Local Woman Cites Shitty Ex-Relationship As ‘Unpaid Internship’ To Beef Up Resume

Times are tough. Fourth-year Business Management/Communication student Lucy Lee has found herself a semester away from graduation without a single internship for her resume. The sparse document is littered with references to summer jobs at sandwich shops, and ‘Tutoring for five years,’ but unfortunately, no internships for her to rely on.

How will she prove to hungry businesses that she has what it takes to serve in her role as a Business Management/Communication specialist?

Luckily for Lucy, one year ago, she was involved in an 18-month relationship with a young man (although many prefer the term ‘fuckboy’ for this particular gentleman) whose conduct bordered on deranged, and often made Lucy’s life a living hell.

However, the dreadful relationship undoubtedly taught Lucy time management, organizational competence, interpersonal conflict management, and how to suffer in silence, all for free. In short, a perfect unpaid internship!

HR professionals have often described spending your early 20s dating a shithead as ‘gaining experience in an adverse environment,’ and ‘learning on the go.’

And certainly teamwork was crucial, as Lucy not only had to deal with her lazy, manipulative ex, but his mother, who believed her son could do no wrong, and Lucy was ‘ungrateful for his love’ every single time she breathed a word of criticism. In many respects, the firms Lucy is applying for are the ‘Mumma’s Boys’ of the PR world, so this unpaid relationship internship is looking more suitable by the minute.

Warming up her fingers for a three-minute session of editing her resume, Lucy could feel the inspiration flowing.

Her resume thus read:

    2016        Tutoring

    2017        Relationship with objective dingus (unpaid internship)

    2018        Community service with Orange Sky Laundry

Her LinkedIn profile is being updated as we speak.

More to come in Lucy’s thrilling saga.

Wounded Cricket Fan Pins All Hopes On Nick Kyrgios

The Australian Open is set to commence on Monday, so expect Rod Laver Arena to be humming with the highs and lows of triumph and defeat, and the groans and grunts of professional tennis players competing to determine who can deliver the most off-putting ‘NYEGHHHHUHHH!’ after a pretty pedestrian forehand.

But for Rob McKinnon (20), an injured, despondent fan of the Australian cricket team, the Australian Open means so much more than two weeks of Grand Slam action. It’s the site of his last great hope.

World No. 35, and Australian bad boy, Nick Kyrgios.

As Tim Paine’s men lost 2-1 to India, and as the tears began to stream down McKinnon’s face, his mind began immediately searching for the next source of sporting inspiration.

For countless summers, he’s been able to rely on the cricket team crushing a revolving door of high-class opposition including New Zealand (2-0), Pakistan (3-0), and a spirited West Indies outfit (2-0). So it hasn’t really mattered that a revolving door of promising young Australian tennis players have been crushed by international superstars.

Until now.

‘I think it’s Nick’s year, if we’re being honest,’ said a shattered Rob in an exclusive interview (admittedly, it’s not as if anyone else was lining up to interview him, but still, we’ll live).

‘Cricket? Don’t care, mate. If a booming Kyrgios serve doesn’t make you excited for summer, I don’t know what will. Except for maybe a beer or three! Ha ha ha.’

Rob continued to chuckle as those chuckles slowly turned to choked sobs, and then back to chuckles. Best of luck to Kyrgios, but by God would it be good to have Steve Smith back.

Returning Office Worker Shocked To Discover No-One Cares About Falls

For Catherine Inglis-Howell (23), the three nights and four days she spent at Falls Festival, Byron Bay, were nothing short of transcendent.

Ending 2018 and beginning 2019 with a mecca of music and munted 27-year-old bodybuilders in muscle tees provided Catherine with boundless enjoyment, and what felt like great, timeless stories of debauchery.

But unfortunately, returning to her day job in accounting today, she has rapidly learnt that the downtrodden accountants she calls colleagues have marginally less interest in seeing DMA’s play their 2014 hit ‘Delete’ than once expected.

Particularly for those who have been working since the 2nd, hearing a bright young twenty-something unpack their thrilling, sunny experience, is nothing short of agony. Whilst the bitterness was palpable, Catherine certainly didn’t help herself.

‘No, but seriously. Catfish And The Bottlemen were incredible. Like, seriously, almost spiritual. No, of course I haven’t checked my emails yet, I’m starting each day by sipping on my flat white and reflecting on whether Anderson Paak is brilliant, or incredible.’

