If you think I’m writing an entire article running off this gag you’re a fucking idiot.
Queensland Senator James McGrath has sunk himself deeper into controversy during a misguided attempt to justify his online boast of killing a flock of cockatoos.
While the Facebook post at issue was condemned by many, McGrath’s unprecedented move of taking a big old bite out of a mangled Cockatoo corpse during the ensuing press conference has sparked genuine questions about his sanity.
Famed for his incredible ability to toe the party line and do literally nothing else of value in any other area of his life, the habitual bird murderer elicited audible gasps and one cheer as he tore the flesh from Polly’s hollow bones.
“Polly wanna *crunch* stop triggered lefties *crunch* ruining Australia” read a visibly confused McGrath in a prepared statement, occasionally taking a moment to spit out shards of beak.
While it may appear that Mr McGrath has quite simply lost his mind, theories have emerged that the former Boris Johnson staffer is simply playing the political game in the long leadup to the next election. Indeed, the family of cockatoos were tipped by pundits to be a major threat to Mr McGrath’s next bid for preselection, with their natural ability to memorise and repeat mindless phrases ad nauseum a perfect fit in the Liberal campaign strategy.
But ya can’t be in the upper house when you’re fuckin dead can ya, ya dumb birds.
More to come.
John Bolton’s departure from the White House this week was a tragedy for all those in favour of protracted, drawn out American wars against a large Middle Eastern country around 636,000 square miles in size.
As a champion of foreign incursions against a large country in Western Asia with approximately 82 million inhabitants and a unitary theocratic-republican authoritarian presidential republic system of government, Bolton was a reliable cool head in a Trump administration notable for its volatility in foreign affairs. That is why it was so disappointing he was sidelined and dismissed from his post just days prior to a drone attack on Saudi Aramco oil facilities by Iranian-backed Yemeni separatists.
The drone attack, claimed by Yemen’s Houthi rebels, sparked fires at two major facilities run by Saudi Aramco, Saudi Arabia's state-owned oil giant, disrupting output and exports. Two sources close to the matter told Reuters news agency 5 million barrels a day of crude production had been impacted - close to half of the kingdom's output or 5 percent of global oil supply. If Bolton was still in office as National Security Advisor, he might have been able to push the President to immediately launch retaliatory air strikes against Iran, starting a game of tit for tat aggression that would surely have led to full scale intervention and millions of deaths. Sadly, out of office, he’s been reduced to barracking from the sidelines.
At press time, his desperate attempts to get #JeSuisSaudiAramco trending on Twitter had gone to nought, and his argument that an attack on Saudi oil facilities was an attack on all of us had been met with only muted responses from the public. Shockingly, it seems like most people really don’t give a shit about the long term health of a state company operated by a barbaric and anachronistic monarchy that still beheads gay people in 2019! At press time, Bolton had penned a poem in the form of “First they came ...", the famous confession by the German Lutheran pastor Martin Niemöller about the cowardice of German intellectuals and certain clergy (including, by his own admission, Niemöller himself) following the Nazis' rise to power and subsequent incremental purging of their chosen targets, group after group. Sources tell us that Bolton’s rendition, “First they came for Saudi AramCo, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a Saudi oil production facility” lacked the same punch as the original literary classic.
Please God, no more to come.
Jack Bronson (23), a Kayo subscriber, Commerce student, and a man who has a Brooklyn Nine-Nine quote in his Instagram bio, has confessed to his mates today that whilst he’s aware there’s something a bit off, something a bit ‘how you going’ with those Ruskies and those Chinese (no we’re not giving them a nickname), he has absolutely no idea what’s going on.
Over a few Heinekens (they were on special, back off), the conversation between Jack and his friends weaved between the Brisbane Lions, the Australian cricket team, and whether or not to raise Newstart so that people aren’t living in abject poverty because we have a sickeningly self-centred approach to taxation and welfare, before finally settling on what every fella loves to unpack over a cold one (or even two).
In a rare moment of raw honesty from a man who knows how to lie a lie better than he knows how to tie a tie, Jack laid his cards on the table.
But after that hand of poker was done, Jack laid his metaphorical cards on the table by letting the lads know that whilst he is unshakeably confident that there’s something pretty crook happening with the Russian government and the Chinese government, he has truly no idea of the details.
