Aussie Life

Aussie Life & Language

24 October 2020

9:00 AM

24 October 2020

9:00 AM

Michael Scammell

Coming out of Melbourne lockdown is like coming down from drugs. Or more precisely coming down from the drugs you’re on because you’ve been in lockdown. It’s the chicken or the egg or the bat thing. Coke or Pepsi, Big Mac or Big Jack, Wuhan or anywhere on the planet other than Melbourne.

Are you drug-addicted and depressed in Victoria at the moment because of how Dan has run the pandemic or has Dan introducing Drag Story Time at your local library made you depressed and drug addicted and what’s the deal with Tim Smith and his 3am living in a communist dictatorship tweets?

Clearly Tim isn’t doing drugs. Besides, he isn’t thin enough, used to row for Australia and the Richmond Safe Injecting Room isn’t within the state parliament 5-kilometre bubble.

I’m going to miss lockdown and my daily dose of Regeneron that vastly improves your sex life by causing memory loss so you forget you have a sex life, and here’s why:

No haircuts – not getting a haircut because the hairdressers are all shut is like being inside Bill Clinton’s philandering Arkansas governor brain. All these big-haired women in active wear wandering the streets of Altona modelling a ‘Monica’ or the ‘Gennifer Flowers’ as they call the new styles.

It’s lonely out here in mullet-wearing suburban lockdown. Everyone trying to alleviate the suburban loneliness with front porch 10 a.m. wine-o-clock meets in Little Rock, Carlton once they’ve offloaded the kids at the childcare that ScoMo should be paying for. Where’s Slick Willy when you need him in Carnegie? Or Barnaby Joyce in Rowville, which is the Paris end of Frankston if you don’t include Cranbourne?

Police Assistant Commissioner Luke Cornelius – for those not playing at home because you’re not stuck in Victoria so you don’t have to play at home, Cornelius is our Man in Blue who – well, works blue. He’s like the Lenny Bruce of stand-up police routines, except Lenny Bruce is DEAD, probably because of the pandemic, though apparently a drug addict so maybe at the Richmond Safe Injecting room or its New York franchise. If you don’t know who Lenny Bruce is, think Rodney Rude with a cease and desist letter, or the ABC’s house satirist © Mark Humphries with a truncheon and a joke that’s actually funny.

Until the Hotel Quarantine Inquiry started and everyone had to act grown-up in case they got called, Cornelius would do a media conference where he shared his views on people who weren’t complying during the pandemic. Classic Cornelius witticisms include calling protesters, ‘batshit crazy’ and the ‘tinfoil hat brigade’. Dealing with them he said made him feel like a ‘dog returning to eat his own vomit’. Which is an odd thing to say given Cavoodles are selling for 9,000 dollars on Gumtree at the moment. What on earth has this man been feeding his dog and what are we paying our police?

Maybe it has Covid. Can somebody give it Regeneron so it stops humping my leg or call in Animal Liberation and give the footage to Four Corners?

Like most police everywhere ever, the Assistant Commish isn’t a fan of the right to free speech of those that aren’t doing what they should. He has missed his calling as a groovy but censorious in a groovy way Twitter executive or maybe a member of the Human Rights Commission. A do-as-I-say truth-sayer, like a uniformed Tim Soutphommasane if Tim was licensed to carry a firearm and kick little old ladies off park benches.

Midday American politics – one of the benefits of Work From Home (WFH unless you own a Melbourne small business in which case its WTF) is all the American politics you get to watch. Trump speeches, Biden deathbed confessions, Kamala burning suburban blocks fantasies, Chris Cuomo and Tucker Carlson rants, Don Lemon trying to say he isn’t biased while hiding his smirk and talking to Chris Cuomo about how much he doesn’t hate Tucker Carlson he just wishes he was dead. The fact I know all these names while still on Regeneron probably proves my point. Who says American cable news isn’t the inbred cousin-marrying Tasmania of American TV?

Thanks to WFH everyone is an instant US-politics expert now and suddenly I have to listen to people I never want to listen to again talking about Hunter Biden’s crack pipe, Donald Trump’s YMCA dance moves and whether they can get some Regeneron to help cure their impotence.

#IStandWithDan – mostly though, I will miss the I stand with Dansters cult, with their blind faith in one true North Face jacket wearing God and the Holy Social Engineering Trinity (Dan, Jacinda, Greta). What will I do without their batshit© conspiracy theories, (Rupert’s behind it all); the according-to-their-own-definition misogyny (‘jeez these women won’t shut up, can someone please tell Peta and Rachel to stop asking questions, what on earth is Peta wearing today, why is she so bloody tall…’); their Swinburne Professional Writers Diploma elitism (‘she can’t ask questions, she’s not a journalist, isn’t Peter a man’s name?’).

For the Dansters, the Dan Daily Presser is what they do instead of porn, a male objectifying Stockholm Syndrome kink that helps them get through the next flagon; ‘Chief Health Officer Brett Sutton is just so dreamy. The silver fox hair, the suits, the Islam-appropriate stubble.’ Or as Brett put it so eloquently recently when asked about the pandemic plan numbers, ‘I really have no idea, it varies week to week. let’s hand back to the premier.’

The Dansters are like Monty Python’s Black Knight. As the phone records are revealed, the convenient memory lapses exposed (are they all on Regeneron?), and the department heads and minister resign they keep insisting ‘it’s only a flesh wound’. Or as Marieke Hardy referred to it in a unusually coherent tweet and probably before wine-o-clock: the federal government’s and ‘media martyr’s headfucking interference’.

Can someone get Catherine Deveny to do her stand-up routine at the next Dan presser to counteract Peta and save the Dansters from a collective coronary, the one where she constantly says f— off and talks about Scotty from Marketing’s Regeneron habit.

Michael Scammell wants to stay in his bubble.

Kel Richards

Peta Credlin asked me on Sky News for the origin of ‘spin’ as used by or about the ‘spin doctors’ in today’s politics. In that context we need to think in terms of ‘spin’ equals interpretation: if you can put your spin on a story you are imposing your interpretation on the story. The source word is almost as old as the English language (recorded from 725 AD) and comes from the need in ancient society to have someone in every household who could twist the fibres of wool or flax into a continuous thread. The trick lay in keeping the spindle, or spinning wheel, constantly turning. Which is what the modern spin doctor does: ‘No, don’t look at it like this… if you turn it around you can see it from another angle.’ The resulting arcane craft of ‘spin doctoring’ is recorded only from 1986 but, in reality, it has been known under different names (e.g. lying) for as long as politics has been around.

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