‘Who am I kidding - he’s both!’

Settling back into the world of spreadsheets and 3pm coffees being the highlight of the day, Catherine has found herself humming a bizarre mashup of ‘Lay Down’ by maestro Touch Sensitive, and Vance Joy’s ‘Lay It On Me,’ in a fresh little invention she calls ‘Lay It On Me Down,’ as opposed to the far more obvious ‘Lay It Down On Me.’

As the frequency of the Falls stories decrease, the admirable commitment in perfecting a ‘January 2019’ playlist dominated by the songs heard across that weekend increases.

Play on, and play hard, Catherine. We need hope now more than ever.

Man Complaining About ‘Brisbane’s Steamy Weather’ Seemingly Forgetting He’s Currently Engaged In A Full-Blown Orgy

A local man posting a Facebook tirade against Brisbane’s ‘steamy, humid weather’ has clearly forgotten that his sweaty, nude body is presently engaged in a pretty intense orgy in a rather small bedroom.

Aaron Parsons (37), a Masters student in Erotic Architecture (we also doubt this is a real Masters, but he swore it was genuine), took to Facebook this morning, with the external temperature in the CBD reaching thirty degrees celsius, to air his grievances about the ‘steamy, moist, sticky conditions.’

His seventeen Facebook friends remained largely silent in response, with the vast majority of them already participating in the orgy, and hence not overly interested in Facebook weatherposting. His Aunt replied, however, commenting that Aaron was ‘telling it like it is.’

Laying the blame for his present ‘steamy’ conditions at the feet of Brisbane’s weather is bizarre at best, given that engaging in complex eroticism with other consenting adults is a fairly sweaty activity at the best of times.

Aaron’s slippery, sweaty body might make him uncomfortable, but if we’re being honest, he shouldn’t really be surprised. Orgies in Budapest during winter are often equally steamy, indicating the issue with his present weather conditions is probably more to do with his physical activities than Brisbane.

At the end of the day, don’t blame this beautiful city which has given you so much, Aaron. Be above that.

Hopefully, no more to come.

Local Student Realising He Truly Fucked Up By Not Listening To 'Teacher’s Pet'

“Yeah I’ve fucked this.”

Local UQ student Aaron Galls is a podcast fanatic.

“I haven’t listened to a song in months!” Galls smugly told The Obiter. “I even use Overcast! Blue apron, am I freaking right? Haha. You know what I’m talking about.”

However, despite his passion for pods, Galls has been known to adopt a snobbish dismissiveness when it comes to Australian podcasts.

“Yeah it’s cute that Australians make them,” Goss explained. “And I like the occasional Hamish & Andy as much as the next podball,” (this being an extremely shit collective noun Galls coined in his podcast group chat, ‘The Pod, The Whole Pod, And Nothing But The Pod’).

“But for me, it’s got to be a bit more of an intellectual offering. Pod Save America, No Such Thing As A Fish, Serial. You know, serious journalism?”

So when the Australian true crime series The Teacher’s Pet dropped, Galls was quick to pass over it.

“Aussie true crime? Yeah, try again, Underbelly radio. Lel. Nailed ‘em”

Even as the podcast topped US charts and sparked a global phenomenon, Galls held his ground. “I just cannot imagine how it would be good.”

But after today’s news that Chris Dawson, the subject of the series, has been arrested for murder, Galls has shown his first signs of doubt.

“Fuck, maybe I’ve missed out on something big here.”

Galls spent Wednesday attempting to convince his group chat that he had in fact listened.

“Nah, come on Podballs, you know me! Of course I listened! It’s so gritty and stuff.”

At press time, Galls was frantically listening to the series on double speed while drinking a Red Bull.

UQLS In Crisis! Deputy President’s 42-Hour Sex Marathon Leaves Him In Critical Condition

A constitutional crisis faces the University of Queensland Law Society (UQLS), as the Deputy President, the constitutionally-mandated successor and advisor to the President, is in a critical condition at the Wesley Hospital after a 42-hour sex marathon.

The sex addict Deputy President Bretz has had a chequered history of being both a hot, sexy bloke, and grappling with sex addiction, but prior to now, his personal issues have had little to no impact on his role as Deputy. However, as he lies unconscious in his hospital bed, his muscular body rippling with power, the UQLS is faced with an unprecedented crisis.

