The readers of Melbourne’s Herald Sun went into deep shock yesterday, when former Dutchman, and contrived controversy confectioner, Andrew Bolt launched his missiles of mockery in support of international pop sensation Madonna’s right to spend her wealth on acquiring African orphans.
Mr. Bolt railed against “explosions of sanctimony”, “foaming instant hate”, and “professional consciences” in his deep analysis of the issue, but it wasn’t the controversy around the complexities of International adoption that had the ‘burbs reeling, (mostly they don’t care provided the kids can pass the citizenship test), instead it was the deliberate impugning of the aspirational battler, because right at the start of his article Mr. Bolt said this:
No wonder so many huff-puffers were so angry at hearing this news on their wide-screen plasma TVs that they heaved themselves off their plush sofas to waddle to the phone and file their complaints.
Outrage. That was the reaction from vast swathes of middle Australia, not to mention the smaller cohort of asthma sufferers in the community. Plush Sofa’s and Plasma-TV’s? If middle Australia hasn’t got these things already, then they’re out there battling away trying to get them. I suppose Mr. Bolt, elitist that he is, has moved up to a wall sized rear projection unit, and a Jason Recliner. Well it’s alright for some, but this was an H-bomb of Holier-than-Thouism blasted at the proud beating heart of aspirational Australia. Just at the same time that they’re struggling under the burden of debt created by those very same aspirational trophies. With no thought of a compassionate head tilt or even the tasteful use of alliteration to soften the impact, Bolt has left a wounded and shocked nation on its knees.
But the final unconscionable poke in the eye comes with his description of their gait. They waddle! Mr. and Mrs. Average Australia waddle to the phone says Mr. Bolt. Too timid, too elitist to call them FAT right to their face, he has to mask his sneering contempt behind a shamefully subtle little word picture.
No doubt Mr. Bolt’s friend and colleague Piers Ackerman, who readily admits to his own problems with duck-like perambulation, will be having a word or two with him at News Corp’s weekly script preparation and rehearsal sessions. Hopefully Mr. Ackerman passes on the message that Mr. Bolt’s skinny Dutch arse will be no longer welcome on the plush sofas of middle Australia until he wakes up to himself and realises who in the end is paying his bills.