‘It’s something about surveillance, right?’ he spitballed, with that conversational first-serve limply sailing into the net of mediocrity as he received nothing but shrugs from his mates.
‘Or like, the gays? I know they don’t have it easy. In either place. Or just one?’
Jack continued as the shrugs grew greater, before deciding it was easier to just say ‘fuck it’ and write a note reminding himself to get a subscription to The Economist. As world affairs unfold around this archetypal young Australian, expect him to be pretty aware of what’s happening in a broad sense, but if you expect him to fill in any details, you’ll come up more empty-handed than his bank account after a weekend at the ‘races’ (of which 80% of his time was suspiciously spent in the bathrooms).
Plenty more to come, loving this guy.
Struck down thirty-eight points to six on a windswept, rainy pitch in Perth, Queenslanders could probably be forgiven for finding themselves wondering whether the Mighty Maroons’ uncharacteristically shithouse performance against New South Wales last night was somehow an act of divine punishment.
Following an in-depth investigation by the team at The Obiter, we can sadly confirm that there is more to these initial suspicions than one would expect.
A spokesperson for God, the Archangel Gabriel, confirmed to us this morning that The Lord, Creator Of All Things and Ruler Of The Universe, struck down the state’s beloved rugby league team in Perth last night with a case of the absolute shits following Queensland’s repeated failure to heed His dire warnings to turn away from sin lest they incur His divine wrath.
The Archangel Gabriel cited God’s fury at the Queensland State Government’s approval of the Adani coal mine project as one factor behind his decision to smite the state, although he’s famously ambivalent about the chirpy little annoying black-throated finch, but confirmed to us that Queensland LNP Senator James McGrath’s continued unholy existence played an even larger part in God’s thinking.
‘Honestly, Our Heavenly Father is fucking pissed that the people of Queensland seemingly listen to that vapid, stupid prick,’ confessed Gabriel.
‘I mean, just look at the little dopey little runt, he looks like a smurf, he’s not exactly in shape, is he?’ asked the Archangel Gabriel rhetorically.
Later, he was able to confirm to us that the Lord God YHWH trembled with the rage of ten trillion fiery suns every single time the conservative senator, famous for his support for privatizing the ABC in order to stick it to ‘latte lefties,’ took a breath.
At press time, God’s booming, thundering voice rang out through the state of Queensland, warning that for every continued second Senator James McGrath spent existing he would smite not just the Maroons, but the entire state.
Warning of plagues and pestilence, he threatened to go throughout the state, killing the firstborn son of every household.
‘There will be loud wailing throughout Queensland—worse than there has ever been or ever will be again.’ We can only assume he’s referring to the Great Wailings of Caxton St should we lose the decider in Sydney.
More to come.
The hopes of a future Year 6 Leader in Kedron West are in tatters today after the launch of a merciless smear campaign. Brody McFadden (11) was the forerunner and 6C nominee going into the general election however pre-polls now have him polling in the single digits after rival Timothy Duke accused McFadden of shitting himself during last week’s assembly.
McFadden’s campaign, based upon fighting austerity measures imposed by the P&C who reduced the schools muffin morning from weekly to monthly, proved wildly popular among the student body. It appears that Duke could not secure the funding to upgrade the school’s computer labs and had to fight dirty.
The smear campaign was launched during first break with a team of lobbyists spreading rumours that quickly made their way through the handball line. This coincided with the appearance of posters showing McFadden’s face smeared with poo coloured Texta. While Duke denies any involvement in the erection of the posters despite an outcry by McFadden loyalists.
We reached out to Brody for a comment, he spoke to us through tears.
‘I didn’t poo my pants I swear. I was sitting near stinky Hamish, he probably did it. This isn’t fair I don’t even want to be school captain anymore I just want people to not think I’m weird and a pant shitter.’
Unfortunately, the impact of the campaign has reached the McFadden family. Brody’s dad can no longer drop his son in the zone near the school in the mornings due to fears of being associated with a known pant shitter.
‘Yeah, it’s pretty fucked, I thought I’d raised him better than this. Everyone knows politicians are grubs but I didn’t think they ever meant it this literally,’ stated Chris McFadden (42).
Even Brody’s mum Tracy, who has been a lollipop lady for over a decade at the school hasn’t escaped unscathed.
