Game Over, Trump: Ghosts Are Real, Which I Know Because They Live Inside Me And Control My Thoughts

The White House is under siege.

As journalists continue to report on the rampant corruption that grips Trump’s administration and crowds march through the streets in protest, Robert Mueller’s ongoing investigation into collusion between Donald Trump and the Russian government looks close to issuing an indictment. Embattled and friendless, Trump faces the distinct possibility of impeachment and removal from office before the completion of his term. The President should be very, very worried about his prospects for political survival.

And he should be terrified by the fact that ghosts exist and that I know this because the ghosts live inside me and try to control my thoughts.

The game is up, Donald J. Chump!

Give up the jig, Chumpster!

Being stumped in cricket is bad. Being Trump’d in America is even worse!

Trump faces a determined, energized and organized political opposition that will fight tooth and nail for every seat at the 2018 mid-term elections. He faces a vigorous, powerful independent press corps that will challenge his every move as he seeks to undermine the checks and balances that constrain the Presidency. Trump must confront strong independent institutions and a judiciary that largely remains hostile to his anti-democratic agenda.

He should be fearful for his political future.

But he should be even more scared by the fact that spectral, disembodied presences exist on this physical plane. Cheeto-Hands-In-Chief should be horrified that ghosts exist and want to wreak horror and havoc upon the living.

Drumpfy should be filled with dread by the fact that incorporeal, shadowy phantoms live inside me and seek to control my thoughts, commanding me to murder my wife and infant child.

The Resistance is coming for you, Mr. President!

Trump may lay awake at night, tossing and turning with worry about the Mueller investigation, but he should instead be absolutely horrified by the fact that ghosts exist, that they live under my skin and that they haunt my every waking moment. It looks like his charade is up and he is finally being exposed to his supporters as the snake oil salesman he really is.

Good luck, Mr. President.

You will need it.

The ghosts are coming.

Investigation: Nicknames Aren’t As Good As When Dad Was Young

Nicknames. An integral part of the Australian identity.

Everyone gets one. They can be easy; contracting the last name and adding an –o, a -y or even –azza. Think of Jacko, Smithy, or Shazza.

Some are even ironic. Think of calling a red-headed friend ‘Blue,’ or your token fat mate ‘Slim.’ These are epithets that have endured the test of time, central to the very soul of this country.

However, in a worrying study that involved analysing the yarns spun by fifty-something, mid-life-crisis-ridden Dads across the nation, it appears that the creativity of nicknames has been in a steady decline.

The shocking findings have yielded one simple revelation: your friends nicknames are not as cool as your parents friends were.

Sure, some of the hijinks that they reportedly got up to may be embellished but that doesn’t mean they didn’t sound cool as shit doing it. Move over Davo and Bluey, here come Chips McCoy and Meathook Rafferty. You think Bazza is cool? Sink your teeth into Bobby Buckshot.

These guys could make a stroll to the shops sound like the next instalment of ‘The Expendables.’ Or so we’re told, by men who do nothing but drink beer and talk about events that happened thirty years ago, as if genuinely nothing interesting has happened since then.

So what’s changed? We asked one of your dad’s mates ‘Skull’ (54) his opinion.

‘I reckon it’s the masturbation.’

We reacted with some shock. ‘Sorry, what was that Skull?’

‘Forging a nickname through adventure takes time, and back in the 70’s you could knock, one, maybe two out a day, to a grainy black and white image on the telly, plenty of time left to run around. These days with 4K HD streaming, kids are lucky to leave their rooms, well I would be anyway.’

As Skull continued his diatribe about masturbation, we slowly left the room. At the end of the day, Jacko isn’t that bad, compared to when Chips Rafferty was shot trying to escape from Ol’ Bill’s junkyard.

Tough Four Weeks Coming Up For Overworn Year 12 Senior Hoodie

With university holidays commencing, and the chill winds of winter whipping the faces of Brisbane’s youth, it looks to be a gutsy performance coming up for overworn, small, frayed Year 12 Senior hoodies.

The sunny days and warm glow of Brisbane rarely require the use of these hoodies, but for roughly four weeks every year, they come out of the shadows to take their resting place on your torso.

Emblazoned with a funny nickname such as ‘HMAS Shazza,’ ‘Whipstick,’ or ‘The Machine,’ these hoodies reportedly spend the whole year hibernating for the brief amount of time they will actually be required.

Even then, it gets pretty hot during the day, so the hoodie will probably be taken off between 10.30am and 4pm. But try and stop it outside of those hours. Just try it.

Whilst there are countless more practical solutions to warmth, such as a newer jacket, there’s a certain charm to the thin, grey school hoodie. It harks back to a simpler time, where one of the great victories was getting to sit at the Year 12 tables in the last two weeks of Year 11.

