So Labor picked up half a million votes in the first half of May and one hundred and forty thousand votes in the second half of May and they’ve got no hope, the nation’s not listening, they’ll have to put Rudd in, to ‘save the furniture’, they have no alternative, it’s over.
This was the burden of Dennis Shanahan on the Tony Delroy show last night though he must have known the figures in which Gillard was again Preferred Prime Minister. The head is off, and the chook keeps running around the yard. Print the legend. Print the legend. Labor is bound to lose. Lose big. Flap, flap. Lose big.
The real figure in fact is Labor on 49. The margin of error is 3 and Rupert is the customer and the truth must be minimised. 50 probably when the Katter preferences are put in. 51 when you add in the unrung mobile phones and the pensioners who got their money yesterday.
And the simple fact is that Abbott blew it last week by his persecution of Craig. The true schoolyard bully so long suspected by the female vote was at last made vivid, red in tooth and claw with fist raised, snarling. And the money for the schoolkids, the eight hundred or sixteen hundred, is yet to arrive in the mail.
And we must have Rudd, we must have Rudd, poor Denis said. To save the furniture. Labor is bound to lose. Rupert said so, and he’s very angry. And Rupert is always right.
How pathetic they all are.
Labor has picked up six hundred and forty thousand votes in a month and there are fifteen months to go and Labor is doomed, they reckon, Labor is doomed, gone for all money, cactus. What bought brains they all are. Rebekah, their Joan of Arc, is off to gaol and it is they who are trying to save the furniture, trying to save their jobs lest Rupert in his final howling holocaust of blood bring them down into perdition with him. Blair last night was telling Leveson winningly of the infinitude of their corruption and the wickedness of their purpose and it’s Labor not they who are in trouble. It’s what Freud called transference, the willingness to impute to one’s enemy the vileness one senses in oneself and is in denial of.
You will note I predicted this, and I alone, yesterday, and began my series The Innocence Of Craig Thomson seventeen days ago. The hooker will go on 9 tonight with a growling blurred voice and a pixillated face and a fistful of dollars and a pack of lies and a crucial false detail and it will be all, all n vain. The game is up, and as of tomorrow, or the next day, or next month, the Liberal Party is over. Trying to save the furniture and looking more and more enmired, like Murdoch.
Prove that I lie.