In a surprise to no one with a functioning brain stem, Barnaby Joyce, Australia’s most persistent political skid mark, has resigned from the Rineharts. The party formerly known as the Nationals.
Claiming that the party was “moribund in a sea of crap” is a bold position from the man whose bar is so low it’s been carbon dated and on display at the Museum of Human Underachievement.
Where to go now
But alas, where is Barnaby to go?
Suffering from a chronic version of relevance deprivation syndrome, Barnaby craves love and attention.
Bonking the intern whilst the wife’s at home with the kiddies is surely an “all reasonable steps were taken” excuse. He just needed a cuddle. Particularly at a stressful time when family values and society in general were under grave threat from pesky gays wanting to marry each other.
Pauline’s courtship ritual
But we digress; in matters of whatever organ Barnaby uses to make decisions, and craving a new club to join, reports are that he turned to Tinder for inspiration.
Somehow, through divine prank, he matched with Pauline Hanson, who immediately woo-ed him with toasted steak. Pauline describes him as “a real catch,” which tells you everything about the fishing quality in those waters.
At first sight, it looks like a marriage made in heaven. But with a bit of a swamp and full of nasties.
Sitting on the Fence, One Ruptured Arse
Sitting on the fence & one ruptured arse
But Barnaby’s a coy little fella, having used up all his commitment quota on junior staff members, he retreated to his favourite piece of political furniture, the fence, to mull things over.
But even metaphors have limits.
After years of burdening it with incoherent dribble, dithering, and enough political backwash to drown a septic tank, the fence finally gave in.
Eyewitnesses report aloud crack, then a yelp that sounded suspiciously like “Save me, Fair Dinkum Jesus,” and Barnaby dropped like a bag of overripe mangoes onto the pointy bit that had frankly done nothing to deserve the humiliation.
Rinehart HQ reacts
Back at Party HQ, Barnaby’s former (and probably future) evil boss lord, Gina Rinehart, was keen to go on the record: “Look, the guy hasn’t made sense in decades. If the stuff falling out his backside is better quality than the stuff falling out of his mouth, that’s frankly a step up.”
Counselling has been offered to the fence.
What on Earth is a retail politician anyway, maybe someone who should be labelled “reduced to clear”?
