Once upon a time, Barnaby Joyce was the Deputy Prime Minister of Australia. Yes, the actual Deputy PM. The same bloke who now looks like he’s been dragged through a pub trivia night backwards.
Let’s be honest: Barnaby’s popularity has plummeted faster than Donald Trump’s credibility. His own party treats him like the cousin who shows up to Christmas lunch already three beers deep and starts arguing with the turkey… and loses. The Nationals gave him the leadership, then took it away, then gave it back, then took it away again – like a toxic game of pass-the-parcel where the prize is a migraine and a leaked text message.
The media? They’ve turned Barnaby into their favourite walking, talking tear sheet. Every time he opens his mouth, a headline is born. Remember when he warned that Johnny Depp’s dogs would be put down? Or when he single-handedly moved government departments to Armidale because… reasons? Or the time he accidentally became a dual citizen and had to resign, only to swan back in like nothing happened?
Labor, of course, never liked him. To them, Barnaby is the human equivalent of a “Wet Paint” sign: impossible to ignore – you daringly just have to give the paint a poke to see how sticky it is.
Poor Barnaby. He’s like a beetroot left too long in the sun – once proud and purple, now just a shrivelled, slightly embarrassing lump that nobody wants to claim. But give the man credit: in a country full of polished suits and focus-grouped soundbites, he’s authentically, gloriously Barnaby. He’s the uncle who turns up to your wedding in footy shorts and a “Save our coal mines” T-shirt. You don’t invite him because you like him – you invite him because the photos will be legendary.
But fear not – there’s one beacon of light in Barnaby’s lonely universe. Pauline Hanson still likes him. Yes, Pauline. The woman who once wore a burqa into Parliament for the LOLs. Their political bromance is the stuff of fever dreams: two fiery bumpkins united by a shared love of conspiracy theories, regional accents, and the unshakable belief that Canberra is a swamp full of latte-sipping elites. (Barnaby’s idea of a swamp is probably just a dried-up creek bed littered with (presumably) empty beer bottles.)
Picture them now: Barnaby and Pauline, sitting on a verandah in matching hi-vis, sipping Bundy and cola, grumbling about wind farms and the ABC. It’s less “power couple” and more “power struggle to stay relevant.” If Australian politics were a high-school cafeteria, they’d be the kids at the table in the corner, loudly complaining that the tuckshop ran out of potato cakes (or whatever they call them up north).
And yet, maybe that’s the secret of his survival. Barnaby doesn’t pretend to be what he’s not. He’s not slick, he’s not subtle, and there are times he’s definitely not sober. But he’s real – or at least, real enough to remind us that Australian politics isn’t all spreadsheets and talking points. Sometimes it’s just a bloke in a hat, shouting at clouds, convinced they’re part of a Labor plot.
So here’s to you, Barnaby Joyce: Australia’s bewildered reminder that sometimes, the joke writes itself. May your next press conference involve fewer paternity scandals and more free sausage rolls. We’re not saying we miss you in power… but we will miss the entertainment.
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Barnaby of the Gnats (for how much longer is another matter), the Wizard of Id’s live action version of Bung.
Long live Barnaby – – somewhere. Most likely in the One Nation office shed. He just might learn how to boil chish and fips. We can but wish ….
There it was, on the footpath, and it should have been cleaned up, but, without a phone in sight, there it was, just lying there all buzzing with flies and little crawlies, but, politely, I said “G’Day, Barnaby”, and moved on….one should not embarrass a confused politician…
I am constantly amazed that this “person” is repeatedly voted back into parliament. Does he really represent his electorate? Or does the electorate prefer to be represented by displays of moral degeneration. Doesn’t say much for the good folks of New England.
The fact that he was deputy PM says it all, and says more about the rest of us than him.