Jacqui Lambie, the only d**k anyone’s talking about today, is you.

By ALISSA WARREN

Did you shrug yesterday when you heard the news that Jacqui Lambie had said on radio she’s looking for a rich guy with a big dick?

Be honest. Tell me. When you read that a female politician had gone on breakfast radio and talked about wanting a ‘well hung’ man, did you think “meh” and move on?

Now here’s my next question for you: Why?

If Clive Palmer or Ricky Muir or Nick Xenophon or any male politician had gone on radio and said he wanted a “rich woman with big tits” or a “tight box”  — Australians would have LOST THIER MINDS.

But we’re laughing? I’m not.

I think Jacqui Lambie is an embarrassment to us all.

She’s not funny.

She’s not cute.

She’s a shocker.

This woman represents our country. She represents you and me.

And yesterday, when she said of the kind of man she wants to date : “They must have heaps of cash and they’ve got to have a package between their legs, let’s be honest,” people laughed. And people said, ‘oh, she’s just saying what all women think’.

I know what women think. I am one. You probably are, too.

Let’s ask some questions.

Do you talk about this sort of stuff publicly?

Maybe.

Would you talk about it on the radio?

Probably not.

Even if you do, are you representing the country at the highest level? No.

If you answered ‘yes’ to the final question, then it’s highly likely that you are one of these people:

Julie Bishop, Tanya Plibersek, Penny Wong, Jenny Macklin, Anne Urquhart and the 63 other female members of the Federal Parliament. (For the record there are 226 members of parliament).

Not many women, huh?

And that’s why you should care.

There aren’t many women representing us in politics anymore. Especially at the top. There was a time when we were represented prominently and gloriously at every level. Quentin Bryce was GG; Anna Bligh and Kristina Kenneally were State Premiers; Julia Gillard was Prime Minister. It didn’t matter what you thought of their policies or the parties they represented – they were there.

It was encouraging. It was deserved. It was exciting. It truly was. Sometimes I’d forget what they were talking about and just gloss over with happiness that there was a cast of women owning – or at least trying to own – their game. A game that’s played – and often won – by men. And they owned with class. They owned it with intelligence.

I was hopeful and I was proud.

Proud as I sat in my lounge room with my baby daughters, knowing that I was bringing them into a world where they’d be better represented. A world where they could have a crack and I could tell them, “Look at her. She’s the Prime Minister and she’s making a difference. In the world. For us. For you.”

And I was proud because Australia was leading the way. I was proud to be from a country where women were seen as capable. If I could’ve called Hilary Clinton and Michelle Obama and gloated, I probably would have.

But yesterday’s events made me shudder.

While Foreign Minister Julie Bishop was working her butt off at the UN, Jacqui  Lambie was talking about dicks on the radio.

This morning, Jacqui Lambie told the same radio hosts:

“What I don’t appreciate is people that are ringing the office and abusing the staff and on radio I wouldn’t even repeat some of the words that are coming out of their mouths.”

Wait, there’s more.

“They’re degrading themselves by the way they’re speaking to them and the words coming out of their mouth are disgraceful.”

And she didn’t stop there.

“If I can’t let me hair down a little bit and make a joke on a breakfast radio show to lighten people’s day then I think we’re in a bit of trouble.”

Oh yes, Jacqui Lambie. We certainly are. But in ways you don’t even realise.

Jacqui Lambie, stand up and own it. Stop being such a fool. Pull your finger out and get it together. Go and get some real shit done.

Because today, the only dick anyone’s talking about, is you.