This election has given me the yips. There is no doubting that the Libs were in disarray only a few short weeks ago, but somehow, Colin Barnett has managed to haul himself out of his slippery-sided retirement canal and looks like having a 'sniff' of winning this race. Who woulda thunk it?
Much of his campaign to date has been based on asserting that Carps' decision to call a snap poll just as we were heading into two weeks of Olympics was the act of an arrogant and desperate man. "He's running and I'm chasing," Col said at the time.
Even Carps is now admitting that much of the shit being thrown has stuck to the blanket and his party is now claiming underdog status - the anti-arrogance ploy... would you like a powerpoint on that?
Making hay while he was nipping at Carps' heels, Col commissioned a series of ad campaigns that tailed off with the slogan, 'Carpenters can't fix everything' (or something equally as corny) complete with the sound of sawing and hammering. A particularly lamentable effort that appears to have been coined by the office work experience kid who no doubt thinks he / she has a fabulous career ahead in advertising - no, you don't.
But that old adage, it's time for a change, seems to have some momentum in this campaign. Yes, we all know the Libs have a list of ex-leaders that rivals Imelda Marcos' shoe collection, but apart from the canal cock up, Col appears to be gaining traction. It's a steep and treacherous slope, but he only has to hold on for two more weeks.
In a bid to knock Col off the pile, Carps is doing what all good West Aussies would, and launching a few well aimed boondies at his rival's bonce. He's hoping to find that rarest of rare boondies that's hiding a stone inside the crusty outer layer of relatively harmless sand. A boondie with a stone at its core is a sure fire way to land an unexpected and potentially critical blow to the Lib's campaign... they've been known to take out an eye and this is the sort of collatoral damage that the ALP is needing right about about now.
Today, Carps held a presser in the back of a combi van in South Terrace, Fremantle, promising to legislate to ban uranium mining... man... if he was re-elected. After passing the doobie across to the Greens - Olympic baton style - Carps calmly readjusted his kaftan, splashed on some patchouli and strolled arrog... ummm... purposefully across the road for a refreshing cup of lemon zinger.
Meanwhile, Col was impressing the kids on NOVA by promising the hosts that he'd personally buy them a handball to kickstart their bid to have Australia represent the sport at the next Olympic Games. Hip man. Broken hip.
So far, the voter comment that most effectively sums up this campaign was aired on 720 ABC radio yesterday. In response to the question, 'who will you be voting for?' a Kingsley woman giggled and fired back with, 'I dunno, whoever my husband's voting for'.
Is it any wonder that in this great State we can't buy groceries on a Sunday and people start foaming at the mouth when you mention daylight saving? And don't get me started on the front lawn. Just don't.
Hang tough and watch out for flying boondies.
6 comments:
We were somewhere around Hilton on the edge of Fremantle when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like “I feel a bit green; maybe you should be Premier….” And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge inflatable Docker hammers, all choking and punching and diving around the car, which was going about a hundred miles an hour with the top down to St Georges Terrace. And a voice was screaming: “In the name of John Curtin! What are these goddamn poll results?”
Then it was quiet again. My spin doctor had taken his shirt off and was pouring beer on his chest, to facilitate the campaigning process. “What the hell are you yelling about?” he muttered, staring up at the sun with his eyes closed and covered with wraparound feral bindies. “Never mind,” I said. “It’s your turn to lead the party.” I hit the brakes and aimed the Government Ford Fairlane toward the shoulder of the South Terrace. No point mentioning those poll results, I thought. The poor bastards will see them soon enough.
"Poll results?" he said. "If you think we're in trouble now, wait till you see what's happening in St George's Terrace."
He took off his feral bindies and I could see he'd been crying.
"Kill the canal and the Col will die..."
"Boondies". Now there's a word that should be compulsory in all election campaigns. Takes me straight back to year 3 - the word I mean, not the campaign, although now that I mention it ...
Amen Fordy, amen. I do believe the term boondie is dying out though... it's up to us to pass it down the generations.
Agreed - boondie throwing should have been at the Sydney Olympics!
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