Howard knows which side his bread is buttered on. The side of the redneck, cowardly fascists. They love him and he loves them. How dare these little uppity backbenchers demand he shows some humaneness? Watch his lips as they tighten, harden, narrow when he's asked to change any of his thinking, any of his ways, say sorry! That's what his mind is like. And that's how people came up with the phrase, tight arSed! And watch his nose as it becomes thinner, longer and browner... How much longer, for Christ's sake? How much bloody longer? And who's going to take his place? Another Howard? Another political pragmatist like him or like Hawke?
