Here I sit pondering, who’s our Trump? Australia could use a Trump to run this joint for at least six years—someone to wade through the cesspool of government and flush out the waste and abuse. We’re not too bad at keeping corruption in check; our journos already sniff around the pollies’ public money trough like blue heeler dogs on a scent. But crikey, we still waste a bloody fortune, and there’s probably some dodgy deals in contracts and who’s pocketing them. Fair go, every government could tighten the belt and rethink how they dish out contracts and juggle the cash.
Labor’s fixed one mess the Coalition left us—they’ve slammed the brakes on the gravy train of dollars steaming out the door and reined in spending ‘til we’ve got a double surplus. No excuses, mate—money saved, debt chipped away. We’re a small country, not some cashed-up global bigwig; our debt shouldn’t be anywhere near a trillion or even sniffing that range. A quarter of that’s the limit, tops. Mind you, Labor’s gone and cooked up a fresh batch of headaches with their green obsession.
Government’s gotta be run like a proper business, not a bloody charity raffle. Staff need to be sized up, hired, or given the boot when they’re surplus to requirements. Buildings? Buy ‘em, flog ‘em off—whatever works. Assets? Figure out if owning beats renting. Contracts need a constant squiz to keep ‘em spread across the field, so no single fat cat gets too comfy. Competition’s the name of the game—keeps the costs down and stops the bastards from getting lazy.
Both big parties are campaigning like a couple of galahs this election. Neither Albo nor Dutton’s saying what most Aussies want to hear—they’re too busy squawking nonsense. So what’s the play? Punters vote independent, chucking a spanner in the works to stop either side running amok like ScoMo did on his wild rampage.
Green energy? It’s not the golden ticket right now. Maybe down the track, but not in the next decade. You can’t take a century-old system—pipes, wires, the lot—and flip it upside down in ten or twenty years. Pull the other one! Change needs to creep in over the next hundred, slow and steady, not some half-baked rush job.
The world’s not crumbling from climate change like the doomsday nutters screeched. The science was off—like, way off—but we still need to quit gunking up our air. Change is coming, sure, but it’s gotta be smart—tech-driven, bit by bit. Shoving unready tech down our throats in twenty years flat? That’s a stitch-up—it’s not up to scratch.
Power price hikes hit everyone like a ton of bricks. The rich don’t give a toss, but the rest of us—the majority—bloody well do. And when we’re pissed off enough, we’ll kick up a stink. That same majority fills our armed forces, so good luck ordering them to turn on their own. They’ll tell ya where to shove it.
We’ve gotta stop importing crap and start making, mining, and growing stuff here—for us, not just to flog overseas. Covid showed us the world can turn to custard quick-smart, yet two years on, we’ve already forgotten the lesson. Every key bit of manufacturing and critical work needs to be ours, locked in tight.
I wouldn’t vote for Albo or Dutton if you paid me in cold hard cash and a slab of VB. Nah, I’m leaning independent—someone who won’t just hand their vote to the big dogs, someone with a bit of nous to stop the stupidity and put Australia first. Ukraine’s on the other side of the planet, and the drivel spilling from our leaders about it is pure bloody nonsense. Europe can sort that mess—we need to eyeball our own backyard, not theirs.
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