Sunday, August 31, 2014

March in August's low turnout proves pampered petulance of the Left

Recently I heard about the latest latte leftie dummy spit and group sulk called March in August. Read that it was to start at a park in Northbridge.

Now, because these charming assemblies are full of brimming bolshies who can't be arsed actually thinking about political issues and much prefer to play the man rather than the ball, most of the venom the speakers and placard wavers express is aimed at their favourite hate figure, the PM. And considering that Tony Abbott has been even more, er, Abbottesque than usual lately -- what with his comments about white settlement, as well as his condemnation of those adorable head choppers from ISIS -- you'd expect there to be squillions of squealing Tonyphobes at this latest demo.

But nup. It was a total fizzle. As a coupla Twitter wits opined, you get bigger crowds at an under 10s soccer match, or a sausage sizzle out the front of Bunnings.

Left me scratching my head as to why this was the case ... Hmmm. Maybe it was something to do with the lack of a catchy, alliterative title? After all, there was something distinctively meme-ish about "March in March" and it was extra-easy to remember for the severely cognitively challenged -- who clearly constituted most of the many thousands who rocked up on that day. So, would this latest organized outburst have drawn bigger crowds if it had been named, say, "Anger in August"? Maybe ...

But I think the main reason for the tragically piss-poor turnout was the highly immature and emotional nature of the Left. If your actions are motivated by feelings, well, they'll always be inconsistent in nature.

Then there's pervasive pinko tendency to blame others for your own condition. So, in the same way that these child-brained adults accuse decent hardworking folk who never did anything wrong to them for their own misery, they also leave it up to others to tell them what to do. Hell, the spoiled sprogs can't even shift their fat arses down to a local park unless the local commissars motivate them sufficiently.

It's all there in that stupid exhortation so beloved of the bolshie: "maintain the rage". Such "rage" can hardly be genuine and justified if someone has to tell you to maintain it, as well as when and where to express it, right?

Actually, it's not really rage at all. More like wallowing in your spurious sense of victimhood on cue.


  1. Your side of the country they could be "Western Wankers".. Not sure about the Eastern States - have to think about that. Pacific Pinkos perhaps?
    South Australia in between doesn't need any special label - just the label South Australia is enough. The only State where the gerrymander is alive and well.
    The Island State could use "Tassie Tossers".
    The common denominator is they are all bloody useless individuals.

  2. A good catchy title never hurts - Stampede in September? Ouch, My Feet Hurt in October? - but the weak turnout for the Marchies demonstrates perfectly why the internet is the enemy of the left.
    Consider the protests that followed Malcolm Fraser and Sir John Kerr around the country for a couple of years after 1975. The numbers were probably about the same - but they had the advantage of a supportive media. If you'd gone to one of those protests, Matt, how would you have put your observations out for everyone to read? You might have got a few lines on the letters page, if you were lucky.
    Incidentally, just by being within earshot of the speakers, you would have been added to the numbers of the crowd. If there was a guy sleeping off a drunk under a tree, he would have been included too.
    The Marchies claim to represent thousands, many thousands, of disaffected citizens. But they couldn't raise ten grand even with a minimum donation of five dollars. Compare that to the IPA's fundraising which gathered up nearly sixty grand in a few days. The failed Marchies effort was a mirror for the anti-Abbott brigade. It proved what the rest of us knew already: 'Not in my name' also means 'Not out of my pocket.'