We managed to secure an interview with a ‘Class of 2014’ hoodie from St. Alanborough’s Grammar, a prestigious Brisbane school located in Kangaroo Point.

The hoodie expressed concerns about its potential performance over the coming weeks, but stressed it will ‘...do whatever I can to keep my head down, and put in the hours.’

‘I’ll get it done, mate. By God, I’ll get it done.’

Report: Europe is Pretty Lame, Anyway, I Don’t Even Care

Disgruntled scientists stuck at home this winter over at the Bruniveristy of Quisbane have released a damming report of going to Europe to enjoy the Northern Hemisphere's summer, officially describing and classifying the whole continent as 'yeah nah not for me'.

Around the month of July to that first couple of weeks of August that you could probably take off if you really wanted to, seemingly thousands of students and people who can take holidays, like teachers, are flocking to Europe to enjoy all that France, Switzerland, and the other Game of Thrones castle-country has to offer.

With extended days stretching into the evening, a sun that won't immediately burn a melanoma onto your skin and actually some culture, Europe is a sure-fire hit for those wanting to taste something that's different but also easy enough to get around because everyone speaks English.

However, for those left at home this cold, wet winter, scientists have taken the edge off by reporting that Europe, despite all of the above, is really lame and hey, I took a gap year there anyway so I've seen enough like who cares its just a really nice place and so clean and no bogans and so many Australians and like, hostels are shit so what that parties are always fun and every photo you take is a masterpeice and oh screw it is anyone giving some cheap flights over there, maybe I could enter a contest, even just a week would be great please please please I want to go GET ME OUT OF BRISBANE.

Anyway, at least those at home get to work some more anyway.

None to come I hate this.

CSIRO Releases Study Into Virginity. Get Tagging.

Today, the CSIRO released a scientific study into virginity amongst young men above the age of 30, with certain cultural attitudes and economic indicators. Or something like that.

We weren’t really listening, if we’re being honest.

We were too busy getting ready to tag our mates, in an act that is nothing short of pure comedy gold.

If you’ve read this far into the article, and you’re not tagging dozens of your friends, claiming ‘Mate, looks like the CSIRO is studying you,’ or ‘Fella, was this inspired by your effort on Saturday night,’ then we don’t know what’s wrong with you.

Do we need to say it again?

A study into virginity was released. VIRGINITY. AKA, the funniest thing known to humankind.

Could there be anything funnier than accusing your friends of not having had sexual relations in the public cauldron of Facebook? If there is, let us know, because we try to write funny articles all day and still nothing comes close to the genuinely orgasmic act of tagging three friends in an article about virginity.

Yeah, sure, an article about someone being too close to their pet is a bit funny to tag someone in.

And okay, we’ll agree that clips from reality shows about awkward dates can be good tagging fodder.

But at the end of the day, if you’re not making public accusations of celibacy, are you really human?

Lest we say it again. 

The CSIRO released a study into virginity. Get tagging. Or die trying.

“He Gave Me Pneumonia, Sir!” Portugese Player Takes A World-First ‘Medical Dive’

The 2018 FIFA World Cup continues to surprise at every turn, with skilled play, breathtaking upsets, and VAR controversy dominating headlines. As with every World Cup, the practice of diving remains a controversy.

But in an astounding first, Portugese player Raphael Carlvarinho-Ledesma has taken a ‘medical dive’ - the act of claiming an opposition player has given you an infectious disease, ailment, or virus of some variety.

Long believed to be impossible, the medical dive arose at the 88th minute in last night’s match between Portugal and Uruguay. With scores locked at 0-0 (electrifying!), Uruguayan defender Guillermo von Lichtenstein breathed a little heavily near Raphael. 

With a gasp, Raphael plunged to the ground, and began breaking out in sweating, and a fever, all the while screaming ‘Pneumonia! Pneumonia, sir!’ to ensure the match officials would be in no doubt whatsoever which illness he was given.

Like a child (let’s call him Andy) staying home from school because today is the day where everyone has agreed to ‘run away from Andy at lunch,’ the Portugese midfielder desperately appealed to the referee, pointing to his fluid-filled air sacs and difficulty in breathing.

Yet the referee refused to issue a card.

Raphael was left sweating on the ground, facing the very real likelihood he would have to stand up and play on the game, all the while continuing to exhibit pneumonia symptoms. Coughing up blood, anyone?

But then the VAR called a halt to the game.

With ultra-sharp camera technology, they were able to isolate the bacterial particles travelling from the Uruguayan defender, and determine there was a strong chance of the pneumonia virus, and thus, entitle the referee to award a red card.

We urge all players not to take a ‘medical dive.’ And at the end of the day, did you ever really enjoy faking sick, and lying to your parents? I didn’t think so.

‘Excellent Time Management Skills’ Proudly Displayed On Résumé Submitted 10 Minutes Before Deadline

The inboxes of firms around the city are being flooded with the hopes and dreams of aspiring young professionals competing for their big break in the corporate world. In a bid to create a competitive edge, Nathan Moss (22) has exercised a little bit of creative license while polishing up his CV.

