The Word ‘Splendid’ Set To Receive A Massive Boost This Weekend

Splendour In The Grass 2018. A time of music, mischief, and Amy Shark being incredibly sad about vodka sodas, or being friendzoned, or the concept of weekends. But it’s more than just a celebration of the best and worst of Australian culture.

It’s a very exciting time for the word ‘splendid.’ A word that is hardly used for most of the year, but across this precious weekend, will see itself rise through the ranks to be one of the most popular words of the month.

Its home will be the captions of those too hungover, too lazy, or too boring to think of anything actually interesting. It will live below photos of good times, bad times, and blurry photos of a band that was really popular on Tumblr in 2013, but you’re genuinely surprised they’re still playing music in 2018 (see - Vampire Weekend, The Wombats, The Jungle Giants, Ball Park Music, and much, much more).

Poor ‘splendid’ is usually used by British men in movies from the 1940s, and/or your Grandmother describing her thoughts on racially-insensitive comments by Mark Latham. An out-of-touch, rarely-used word, ‘splendid’ tends to dance through life on its lonesome, never desired, never wanted.

Until the geniuses at Splendour realise that ‘splendid’ sounds a bit like Splendour.

It will also be a lucky time for words that rhyme with ‘grass,’ as the great ticketgoers of Splendour turn their comedy flamethrower to such phrases as ‘Splendour In My Ass,’ or ‘Splendour Watching Cars, or even Cars 2 if we feel like it.’

Whilst the enormous highs of this weekend will soon turn to crushing lows for the word ‘splendid,’ we know one thing for sure.

Tell them all I said hi.

‘I Have A Vibrant Social Life,’ Claims Liar Who Pre-Purchased Mekka Wednesday Tickets

A blow has been struck to local 22-year old Kyle Harris’ claims of having a flourishing social life when it was discovered that he had pre-purchased Mekka Wednesday tickets two months in advance.

Kyle was sucked in by the flashy promotional video released by Oh Hello, which somehow paints Doomben, not even Brisbane’s premier racetrack, in the same light as Ibiza. He jumped at the opportunity, purchasing tickets in early June.

The Obiter bumped into Mr Harris as he was making his way around DFO in preparation for the event. We asked Kyle what was in the bags

‘Nah haven’t sorted bags yet, hopefully that sorts itself closer to the date.’

‘No Kyle, your shopping bags,’ we wittily retorted.

‘Oh right these? Just been into Oakley got some sweet new sunnies. Check out my suit, how do ya like the white tie?’

Through extensive research we can confirm a negative correlation between the fulfillment of one’s social life and how early one commits to Mekka Wednesday. A local spokesperson for Oh Hello, Jai Westongate-Frith, had the following to say.

‘Mate, we bloody love it. We can charge punters $150 a ticket to be crammed into a sweaty tent with other geebens, and they lap it up because we’ve convinced them it’s cool!’

Many attendees justify the exorbitant ticket prices by capitalising on their annual Instagram upload. Our analysis has indicated an increase in hashtag popularity over the years, particularly #didntseeahorse or couple shots featuring #pickedawinner.

We wish Kyle and all the other revelers the very best.

Revealed! Harry Potter & The Prisoner Of Azkaban Was Filmed In Front Of A Live, Bored, Studio Audience

An incredible effort by The Obiter’s investigative team has revealed a secret which will shock Hollywood to its very core. A secret which promises to upend the delicate ecosystem of Harry Potter films.

Harry Potter & The Prisoner Of Azkaban was actually filmed in front of a live studio audience. The reason no-one ever noticed? The audience was dead silent for the whole film, as it turns out they were just really, really bored by the film.

There’s so much to unpack here that we scarcely know where to begin. For one, The Prisoner of Azkaban is arguably one of the best Harry Potter films, blending darker elements and comedic relief with ease, introducing key characters, all of which was deftly,masterfully captured by Alfonso Cuaron behind the camera.

But none of this was good enough for a studio audience that neither laughed, nor cried, nor gave any reaction whatsoever.

Generally, studio audiences are encouraged to laugh, or react in any way, by production assistants. They seemingly went completely missing for all of the 184-day shoot.

When Hermione punched Draco right in the kisser? Crickets. The sound of silence. Guess they would’ve preferred seeing Shurldon pull a Bazango on The Big Bang Theory.

When Dumbledore informed the gang that a time turner would be able to rectify the difficult situation they found themselves in? No reaction whatsoever. They somehow managed to find the most difficult to impress people in the UK, put them in one room, and then subsequently fail to impress them.

The experiment didn’t last particularly long, as the studio audience was abandoned for the next film, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

No more to come.

‘What Did I Do Wrong?’ Lord Drake Devastated About 2-Week Delay In Carrier Pigeon Messages

Tragic scenes today, as Lord Drake of Toronto remains in an extremely saddened mood about a two-week delay in carrier pigeon messages from a fair maiden he is endeavouring to woo.

