Pop the champers and ice your lemon tarts, it’s election time again! Can I get a whoop whoop? No, ok fair enough.
Still, you have to admit it’s wonderful. That magical time once every three years (two and a half when we’re extra good), when us policy wonks get our collective knickers in a proverbial knot. Bring out the lightly salted popcorn, I say – let’s get this show on the road.
Who’s going to win? Will it be Malcolm ‘Tiramisu’ Turnbull. Or Bill ‘Shortbread’ Shorten? Impossible to say. If you’ve come to see who I’ve got my money on, you obviously don’t understand the terms of my ABC contract.
But if you want to hear me compare each of the 300 major party candidates to a baked dessert item, read on comrade. Read on.
Barnaby Joyce? A pineapple upside-down cake – bronzed, crumbly, and just a little bit weird.
Sophie Mirabella, the dark chocolate torte – extra bitter with an aftertaste that will punch you in the face. I could go on.
And I will. George Brandis, a chocolate soufflé – serious and really fucking difficult. Albo? The strudel, obviously.
Delicious! But not quite as delicious as my next segue. Sausage sizzles.
If the Fraser-Hawke-Keating- Howard-Rudd-Gillard-Rudd-Abbott-Turnbull years have taught us anything, it’s that Australians love
a good election-day fry up. As any self-respecting tong-twirler will tell you, it’s the highlight of election day.
Still, it pays to have a sausage sizzle plan of attack. Without one, you’ll be on a one-way express train to Troublesville (without the infrastructure funding required to build the track to get back home).
The secret? Skip the how-to-vote-cards (they’re as predictable as a sponge cake in Eden-Monaro), get the voting out the way and then hit up the sausages. And then head on home to hit the booze. Because there’s one thing I’ve learned from election nights: getting smashed more quickly than an Italian marble table at a Tony Abbott leaving do is the only way to numb the boredom.
Cake reference.
