To whom it may concern,

I recently became aware that you had a vacancy in the mainstream media for a right-wing Phillip Adams, and as a professional writer with some spare time and a brooding sense of resentment, I hereby apply for the position.

I feel that I would be perfect for this role, given my lifelong passion for balance in the media. All throughout the Howard years, I sat seething with fury at the relentlessly Socialist line run by the mainstream media, furious at the injustice of our defenceless prime minister being beset at every turn by uniformly leftist interrogations. And even now, as the media falls into lockstep behind the Maoist Rudd regime, I find myself watching the 7:30 Report and growing ever-angrier that Kerry O’Brien is not followed by half-an-hour of someone saying the exact opposite.

So, seeing as I am desperate to see more balance in the media, and that I, like all right-wing commentators, am vastly under-appreciated by the world in general, I am putting my hand up to rescue the media from itself.

Of course, there are two prongs to being a right-wing Phillip Adams: you have to be right-wing; and you have to be a Phillip Adams. In many ways, the latter is the more difficult — after all, anyone can be right-wing, given a few stiff drinks and a traumatic experience in a cultural studies lecture.

But how to be an Adams without a lifetime of absorbing the Adams essence, without a solid background of youthful communism and social activism and interminable stories about the Garma festival? It’s tricky, but I have been training hard, memorising my stories about dinners with Labor prime ministers, spending long hours in front of the mirror whining about coal mines, and making sure to interrupt everyone I meet within 30 seconds of them opening their mouths. So I think I’ve got it down, although obviously it’s a fine line. One needs to be Adams-ish, but if you go too far and start bitching about refugees or euthanasia, you cease to be right-wing, and we’re left with two left-wing Phillip Adamses, thus triggering the apocalypse as foretold in the Book of Revelation.

But it’s the ability to walk that fine line that makes me the perfect candidate for this prestigious and highly paid role. Because there’s no doubt that as far as right-wing commentary goes, I am absolutely at the top of my game. Just look at this:

“Need more proof that Labor is leading us into an abyss of joblessness and economic catastrophe with its slavish pseudo-religious devotion to an unproven theory that more and more respected scientists are now renouncing? Just look at this graph.”

See that? Made that up all by myself. That’s how perfect I am for the job, and if I get it, I won’t let you down. Need more? How about this:

“Maybe those who hate this country so much for the imagined sins of our ancestors who were only trying to help the indigenous population better themselves should just move to North Korea, although they probably wouldn’t like it that much given the lack of gay marriage and compulsory abortions.”

I think I have made my point. If you select me for this, the most-coveted role in Australian public life, I will commit myself to upholding the most stringent standards of conservative commentary, while also fulfilling my duty to be as Adams-esque as possible. You can expect me to talk in a slow, somnolent voice for extended period about my conversation with Kevin Rudd wherein we discussed just how hate-filled and destructive Barack Obama is; you can expect me to expound at length on how the last Garma proved the Stolen Generation never happened; you can expect me to tell long, rambling anecdotes about farm life that illuminate Kevin Rudd’s policy of drowning asylum seekers.

You can expect me to turn this media ship around, avoiding the iceberg of bias and greenie totalitarianism, and sailing into the warm waters of balance and responsible conservative analysis.

It is time for conservative thought to take its rightful place in Australia: late at night in between interviews with biographers of Evelyn Waugh. And I’m just the man to put it there.