Previously, the pigeons were flying thick and fast, as Lord Drake (also known as Drizzy, Drake of Aubrey, or the Degrassi Baron) commenced a whirlwind courtship with a young lady from the neighbouring kingdom of Los Angeles. The Obiter understands Drake had grown to expect at least one carrier pigeon message every three days, if not more.

But then, the pigeons stopped coming. And with each passing day from the most recent reply, the heart of our noble Lord grows more pained with anguish.

His wails from the highest towers have been ringing all around the kingdom, and he has been writing a strange rhythmic poetry regarding his confusion about the maiden’s lack of replies.

“Our love was like a burning flame,
This fair maiden, I daren’t speak her name,
I only loved my bed, my kingdom, and her,
I am a Lord, she makes me feel like a Sir,
But these lack of replies make my soul grow weary,
This parchment is getting stained, why am I so teary.”

— Lord Drake, 2018, from the highest keep.

The above lyrics have been nigh-inescapable for anyone within range of Lord Drake’s ramblings, which if you have Spotify or Apple Music, includes you.

Let us hope, for our sake, he can reach some stability in relationships, and we shall be spared from future gripes.

Qantas Dreamliner High-Fives A Cloud As It Soars Into Majestic Voyage of Sky Sex

Oh yeah. That’s right. Lean back. Relax. You about to read about the Qantas Dreeeeamlineeeeer. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm.

The arrival of the Qantas Dreamliner has creamed the short shorts of the aviation world.

She’s sleek. She’s bold. She’s got two fuck off engines and long, slender wings. She’s a Dreamliner and she knows what she wants and she wants it now.

She wants to fly.

Girl, you know you’re soaring when that Dreamliner licks the runway. Oh yeah you taxi down that tarmac, grinding to the take off.

Dreamliner stops in her tracks, almost daring you to buy her a drink. She winks at the control tower. It’s her turn. It’s always her turn.

Qantas Dreamliner breathes in. Qantas Dreamliner breathes out. And then she takes it off.

Oooooooh yeeaaaaaahhhh faster, faster, faster OH YES! Liftoff.

Qantas Dreamliner seduces her way into the blue balls sky, sultry and sexy as she nibbles on the thinning atmosphere.

You don’t get flying like this with a Boeing. You ain’t ever had a journey like this before.

A cloud wakes up and sees her coming. A playful high-five and cheeky spank for the Dreamliner as she goes higher, riding and riding the wind, back and forth, back and forth.

The majestic, sensual and ever so deep journey into the sexy sky continues. The inflight movie is Ant-Man and The Wasp. The meal is Jatz. This is it. Now you know - you’re fucking the sky.

Yes! Yes! Yes! Go Dreamliner go! Go Qantas! This is the spirit of Australia! Red kangaroo! Alan Joyce ! Alaaaaaannnnn Joooooyce I’d take a creampie on my face to vote yes for you too! YESSSSSSSS DREAMLINER!!!!

The seatbelt sign just got off.

You roll over in your economy seat, hair ruffled. You light a cigarette. You’re told by a flight attendant that you’re not allowed to do that. You bum your cigarette. You a pay a sizeable fine. It’s all pillow talk.

Arrivals. You could say that again.

Thank you, Dreamliner. Thank you for the ride of a lifetime.

Until next weekend, Dreamliner. Dream on.

World Cup Final France’s Biggest Match Since THAT Final In ‘The Pink Panther’

Sunday will see France face off against Croatia in the 21st FIFA World Cup Final in what will be their biggest game since their infamous 2006 match against China, as immortalized in the classic film ‘The Pink Panther’.

For Croatia, it will be the first world cup final for the small Baltic nation.

But France will be playing for something much greater: to avenge the death of their former manager, Yves Gluant.  

Gluant was tragically stabbed in the neck with a Chinese poisoned dart and collapsed dead after the emphatic overtime win against China. The culprit, Yuri, ‘the trainer who trains’, is thankfully now behind bars, but the French remain on high alert.

When asked by The Obiter what Sunday’s game will mean to the French, star striker Kylian Mbappe responded ‘...There isn’t a day that goes by without me thinking about Gluant’s death. I haven’t played darts in years for fear that they might have Chinese poison on them.’

‘Inspector Jacques Clouseau is literally my Dad,’ added Antoine Griezmann.

Security at the stadium has been beefed up for the final, but sources close to the team have indicated to The Obiter that the French will play with neck cones on (you know, like the ones dogs wear sometimes?), as an added safety precaution.

The Obiter’s funding request to travel to the final in Moscow has unfortunately been denied by the UQLS.

The bastards.

Demographers Confirm That, Yep, You Are The Only Person In Brisbane This Holidays

The results are in, folks. And you’re not gonna like it!

The Obiter’s in-house team of demographers are many things: sexy, intellectual, racist. But the yummy little social scientists are one thing above all else: correct.