‘Yeah look, I was playing fast and loose with a few of the terms in there,' Nathan, or sometimes 'Nath,' has told The Obiter.

‘Extensive experience in the Microsoft Office Suite is a bit of a stretch, I’m alright at Word. God help me if they ask me to touch Excel’.

As Mr Moss’ application slid into the inboxes of Human Resources departments all down Eagle Street there was collective amusement at the irony of some of the bold claims.

‘Dedicated to his studies?’ scoffed Tanya Maxwell (People & Culture). ‘He has barely scraped a 5 since his second year.’

The Obiter caught up with one of Mossy’s mates to discuss the rest of his résumé over a beer.

‘Resilient and adaptable? You’ve got to be kidding, I reckon he leaves the group chat any time one of us brings up his strike rate on the pull.’ Laughs Jonesy [sic], who has also been questionably listed as Nathan’s former manager despite the two of them still studying together.

‘Yea- yea alright, it doesn’t look great I know. Might have to just rely on my white male privilege to get me across the line.’

We wish Nathan all the best. But shit, Jonesy seemed like a bit of a prat.

Opinion: Donald Trump Is NOT MY President, Because I Live In Australia

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about whether or not I should write this article.

I respect democracy. I believe the democratic process is central to freedom and liberty, and people should be ruled by those whom they have chosen.

By and large, even if I find a political leader disagreeable, I can at least find it within myself to respect the system which put said leader in that place of leadership.

But I have to take I stand. I have to say it.

Donald Trump is NOT MY President. He will NOT RULE over me. I do NOT RESPECT his power over me.

Because he is in America, and I am in Australia. He is NOT, and will NEVER EVER BE, my President.

In all honesty, I don’t think I will ever believe someone is MY PRESIDENT.

Someone might be my Prime Minister. In fact, that someone very well might be a charming gentleman by the name of Malcolm Turnbull. He is MY Prime Minister.

But Donald Trump is not my President.

I don’t care who knows it.

The resistance begins here.

‘Sorry Bro, I’ve Booked This Room’ Says Smug, Piece-of-Shit Coward

The atmosphere in an already stressful Law Library private study room has been amplified, after a passive aggressive exchange between a smug, self-serving wanker, and a humble student, just trying her best.

Final year Law student, Emily Barker (22), was already under the pump for this afternoon’s Law & Technology exam when a cocky-looking, blonde, olive-skinned, second-year BAFE student sauntered up to the glass of room W419.

Despite being on ‘holiday mode’ for the past week, Ms Barker was a long way from Hastings Street as she grappled with almost twelve weeks of content mere hours from her last exam.

The room bore more resemblance to the last days of Hitler in the bunker than a study space, with reams of paper strewn across the desk and over the floor. Emily was at her wits end, as she made eye contact with a smirking face through the glass.

With a sigh, under her breath she whispered ‘Oh fuck me, here we go again,’ as his hand reached for the door handle.

As the door swung ope,  Emily had time to take in every detail of this smug supreme, dressed in a 2016 Senior jersey, and reeking of ego.

Then out came the words she’d been anticipating.

‘Haha, sorry bro. I’ve actually booked this room.’

Caught somewhere between implosion and explosion, Emily pursed her lips and nodded, beginning to clean up the warzone surrounding her.

‘Looks like you’re pretty busy with exams, champ! Haha,’ he continued.

The Obiter caught up with Ms Barker outside room W419 for an interview.

‘I really don’t have time for this,’ she said, racing to an exam.

Another failure for our interview team. No more to come.

Victorian Police Advocate For ‘Stop, Drop, and Roll’ As Rape Prevention Strategy

The Victorian Police Force recently came under criticism for their responses to systemic violence against women, and in particular, sexual violence.

In response to these criticisms, Chief Commissioner Graham Ashton has released a bold new technique for the prevention of sexual violence, encouraging women to ‘stop, drop, and roll’ if they are under attack.

‘We felt that, ultimately, a rapist is no different from a fire, and thus should be treated with the same strategy,’ said Ashton, possibly revealing his lack of awareness regarding the issue of sexual violence.

‘At the end of the day, no one can be touched if they continue to roll. Rolling out of danger has long been taught at the Victorian Police Academy as a strategy to avoid violent criminals, and we now offer that incisive knowledge to the public at large.’

Ignoring the greater societal reckoning with the relationship between toxic masculinity and violence against women, the Victorian Police Force has also requested women minimize the time they spend on the street, for fear of being attacked by a stranger, but also limit the time they spend at home, for fear of intimate partner violence.

Reckoning with this Gordian knot, it seems the police have truly decided to double down on the stop, drop, and roll strategy.

Job well done, boys!