I’ve never been able to work out whether the self-appointed political gurus who write for the mainstream media (MSM) – if you call reporting leaks from self-serving pollies, regurgitating dodgy numbers from suspect polls, and rehashing media releases writing, that is – are actually the morons they give every appearance of being, or simply lazy dodgers without a clue trying to beat up some salacious print to fill the gaps between ads in their billionaire owners sales journals.

Probably a bit of both was the conclusion I long ago came to, and whether I’m wrong or right one thing’s for certain, and that is that the massed media mob who hold themselves out as harbingers of all expertise when it comes to matters political couldn’t hold a lit candle to the actual nous, insight and understanding of the tw0-legged political lottery held by yours truly, Mr Archibald J. Butterfly.

In fact, they probably couldn’t hold a candle to my 3-year-old goddaughter either, and her humanitarian refugee parents left school before they were ten and wouldn’t at this early stage of their new life as proud Australians understand the difference between a branch stack and a backroom party deal if either bit them on the arse, although under my tutelage they’ll learn quickly, don’t you worry about that.

But the 3-year-old cutie can count – thanks to Dr Seuss, a bit of quality tutelage time dressed up as play, many packs of jelly beans (sugar free of course), and a liberal splash of Sesame Street – and as a result she understands that 42 plus 3 (or more likely 4, Billy G’s just keeping his powder dry at the moment) equals 45 any which way you cut, whether you add the numbers up in red jellybeans or in blue, and that 45 is more than half of 89, and if you have more than half of the pack of Play School cards then you win the game.

So if the little one gets that the owner of the Play School pack deals the cards, why don’t the gurus from the MSM who, having completely missed Rob Pyne’s brilliantly executed play, have for the past week been attempting to redeem themselves by peddling drivel about Assetstacia Pannacotta running off to see Daphnis De Jersey to call a snap election.

Sadly for the gurus, the only snap has been that in their brains, because:

(a) The accidental Premier can’t actually call an election until midway through her term, and she’s only a third into it at present;

(b) She has to have a trigger; that is, a piece of legislation that she can’t pass, and given that this Government doesn’t pass any bills she therefore doesn’t have one;

(c) And of course the biggie. If Rob, Billy and the Bobsy Katter twins switch sides, Accidental Assetstacia ain’t the Premier any more, so she couldn’t call an election even if her life depended on it, which of course if the Awesome Foursome make the switch her political life absolutely will.

I’m not telling regular readers anything you don’t already know, because of course you knew all about the Pyne gambit when I first revealed it more than 6 weeks ago. But some folk – blokes like Steven Wardill and sheilas such as Amy Remeikis – are a bit slow on the uptake, and in Amy’s case at least tend to regard your humble correspondent as a loon, much to her scoop-achieving detriment and I am sure now to her chagrin.

At the end of the day sportsfans, I guess it’s just like my old Grandma used to say. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.

As lots of people sitting on padded seats in newsrooms and in the House of Broken Dreams are suddenly and all too quickly finding out.

If only the colts and fillies has listened to mad old Archie hey?

Neigh!

masssax