Why we are stuck with crap reality stars and dud politicians

LAST night I had an epiphany.

As I was watching The Voice and shaking my head in disbelief at the singers the viewers had chosen to go through to the final, I realised these same people vote for our politicians.

This is a problem.


Actually, there are two problems – one being that I was actually watching The Voice.

But the other was that, true to form, pretty boys with only mediocre voices were selected over some of the magnificently talented women who had wowed the crowd right through the series.

Now, I’m not using this as an example of gender bias in Australia but as an illustration of how little thought some people put into their votes both on TV and at the ballot box.

I have absolutely no proof of this other than my rather thin theory on the crap singers left on The Voice and the rather crap politicians we seem to be stuck with at the moment.

It can only be that the same people who vote for cute boys with long hair and short voices are also responsible for getting politicians like Clive Palmer into Parliament.

Wait. No. That theory doesn’t work. Sorry.

Ok, let’s just leave it at voters rapidly losing interest in our political mess and not putting enough thought into their selections anymore.

They are then stunned when they realise the winners are complete duds so viciously hit out like angry toddlers at the next election.

As some shock results of state and federal elections in the past few years have shown, Australian voters are becoming more and more intolerant of the major parties and will turn on their politicians faster than a feral dog.

This could lead to near landslides at every election as voters giddily weave and bounce from one side to the other – or one new party to another.

Not so much swinging voters anymore with a rhythmic sway but a bloody huge wrecking ball.

Voters are no longer sitting on their verandas with a baseball bat, as former premier Wayne Goss so unpatriotically put it.

Now they are waiting there with a bulldozer, revving the engine, spinning the wheels.

But Clive Palmer? Seriously?

The Meddler

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