Generation Y should be plotting a revolution
Fair dinkum – at what point is the youth of Australia going to rise up in a bloody revolution and put the rest of us against the wall? Surely, the moment must be close at hand.
Annabel Crabb is a regular columnist, TV host and leading political commentator.
Fair dinkum – at what point is the youth of Australia going to rise up in a bloody revolution and put the rest of us against the wall? Surely, the moment must be close at hand.
People get terribly upset when politicians endorse products. Approximately half the English-speaking world, for instance, lost its mind recently when White House spokeswoman Kellyanne Conway took some time out of her busy day to advise Americans to take a look at Ivanka Trump's modest line of accessories for the humble working mom (to which list of accessories was later added, consternatingly, "The Oval Office Desk", when Ivanka posed sitting behind it).
Watching politicians fight about energy policy is at once intriguing and confounding. On one hand, as South Australian residents last week will have gathered – or at least those of them with kerosene-fuelled ham radio sets conveniently at hand – there is a recognisable human dimension to the fight.
In this new world of alternative facts, believing your eyes is not actually as sure a bet as it once was.
I would like to take a few moments, if I may, to salute the human uterus.
The advent of President Donald Trump has made life extremely difficult for a vulnerable community subgroup, over whose rights the Orange One has demonstrated himself endlessly prepared to trample.
Fear and confusion has gripped the famously laid-back community of the Queensland Gold Coast, as the residents of the popular retirement strip speculate on the nature of a substantial but as-yet undisclosed public health crisis threatening the region.
As 2016 careens to its conclusion with all the elegance of a golf buggy captained by a sleep-deprived ice freak in a Santa suit, it is probably unsurprising that quite so much of its penultimate fortnight would be spent, internationally, arguing about women with controversial pants.
Political correctness is – it's now universally accepted in this country, or by anyone with a brain at least – out of control.
That seeing One Nation, ambling across the courtyard accompanied by Jean-Claude van Damme, did not at the time seem especially weird gives you an idea of how off-the-charts bonkers much of the final parliamentary fortnight has been.
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