Sweary Bear

Only a retarded cockroach with half a cockroach brain who dropped out of cockroach school to become a drummer could deny that the next federal election will be a fucking doozy.

It’s going to involve the kind of headline-pumping, shit-stirring, muck-raking fun that can only be had when you take an awkward, pre-programmed, charisma-free she-robot, an ousted, pissed-off, silver-helmeted hyper-nerd and a grinning wing-nutted moron from the fucking eighteenth century and shake them up in a bag.

But please, everyone, let’s not get too fucking carried away.

It will be an election, not a war.

It will involve weeks and weeks of ball-achingly dull, smarmy and blatantly brown-nosey ads mentioning ‘working families’, ‘Ma and Pa investors’, ‘who can you trust?’ platitudes and other highly concentrated bullshit.

This will be followed by an otherwise fuckwit-free Saturday being hassled at the local scout hall by partisan retirees shoving ‘how to vote’ leaflets in your face before you make a couple of half-arsed squiggles on a doona-sized piece of paper and shove it in a cardboard slot.

Election promises will not be written in blood.

There will be no actual salvos fired.

It will not be a bloodbath for the losing parties.

THIS is a fucking bloodbath.

Pull your fucking head in, spin-monkeys.