Has there ever been a manlier party than the current Liberals? Has there ever been a party oozing with more testosterone, bursting with more machismo, thrusting itself through the political hurly-burly with more irrepressibly tumescent force than this proud collection of men, and in a way, women, who stand now trembling on the threshold of government, ready to seize the reins of this out-of-control mustang and canter triumphantly into a brighter future?

Has there?

Of course, some might say it’s easy for a party to look manly when it’s up against the ALP, or as it’s become known in the corridors of power, "The Vagina Squad". But even allowing for the fact that the current Labor Party is as girly as Miley Cyrus on a unicorn, this current Opposition is incredibly manly, and that’s been hammered home this week by the performance of the manliest man of all, the Honourable Scott Morrison MP. "I want to thank Scott for being man enough to accept that perhaps we did go a little too far yesterday," said Tony Abbott, illustrating the essence of manhood for all to see.

Morrison is what the modern Liberal Party is all about. Along with Christopher Pyne and Cory Bernardi, he is part of the dynamic new breed of conservative pollie that epitomises the Liberals’ key motto: "The Liberal Party — Strong Leadership With Only a Little Bit of Vomit in Your Mouth". And this week he demonstrated it beautifully, showing just the kind of forthright attitude and muscular directness a citizenry requires when it’s trying to defend itself against the external threat of expensive mourners.

For while the rest of us were wringing our hands and rending our garments and moistening our cheeks about the funerals of asylum seekers killed in last year’s boat crash, Morrison, in his masculine way, went right to the heart of the matter: How much does it cost and why are we paying for it?

Now THAT’S what we want from our leaders — straightforward, manly accounting. For what is the most important element of any government? That’s right — value for money. Is it a coincidence that the ascent of this ridiculously feminised government has coincided with reckless spending in every area? Billions upon billions upon useless school halls, wasteful handouts, and of course Peter Garrett’s homicidal mania. And the advent of Julia Gillard has just made things worse — confirming all our worst fears that allowing a woman to become prime minister would just cause her to see the process of government as one big shopping spree. It takes a man — a man like Morrison — to stand up and say "Enough! Stop spending our money on these silly extravagances, and start being responsible with it!"

And as any prudent budgetarian knows, fiscal soundness begins with not splashing out money on every cashed-up heathen who jumps the queue and expects to be showered with luxuries left right and centre. Free medical care, accommodation, funeral attendance … where does it end? I’ll tell you where it ends: with the country up to its eyeballs in debt and turning tricks in the South China Sea just to afford the interest payments on the amphibious landing craft.

But men like Scott Morrison, luckily, are there to nip this kind of profligacy in the bud, if only we’ll let them. Immigration Minister Chris Bowen estimated that flying these people to their loved ones’ funeral would cost $300,000. Three hundred thousand! Do you know what we could have bought with that money? We could have put a deposit down on a nice house! Or bought a few spare cars for Barnaby Joyce for next time he has one of his little turns.

But now we’ll never have these nice things, because the government decided it had to be "compassionate" — which is, let’s be honest, just another word for "pre-menstrual". Because the government doesn’t have any real men in it. No men like Morrison. Just pseudo-men like Chris Bowen, who trips over his feet like a comical butler every time someone rings the country’s doorbell, so eager is he to let them in build them mosques on top of the War Memorial.

Of course, like all great men, Morrison’s manliness is driven by his strong faith. The fact Morrison is a devout Christian should come as no surprise — if ever there was a man who knew how to save money on funerals, it was Jesus. And if there ever was an accurate answer to the question, "What would Jesus do?" it is, "Avoid wasteful spending on the personal excursions of people who aren’t even citizens". It’s all in the Bible, folks. Jesus was a real man, too. He knew the only way to deal with refugees was with a firm hand. Just look at the story of how he drove the moneylenders from the temple because they had no passports.

No doubt it is this innate determination to emulate Christ that makes Morrison so manly. It takes a very special sort of courage to stand against the crowd in this way, to see everyone else weeping and grieving and say, I do not care what anyone else thinks, I am going to stand up for what is important — taxpayer dollars. Because every special interest group under the sun has its spokespeople, but there’s no spokesperson for taxpayer dollars. Who will speak for the voiceless, these poor dollars forced into servitude against their will, enslaved to fashionable ideologies and sinister religious observances? Scott Morrison, that’s who.

And yet, even with this unbelievably macho display, Morrison did not exhibit the full range of his manliness. It was left to his leader — himself a man so manly that when discussing border protection his head briefly transforms itself into a scrotum — to point out just how manly Morrison is.

Because yes, perhaps the greatest attribute a man can have is the willingness to admit his mistakes. There is nothing more manly than a fellow sticking out his chin and confessing to the world that he has been a fool and a rotter and that on sober reflection it probably would have been better to wait until maybe next week before demanding that the grieving relatives of dead asylum seekers stop suckling so voraciously at the public teat.

It takes guts, as Abbott said, to come clean about your poor sense of timing when it comes to funeral-visit-funding-mentioning. It takes the sort of guts undreamed of by the wittering wet-nurses on the government benches, or "moderate" traitors like Judith Troeth, who quite frankly would not know manhood if it jumped up and unhooked her bra. She should probably join the Greens, the natural party of the woman, and take Joe "the human uterus" Hockey with her.

The Liberal Party doesn’t need their type. The Liberal Party, like Australia itself, needs men. It needs studly types like Morrison and Abbott to stay the course, to keep a masculine presence in Australian politics, to keep the great penis of opposition pounding away at this sissy "government", until it finally penetrates the corridors of power and inseminates Parliament with the seed of commonsense. If they don’t, who knows what sort of madcap policies will spew forth from Labor’s barren womb? Who knows what disreputable nine-year-olds will be allowed loose in the community? Who knows what nefarious graves will be tended, or how many millions will be spent on ferrying around the distinctly ethnic opportunists looking to tend them?

Let’s be manly, Australia. Let’s stand up, chests out, heads high, groins proudly upthrust, and put a stop to all this oestrogen-fuelled sappery.

After all, you’ve got to be cruel to be kind. Of course, you’ve got to be even more cruel to be cruel. So, either way, you know.

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