Hyper-Auto-Repellence: A Personal Plea
What should we make of Christopher Pyne?
Some kind of glovepuppet?
This week Australin politics farewelled a titan in Gough Whitlam. Many
people voiced opinions on this, ranging from Prime Minister Abbott's
opinion that Whitlam wasn't the best PM ever, to Julia Gillard's opinion
that he was actually so great he was a lot like Julia Gillard, to every
News Ltd columnist's opinion that he ruined everything for everyone and
it's a good thing that finally his ring has been cast into the fires of
Mount Doom.
But, Abbott's somewhat faint praise notwithstanding, most of the
tributes from actual parliamentarians were quite complimentary and very
respectful. Even Philip Ruddock said some pretty nice things about him,
and Philip Ruddock dug his own soul out of himself with a rusty lino
knife when he was eight.
But Pyne...well, Pyne made a jolly little speech in which he noted that when Whitlam was dismissed, his mother cried, and "I have to let you in on a secret, she was crying out of joy"
It was a delightful moment
Now,
of course, that is an insight into the life of the young Pyne that
opens up all sorts of questions. For example, does Christopher still
watch Adventure Island, or now that he is in his forties does he prefer
Mr Squiggle?
of course, that is an insight into the life of the young Pyne that
opens up all sorts of questions. For example, does Christopher still
watch Adventure Island, or now that he is in his forties does he prefer
Mr Squiggle?
But
it's not so much the substance that I want to dwell on: the fact that
Christopher Pyne has been forced to spend his life coming up with a
dazzling array of excuses to explain away the fact his mother was
constantly crying whenever he was around is neither here nor there. What
I want to examine is the psychology that caused our Honourable
Education Minister to think to himself, "Hmm, Gough Whitlam is
dead...this might be a good time to tell the country how much my family
hated him".
it's not so much the substance that I want to dwell on: the fact that
Christopher Pyne has been forced to spend his life coming up with a
dazzling array of excuses to explain away the fact his mother was
constantly crying whenever he was around is neither here nor there. What
I want to examine is the psychology that caused our Honourable
Education Minister to think to himself, "Hmm, Gough Whitlam is
dead...this might be a good time to tell the country how much my family
hated him".
What process produces these thoughts? Is there a process even taking place?
Evidence is so far inconclusive
upbringing. an expensive education, and Amanda Vanstone cooking all his
meals, seems to have developed a pathological need to be the most hated
man in every room he is in. It's actually quite a rare psychological
phenomenon: hyper-auto-repellence. In other words, he can only be
satisfied by making others loathe him. Obviously this has been an
advantage to him in his rise through the ranks of the Liberal Party, but
at this point in his life is it becoming a liability?
It's
not that I hate Christopher Pyne. I mean, I do, but that's not the
important thing here. The important thing is that every word out of his
mouth, every action he takes, every step in his life up to now, has
seemed perfectly calculated to force me to hate him. And frankly, though
I hate the man, I also worry about him. When a fellow is so desperate
to be disliked that he stands in parliament to merrily spit in the face
of the old man who just died, there is something quite concerning going
on behind his smooth, shiny facade.
not that I hate Christopher Pyne. I mean, I do, but that's not the
important thing here. The important thing is that every word out of his
mouth, every action he takes, every step in his life up to now, has
seemed perfectly calculated to force me to hate him. And frankly, though
I hate the man, I also worry about him. When a fellow is so desperate
to be disliked that he stands in parliament to merrily spit in the face
of the old man who just died, there is something quite concerning going
on behind his smooth, shiny facade.
Very very concerning
I don't know if Christopher reads this blog - no idea why he wouldn't -
but if he does, I'm here to say: Christopher, I am no longer enabling
you. I will write no more about how awful you are, now that I realise
it's just feeding your addiction. Instead, I urge you: get help,
Christopher. Don't be afraid to reach out.
You might think you can't be happy, Christopher, unless you're being
hated. But believe me: you CAN. With a caring therapist and a good
support system at home, you might even find a way to derive pleasure
from being liked.
And I promise Christopher: when you do, we'll all be a lot more relaxed.
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