‘Some of the meaner kids added an extra O to my fluoro vest so now it says Lollipoop,’ said Tracy.
As at the time of publication McFadden is preparing to fire back with accusations that Duke is a nose picker however it may be too little too late with Timothy already preparing his victory speech. In hindsight such a brutal campaign can’t be good for the mental health of a prepubescent boy, but if you can’t handle the heat get out of the quadrangle.
Further election coverage to come.
‘Surely that’s done it,’ thought former Prime Minister Tony Abbott as he put the finishing touches on his plan.
The Warringah member’s election strategy developed late last year. Growing tired of unfair coverage of his unblemished record, Abbott decided to hit the surf for a thinky. Though, after getting stung on his massive ding dong by a unionist jellyfish, the ex-PM decided to settle on the couch and watch a movie instead.
It was then that his gay lesbian sister recommended her favourite.
‘Let’s watch The Producers.’
Tony, well aware that musicals were for gaybies, was too exhausted from the CMFEU’s targeted jelly attack to fight back.
As the credits of Mel Brooks’ satirical masterpiece rolled, Abbott sat in stunned silence. This was it. This was the strategy.
‘The Producers’ involved a plot concocted by Max Bialystock to intentionally produce a terrible flop of a show in order to avoid auditing of investments. The goal was to create the worst show ever made and escape from the trappings of Broadway.
Abbott promptly adopted this strategy for his re-election campaign. If he could run the worst possible campaign he would be able to escape politics, collect his generous retirement package, and avoid a thorough auditing of his campaign’s finances.
The plan was going well. Abbott had drafted former popular Olympian and barrister Zali Steggall to run against him, promising to buy her an ice-cream if she beat him. He then made sure to highlight his role in the toppling of Malcolm Turnbull, before acting like an absolute cooked unit at primary schools. ‘You think I like onions? Fuck no. I’m not the Grinch,’ Abbott wrote in his secret scheme diary, that The Obiter found left on Sydney’s northern beaches.
However, despite his efforts, Abbott is still considered an outside chance to retain his seat. ‘Time for the nuclear option,’ Abbott whispered to a lifesaving mannequin he keeps in his shower.
Late last night, Abbott snuck into the home of beloved Aussie icon Bob Hawke and smothered him with a list of his legislative accomplishments. Hawke easily survived that, so Abbott drowned him in a bathtub of sunscreen. ‘Tax that, Bobert,’ Abbott snarled.
Abbott ran home in an impressive 21.2 minutes, before quickly jumping on his Twitter to seal the deal.
‘Libby libby heart, Labby head,’ Tony scrawled onto his PC (Macs are gay). Pressing enter and sitting back with a smile of relief, Abbott knew that this genius move, on election eve, would ensure that his Producers arc was complete.
‘Springtime for Tony,’ he laughed.
‘Springtime for Tony.’
No more to come.
Brisbane City reverberated today with a blast that rocked this river town to its very foundations of blood, sweat, and XXXX fucking Gold.
Someone had just dropped a bomb.
But not a bomb of shrapnel, or a bomb of compressed gases which explode. Someone just dropped a god-damn truth bomb. And it didn’t come in the form of a well-reasoned argument, or an explanation, or any sort of enlightening, illuminating evidence.
It came in the most dangerous phrase in the English language. The phrase that turns the brave and courageous into the meek and reticent, and the phrase that turns men into boys, and #girlbosses into everyday women.
In the middle of a heated conversation on Twitter, Brisbane pedestrian.tv contributor and Labor volunteer, Red Hill’s Laura Schicofske hit back to an admittedly bizarre point about why Pete Buttigieg is the kid from Stuart Little grown up with the most devastating weapon the world has ever seen.
‘This ain’t it hun, x.’
Put away the nuclear weapons, Richard Nixon. Or should I say, put away the strongest tool in your political arsenal, miscellaneous left-wing person on Twitter.
As the argument rages on, a city tries to forget. The sharp simplicity of ‘this ain’t it,’ screaming to the reader that this simply isn’t it.
The faux-familiarity of ‘hun,’ which hides a deep undercurrent of aggression.
And to cap it all off, the cherry on top of the sundae of this rhetorical grenade, the single letter ‘x.’ Such meaning. Such power. Never forget this day.
No more to come at all, ever.