Between ripping bongs and hitting the water slides, the bad ass demographers who camp out in The Obiter mailroom have finally completed their study of population shifts in the greater Brisbane area 2018-18.

The results confirmed what many demographic academics and analysts have been hypothesising for weeks: you are indeed the only person left in Brisbane these uni holidays.

Yikes!

This study is very long and has lots of diagrams (yawn!) but The Obiter skimmed the shit out it and can confirm that the study involved a thorough unpacking of several demographic databases, such as Instagram and Snappychat.

“If you’ve been wondering why every time you walked down Eagle Street Pier you felt like a disgraced outlaw returning to a The shantytown he once called home, it’s because you genuinely are sauntering through an abandoned city,” lead demographer and drinker of beers Arty Banginswaite wrote in the report’s abstract.

“You’re the only person in this city you fucking loser.”

In some ways this is a good thing. When no one in the group chat responded to your message of ‘incredible 2 tonight?’ it wasn’t because they hate your ass. It’s because they’re living it up in the European sun while you play the Will Smith role in your very own homage to ‘I Am Legend.’

This study should put your mind at ease. Go rob GOMA or piss off the deck at Jade Buddha - there’s no one to stop you.

Demographers are poon lords.

Yiew!

Offering Something Useless For A Group Assignment Now Called ‘Elon Musk-ing’

The Official Society of Naming Things (OSNT) has made a shock announcement to the world today, just seconds after England lost to Croatia in the semi-final (not relevant to this article, but we find it funny).

From here on out, contributing something ‘pretty fucking useless’ to a university group assignment will be known formally as ‘Elon Musk-ing,’ or alternatively, ‘pulling an Elon.’

After Elon Musk spent an enormous amount of time, effort, and capital bringing a tiny submarine to the Thai cave wherein a number of boys were trapped - only for the submarine to be promptly rejected - the OSNT began to consider whether the event was worthy of the creation of a new phrase.

Much like the guy who spends three hours working on two rubbish PowerPoint slides, only to see them fail to make the final presentation, Musk hastily put together the mini-submarine in a somewhat controversial attempt to rescue the trapped boys.

The submarine, rejected by the Thai crew, is in many respects, the submarine of hope, put forth by a useless group member, and sent packing to the waters of rejection.

Ultimately, Musk’s dignity will remain intact, but it remains to be seen whether useless group assignment members will ever be recognised with the genuine dignity they deserve.

It’s not easy to be a failure.

‘hey mum, i won’t be home tonight xx,’ Football Texts At 5.30AM

The concerns of English parents over the state of English football have just grown rapidly with a humble text.

At approximately 5.33am this morning, a drunken football texted his parents, stating ‘hey mum, i won’t be home tonight xx.’ No indication whatsoever was given as to when football will be home, or whether football will ever be home again.

Last time football came home after a night out, it was 1966.

Football’s worried Mum had been up all night stressing over whether football would come home, even wearing a shirt with football’s name on it into the wee hours of morning - an admittedly strange strategy to encourage someone to come home.

Sources close to football suggest it might have spent the night partying with his Croatians and French friends, and very likely went home with one of them.

There was scope for football to come home after half-an-hour into the evening, but as soon as it really got stuck in with those dastardly Croatian buddies, it seemed there would be no chance for football to make it home.

The Obiter is proud to bring you cutting edge and clever sports journalism, such as above. We swear we know stuff about football.

If I See One More Photo of Dubrovnik Old Town On Instagram, I Will Genuinely Shit Myself

I’m not kidding.

The whole thing started out innocuously enough. A girl that I vaguely knew in Grade 11 posted a pleasant panorama of the seaside vista, accompanied by the only slightly annoying caption of, “DubrovTICK”.

But things weren’t quite right in my gut - and I don’t mean that metaphorically.

Maybe I haven’t been drinking enough water. Maybe I was wrong about the virtues of kombucha. Maybe I shouldn’t have been living exclusively off dried apricots and coffee for the past couple of weeks. There’s no real way to know if or how I could have prevented the destiny that awaits me.

All I know is my fate is this: If I see one more image of the medieval architecture, the breathtakingly blue ocean or the luscious surrounding forest of Dubrovnik, I will legitimately shit myself in stunning fashion.

There’s no explaining it, but that’s just the way it is. When the guy from my first year English elective posts a quaint little shot on the shores of the Adriatic Sea, I clench.

When Jimmy no-name from LAWS2700, whose only discernible personality trait is ‘drugs’, gets around the former maritime trade hub, I sweat profusely.

When my girlfriend who hasn’t texted me in two weeks posts a bikini pic with some guy she met at a hostel I enter a state of panic and put every fibre of my being into keeping those glutes locked tight.

I have reached a state of catharsis. I pray for the sweet release of the photo that will set off the Hiroshima of shits. I know what awaits me.

I am become death, destroyer of worlds.

Hopefully Contiki change their route next year so my gut can return to a state of relative normalcy.