Proud to be Un

I undertook Don Arthur's quiz: How Australian are you?

Well, not very.

Not that it means anything…

For the past ten years I have been feeling decidedly un-Australian. Prior, I easily identified with the general purpose of our leaders: furthering the cause of economic rationalism (and/or winning beer drinking competitions).

Apart from petrol for the civic wagon to head down the coast for a surf, I rarely spent money.

Only after a surf would I be hungry enough to buy food. I lived in a shitty, 4 bedroom unit on top of a pizza shop with a heap of mates in order to pay f*ck all rent. All of my jobs came with some sort of functional perk: food, transport, clothing, surf gear.

Being a tight-arse in the hip pocket department seemed so natural and easy.

A perfect fit.

Then along came Howard. The bully in me raged at the sight of this guy.

Short, blind, deaf little f*cker. He should have been beaten into submission at school. I thought, “How the hell did this gimp slip through?”

Peering up at the World, lifting his chin as though attempting to get his head above water. When he opened his mouth I wanted to smash stuff. Lies, black-hearted policies and cynical opportunism. All conveyed with a whining, nasal tone and a greasy enunciation.

What the!?! Aussies wanted this guy representing our nation?

I resigned myself to the dichotomy, however false. Howard is Australian, I am not.

Initially, not used to being an outsider, I was unsure of my position.

Now, I am proud to be whatever this duplicitous little f*cker and his vicious supporters are not.

I am un-Australian.