I have sat quietly during these past 5 years and picked at my already-damaged cuticles, while listening to you hold court with our mates and bemoan the state of modern politics. I haven’t spoken up. I haven’t pushed back.
I have quite literally bitten my tongue (and that bloody hurts by the way) while I watched you insult politicians who I admire and ideas I have faith in, all in the name of dinner party conversational popularity.
But I’m done with my politeness now. Because last night, you went too far.
While lazily reclining on a deck chair in Newtown, you claimed that metaphorical soapbox with your usual zeal and you were, quite simply: a bit of a dick. In a backyard full of bleeding heart lefties, you thought you’d distinguish yourself, prove you’re just that much more outrageously progressive than the rest of us.
And so you had a go at Barack.
In the spirit of a hysterical contestant on America’s Next Top Model, please imagine my finger being waved in your face right now, with my head moving sideways on top of a stationary neck: “Oh no you dinnit.”
But it wasn’t that which pushed me over the edge, it was what came next. As you took the field for a quick game of your favourite sport – trashing the Labor Party – you said that the Americans’ excuse for progressive politics was no better than Australia’s and there was nothing worth celebrating in Obama winning a second term.