A Prime Minister who uses your money, taken from your pocket, by the Tax Office he controls, to party hard at weddings, surf carnivals, anything.
A Prime Minster who warns about the dire need to tighten your belts, who forces working people to work longer, to pay more tax so that he can keep putting in expense claims that would see you prosecuted by the Tax Office.
A Prime Minister who shifted the burden of maintaining the national finances away from the richest and most powerful individuals and companies, and onto the poorest and weakest citizens.
A Prime Minister who, having ripped tens of billons of dollars away from the poorest state schools and who, having put a decent education beyond the means of ordinary people, sees nothing wrong with his own daughter being gifted a scholarship by an institution which does not offer scholarships.
A Prime Minister who is paid as much as the American President, nearly a quarter of a million dollars more than his Canadian counterpart, and probably about eight or nine times as much as you, who refuses to pay his own way, to carry his own burden, to take his thin, bloodless lips from the sore and swollen public tit at which they suck and bite each day.
A Prime Minister who will leave public office with decades of lavishly funded retirement ahead of him – a grotesquely generous pension, a free office, publicly funded staff, and a golden ticket to travel first class, for free, anywhere in the world on a whim. A Prime Minister whose policies force other, less privileged retirees into sex work and the occasional consumption of pet food.
Generic pet food.
Not that fancy store bought luxury stuff.
This is what privilege looks like; a sickening spectacle of a man attempting to emulate the lifestyles of the super elites into which he was not born, but to whom he has pledged his fealty and in whose interests he rules.
Why now, JB? You might ask. Why this sudden eruption of angry bile?
It's the scholarship. Stomping on the dreams of other people's children. Securing the future of his own. The chummy backhanded gift, from one privileged arsehat to another. All handled so quietly. Never any implication of favors done, of indulgences to be repaid. No, this is just how a chap gets on. How he looks after his own.
He is, to paraphrase his Education Minister, such a cunt.
(Thanks to Glen Le Lievre for the image)