''Vote for me because my daughters are hot'' appears to be Tony Abbott's main political pitch to the Big Brother housemates.
His actual words, flanked by a visibly embarrassed Frances and Bridget, were: ''If you want to know who to vote for, I'm the guy with the not bad looking daughters . . .''
Politicians pitch to Big Brother housemates
In videos played to housemates, Tony Abbott's daughters hang off him saying "vote for Dad!" and Kevin Rudd's speech brings some to tears, as Big Brother contestants prepare to vote.
Adrift uneasily in the no man's land between daggy and plain weird, Abbott looked strangely like Robert Palmer from the era when the late British singer surrounded himself with Amazonian beauties, because . . . well . . . he could.
Abbott was one of four leaders delivering a short pre-recorded pitch to the housemates locked away on a Gold Coast TV set. The aim was to bring them up to speed on the election before they cast postal ballots in the show's diary room.
Most of the 20-somethings watched Abbott's cringe-worthy message from behind their hands. Apart from 29-year-old Tim Dormer whose thoughtful response was: ''I like the one on the left.''
Earlier, and first up in the four-handed dag-athon, was Greens boss Christine Milne. Wearing a sensible plum-coloured jacket and adopting her best primary school teacher persona, she rattled off a laundry list of Greens policies. She promised to reverse the ''dumb'' cuts to tertiary education, thus sounding like a desperate social worker trying to get down wid da yoof.
She also tossed in marriage equality and a reference to her gay son before showing how much of a Big Brother fan she (or at least her researcher) is by asking the housemates to give Mr Clooney a pat for her.
George Clooney is the name of the cattle dog sharing the house.
''I just want people to be aware that governments make promises and in the end they can't deliver them because they do not have the financial means,'' responded 24-year-old English teacher Mikkayla Mossop.
Such cynicism in one so young.
Then, unaccountably, up on the screen loomed Clive Palmer, who appeared to be in his pyjamas, in itself a terrifying thought.
All he needed was a paper hat and a glass of port to be a dead ringer for that embarrassing uncle who Skypes at Christmas.
Telling the housemates he wanted to make Australia the lucky country again, Palmer rattled through pretty much every one of Palmer United Party's policies at the speed of a bush cattle auctioneer. The response from the housemates was total incomprehension.
Then taking the opportunity to bat last, up popped K. Rudd. Luckily, the housemates were aware he had risen again, otherwise the confusion, had they been expecting to see Australia's first woman prime minister, would have been total.
Rudd was the only leader not to deliver a personal message, instead sending along a pre-prepared campaign message that reduced two of housemates to tears.
Unusually for Rudd, the reaction wasn't from boredom, but due to his promise to do something (although not much) about marriage equality if he got the top job.
After having been cloistered from the outside world – and the election – for 47 days, there should have been so much for the housemates to catch up on.
But, as it turns out, they haven't missed much.