That wooden, cadaverous demeanor is a veneer. Underneath it he’s a testy prick.

He’s always angry. Fear and loathing are his tools of trade, a sock full of sand is his preferred persuader.

He’d tear the wings off his kids’ butterfly collection as practice. He’d gift them a 15-year-old dog for Christmas so he’d not have to abandon it by Easter.

He flatters himself that he’s a leader but his befuddled disposition is the reveal – you can sense the dust bunnies floating by in the vaccuum behind his eyes. This bloke is no enigma, there’s no mystery nor depth. He’s an obtuse, incurious dullard and wowser, a bovine oaf, a head-kicker, a bruiser, a punisher and straightener. There’s no grand plan, no imagination nor ambition beyond the realisation of his nastiness and the gratification of the ego of a hateful but otherwise unremarkable pissant.

I doubt that he’s even fully aware of all that he hates. Let us consider:

“Lefty” and “woke” are his go-to pejoratives.

“Inner-city elites” is a handy slur from the anti-elitist who heads a party of entitled, privately-schooled toffs, captains of industry and billionaire robber barons. With five investment properties and a salary of $432,239 p.a. he once billed us $23k for a jet to a Newscorp event sponsored by Gina Rinehart to talk about the cost of living crisis. Apparantly he’s an egalitarian who can nevertheless indulge in white truffles with gavage-fattened foie gras canapes with Patagonian toothfish char-grilled over Wollomi pine woodchips and a cheeky Louis Roederer Cristal Brut at Big Vag’s birthday extravaganza. Our man of the people also dines with a billionaire Indian steel magnate and is gifted objets d’art from foreign........

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