On Sunday morning, many Australians found themselves staring into their morning coffee wondering at what point the Labor Party lost the unlosable election. Unless you were a Greens voter, in which case your morning tumeric latte was vocally moaning about the electoral return of ‘ScoMo’!
Betting agencies had paid in favour of a Labor win days in advance, and even the Liberal leader called the election win a ‘miracle.’ And as a Pentecostal Christian, Mr Morrison knows a thing or two about miracles.
I am a young, female, Victorian, inner city dweller, but I made the decision to give my vote to the Liberal Party, as I have since the 2013 election, the first time I voted. I walked to the ballot box proud, with a smile on my face, glad to be participating in the democratic process and making my unique voice heard.
However, the elation I experienced on Sunday morning over the Liberal win was short-lived. According to social media, I am scared, uneducated, a bigot, should be ashamed, have condemned this planet to burn, pathetic, not a feminist, probably hate gays, hate minorities, and probably want to stop women having access to abortions.
Of course, none of this is true. I simply voted how my Dad told me to vote.
I’m not a bigot, I just listen to my father, Mark, who is a senior executive with KPMG and has a ‘good business head’ on his shoulders. Who wouldn’t listen to a legend like that?
Wandering around the streets of Melbourne, I was sad that many people saw Liberal voters as a negative influence on this country. Not all of us are actually right wing – some of us simply vote according to how our wealthy parents tell us to vote.
I would like our nation to take a collective deep breath and hear me out, please. I would like to remind Australians that some of us have a father who works for KPMG, and a mother that works as a periodontist, that support us through our Commerce studies at the University of Melbourne, with an unspoken arrangement whereby we receive weekly bank transfers of $550 that we both pretend does not occur.
We who voted for the Coalition did not vote out of fear, nor naivety, bigotry or anger. Rather, we voted with our parents, because what is in their economic interest is ultimately in ours. considering we rely on them for subsidies.
We voted with our parents in the hope that by pleasing them, they would be proud of us and tell us that they loved us.
Labor supporters, I am sorry you were left blindsided and heartbroken. But here’s one for you - get some better parents. They will show you the way.
‘Rip it, lick it, stick it. Listen to your ‘rents. Never forget the Northern Beaches.’ The LNP slogan for their 2019 campaign was far more insightful than they ever truly realised.
More to come from my perspective.
The Small Council of Westeros has seen a major reshuffle after a leadership change late yesterday rocked the power dynamics of the capital.
Daenerys Targaryen’s reign will be remembered as one of the shortest in recent memory, after her inner circle changed allegiances in a spill on the floor of the Throne Room.
The new leader, Bran the Really Fucking Broken, is a political novice who supporters hope can unite the realm around his good looks, boyish charm and ability to get inside the minds of disengaged citizens.
The young King’s first task was to choose his council. In a surprise choice, former cutthroat Bronn of Highgarden has been named Master of Coin.
Yielding limited fiscal experience, Bronn begun his first economic summit by floating a fairly divisive idea.
‘M’lords, I spent the weekend looking at it and it does seem to me that this whole franking credits business is a bit of a gift.’
The declaration sent shivers through the council chambers. Cash refunds for franking credits was how many Westerosi common folk funded their retirement. Many pensioners in Westeros, some as old as 38, depended on these credits.
Not to be deterred by conventional political wisdom, Bronn pushed his case. ‘It just feels like we have this generous social welfare scheme that Lord Baelish enacted and to keep that in place without reigning in these credits isn’t sustainable.’
Behind closed doors, party insiders say this is a mistake. ‘He’s showing he’s new to this,’ one unnamed and unarmed source told The Obiter.
‘Attempts to close the franking credit loophole have been politically toxic in Westeros since before Aerys.’
Bronn today released figures explaining that the refund costs the Crown more than expenditure on City Watch, armada and mega dragon rapid fire spears combined.
‘This is fiscally irresponsible and economically misguided,’ Bronn said in a conference many inside the Red Keep have described as amateurish.
‘He has no clue what he’s doing,’ a well-regarded economist explained. ‘Bronn is trying to reach into your pockets and grab what is yours. It’s a tax, nothing more nothing less.’
King Broken Little Bran Boy was reportedly negotiating a peace treaty between the First Men and the Children of the Forest when asked to comment on the supposed incompetency of a senior master.
‘He’s doing exactly what he must.’
More to come.