John Howard and the Barely-Adequate Psychic Defenses

Well, he's gone.

For good.

I dare say someone, somewhere, is stockpiling footage of Howard finally leaving the stage as the music from Doomsday plays - the end of the line is here and, well, no happy endings.

God, I feel sorry for him.

I do.

I mean, obviously, I voted him out, I wanted him gone, I think of the two choices, Kevin Rudd was the better option. Old baldy monkey face with the huge eyebrows and the glasses and the midget tuxedo was always second place. I've been waiting for tonight for the last eleven fucking years.

My problem has always been empathy. I pick up on emotions far easier than I'd like - still, growing up surrounded by animals who don't use speech, that makes sense. The first few months of my major job were intolerable cause I was picking up all the angst and pressure from my co workers as they worried and fretted and panicked. Helped my anxiety problems no end, I can tell you.

But now, as I see the ex-Prime Minister shakingly reach for a glass of water, his mouth dry, suddenly I feel sympathy for the clueless gimboid. I too know what it's like to be suddenly chucked out of a good job and stable situation with a minute's warning. But I, however, had always suspected it was on the cards. Every day I went home unfired was a good day. On a level, that last terrible hour I think about every day... there was a kind of relief. I knew I needn't be scared of getting fired any more.

Johnny! What were you THINKING?! God, all that bluster, that insane belief you'd come out on top, mindless optimism not even Nigel Verkoff could be capable of... you NEVER once thought you'd lose, did you? You didn't have a secret plan, a Torchwood in your corner, but we all assumed you did. That if you lost, it would be the most narrow of narrow margins. Rudd could sit in your chair only with your teethmarks in his arse.

But you lost.

Not just lost. You were annihilated.

And suddenly, I didn't see the butt of all the jokes and cartoons and Chaser gags. I saw a broken old man, lost his dream and not a chance in hell of ever achieving it. He looks so old now, the cheerful grin I never realized he always wore, gone. Even if we suddenly announced he was still the Prime Minister, I doubt it would help.

The least he deserved was a dignified exit.

And Channel 7 decided not to let him have even that. Hoons shouting sarcastic, "We love you, John!" and not being remotely convincing, not even letting him finish his final speech. His last gasp of political air ruined because Mel and Koshie and whoever the fuck they are don't want tonight to be boring.

It says a lot that Kerry O'Brien lost his patience with the mindless, shouting crowds when he learned that this was a cynical ratings ploy rather than a cruel Chaser skit - and see how everyone assumed they were the ones behind this? Now the same wankers are hooning in front of Rudd, but he's too smug to be hurt.

I remember Saturdays ago, when some guy on The Sideshow sang a song - John Howard 2.0 - which pointed out that the two opponents were so similar it didn't matter which side one. The only reason to vote for Rudd was, in the song's hilarious words, 'to see the look on the motherfucker's face when he loses.'

Well. I voted against him. I saw the look on his face.

And I feel terribly sorry for the bastard, even though I know there's no way my vote was responsible. I mean, one snowflake's presence can't stop an avalanche. Maybe I just take life too personally. Maybe all that booze from the orgy yesterday is still in my system. Maybe...

Oh, fuck this, I'm going to go back to spoofing Big Finish.