appearing to be entirely rotten, corrupt and fucked is what grown-ups do in the real world and when you grow up you’ll understand that in your rotten, shit, dinner party activist, NGO donating heart.

Just yesterday Pakistan's Prime Minister was removed, thanks to the US State Department, who “denied any involvement in Pakistan’s internal politics”, which of course translated from the American Imperialism means, “We removed this prick.”  We are unlikely to hear anything in mainstream media about the real why of the removal of Imran Khan, who I'm not saying is a good or bad guy. He's a politician and they live beyond time and space in a palace made of cool speeches.

That coup has just happened and watching the removal of a leader thanks to American muscle and the reportage of that in mainstream media, framing the situation completely differently, reminds me that ALP fandom have some excuse for not comprehending the fullness of Bob Hawke’s betrayal of his own country. Tragically, people who pay extremely close attention to politics, their noses one inch away from the screen, are able to keep themselves busy with news of what's going on that never reports on what's actually happening.

Or they’re thick as pig shit. When I speak face to face with people on these matters, what I pick up is a sense of denial and stubbornness. No matter what your IQ you can practise wilful ignorance, the art of not wanting to know. You can stick your head in the sand, pretend not to know what's going on and when you do that to my face, I don’t have many options, I am powerless against such passive aggressive minty breathed super mildness. But I can talk to my other friends, my foaming at the mouth, blood thirsty, crazed radical friends whose interest in seeing the world as it is results in the painful experience of understanding what's going on. Give me those arseholes any day.

The ALP crack smoker goes on the political compass journey, learns that actually they're a Greens voter by any sane calculation. And that’s exactly why they won’t vote for them, because politics is for smart people who are always thinking fuckwit amount of steps ahead. They’re going to vote for a party that will have the power to make changes, but  won't use it.

I feel sorry for ALP supporters, despite the fact that they are, according to my political compass, my enemy and that if I could ruin their lives by pushing a button I would first inject methamphetamine and masturbate for 12 hours while pushing that button until my fingers broke off and my dick broke off. O, to wring every molecule of sad joy from the experience of so-called Australia, a philosophical land fill, it’s sky filled with seagulls who are starting to make sense to me.

Support for the ALP is the desperate and sentimental hobby of people who are so far away from being who they think they are that they are almost the perfect so-called Australian. Sometimes I feel like I don't understand. Where do they get it? This commitment to misery? A commitment to misery for others, a willingness to accept misery they themselves won't experience. They themselves are sheltered middle class dickheads. The ALP stopped being a labor movement a long time ago. Has it ever been a people's movement? With its racist history, its roots in a putrid past, all that's left is to cling onto something stripped of its leaves and it's bark, just a white, crumbling dogshit skeleton of power, grasping for just enough to keep playing a game that only makes sense to cockheads and cokeheads.

I hope Australia's next government is worse. If it’s an ALP government it will survive for exactly one term, because it is a shadow of the conservative machine.

People who support political parties are playing a game that has so very little to do with democracy, they are an army of parrot heads, who have no respect for even their own beliefs when they are broken down and reflected back to them in a way that they can easily understand.

When Bob Hawke died I was blessed to be standing outside Trades Hall, drunk on a Friday night, listening to all these weeping ALP heads taking turns on the mic to mourn the passing of a CIA asset. I kept my trap shut, which is why I wasn’t murdered by a boomer who lives in the past, but only the bits of the past they like.

*Death to America.