The Winter of Steve Price

Australia is so far gone, we have to go to #QandA to find a bloke next door.

In case you’ve missed it, his name is Steve Price.

He’s 61 and ugly, not in that underworldly, pug-faced way but in a minor knock-around key, a blue tie, a slow shuffle.

He is old but dark at the roots. He is short, and no shoes can help him. He can be brutish and loud, probably when he’s naked but only when he’s been given an audience YET AGAIN.

As I said, he is from #QandA, but to understand him, you should think about what that means. #QandA hasn’t been around for 50 years like him. He is a throwback, which is why he doesn’t understand anything. Throwback people still live and die with the plot turns of mass media in Melbourne and Perth, still dwell in the circle jerk of Sydney. In the morning, on 2UE, he may seem just like a human, but he’s a bit different. When everyone is awake, he is asleep. He tries to study modern customs, habits, accents. An ambitious broadcaster views modern progressive society the same way the Martians view Earth at the beginning of The War of the Worlds. Which was Price. From afar he waited for the perfect moment, the perfect wave of conservatism to coast all the way to the billboards of The Project, where his face is blown up to accurate size according to his ego.