As with the bushfires, the pandemic has exposed Morrison for who he truly is. No Facebooked curries, no borrowing of chickens or mounting of heavy machinery, no be-medalled general nor tame premier can hide his vacuity and uselessness. A coward who baulks at scrutiny and bullies any defiance, a clueless charlatan, a pig, a QAnon adjacent prosperity cultist who celebrated an affinity with Mr Tangerine Man, an overtly religious moral void, an inveterate liar, a poseur whose first instinct in a crisis is flight, whose vision is shaped by the rapture and whose ambitions are informed by an eagle painting will be desperately rifling through dumpsters for dead cats. This was Morrison’s chance to shine, to show up the doubters and haters, to prove he was worthy of the office, that he could confidently go to an early election. Instead, he shat himself. Again. Did you spot the musical reference?