The bylaws of the UQLS are detailed and well-drafted, but are tragically silent on the matter of a Deputy President being ruthlessly erotic, dripping with hot, sexy energy, to the point that he may be rendered unconscious or incapacitated for periods of 48 hours or greater in the wake of lengthy, passionate sex marathons.

It’s surprising that the Society never planned for such an eventuality, particularly given the Deputy President’s honesty and clarity on the campaign trail regarding the sex addiction, variably described as ‘awesome’ or ‘debilitating.’

The crisis will go to another level should the President herself fall ill, or be temporarily unable to perform the duties of President. Normally the Deputy President would assume the responsibilities of the role.

However, with Bretz himself incapacitated by a series of orgies across all suburbs of Brisbane, including Keperra, there is no-one to assume the responsibilities of President should crisis befall the Society.

One line of argument suggests a snap Deputy President election could be called among the serving Officers, although this threatens the democratic process.

However, the democratic process ultimately resulted in a deranged sex marathon enthusiast being elected Deputy, so there are question marks over whether that is a process that should be overly protected.

Ultimately, this is a question that should be resolved through community consultation - but as so many members of the community have been touched by the Deputy President’s deft sensuality and respectful erotic attitudes, finding objective members may be difficult!

Auchenflower Quietly Smug Something Exciting Is Happening

An emergency declaration has been issued by Queensland Police this afternoon after two gunmen holed themselves up in an Auchenflower apartment, sparking a standoff with law enforcement officials.

Auchenflower residents have described the situation as, ‘intense, scary, and to be honest a little bit cool.’

“We hope and pray that no one is hurt,” local man Arnie West told The Obiter. ‘At the same time, people in Milton can eat a dick. Ooooh you’ve got your cute little stadium? We’ve got the fucking sequel to Heat going on over here. Grow up.’

Despite the seriousness of the event, Auchenflower residents were displaying a smug superiority in their suburb’s Facebook group ‘WATCH IT, I’M AUCHEN HERE!”

‘We know this is dangerous,’ an account operating under the alias of Christopher Auchenflower posted in the group at 2:15pm. ‘But fuck, got to admit it’s a little cool that our suburb is on the news. This is better than when the plans for a Grill’d were leaked.’ When a commenter pointed out that the Grill’d is technically in Rosalie, the commenter was immediately removed from the group.

As the situation unfolds, Auchenflower residents are hopeful that the standoff is resolved peacefully and quickly. But not too quickly. Maybe around 8:30/9. Enough time that future screenwriters will have ample material from which to write a 3-part miniseries for Channel 7.

‘I want to be played by Gyton Grantley,’ said the butt ugly local butcher who most definitely will be played by Kochie.

More to come.

Crown Lager Comes Out Of Hiding For Christmas Barbecue Season

‘Is… is anyone there?’ whispered Crown Lager, crawling out of the hole of mediocre beer, just in time for Christmas barbecue season.

‘It’s us. We’re back. And we need you,’ responded the Dads of Australia, sick of James Squire and Corona, and looking for a lager that is a status symbol as much as it is a yeasty, dry drop.

With welcome, beckoning arms, Australians across the country have brought Crown Lager back into their lives, as the season of sweltering heat, overcooked steaks, and aggressive backyard cricket officially began this past weeked (the first of December). Whilst the summer barbecue is ostensibly a relaxing, recreational activity, it takes a physical toll, with the heat and exertion of turning seventeen sausages, and then placing them into bread.

And that’s where Crown Lager steps in. Ignored for most of the year by really just the vast majority of the country, its weird blend of classiness but also just being a normal lager really seems to come into its own in summer.

As bin Laden was in hiding for years, Crown Lager has been in hiding for months. But battered and bruised, unburdened by barely any attention, it is ready to take center stage for seven weeks. Favourites might be the thing you bring when you’re told not to bring a thing, but Crown is certainly the six-pack you bring when you think ‘Fuck it, I don’t want to draw any attention to myself whatsoever.’

I’d love a Furphy though, now that you’re asking.

This article was sponsored by the Australian Union for ASMR Performers. Don’t ask us why they wanted to sponsor a pretty mediocre beer article, we are as confused as you, if not more.

‘Now I Know What A Bushfire Is Like!’ Thinks Office Worker Outside In 31-Degree Heat

‘Frick me sideways!’ thought Daniel Godfrey, a 26-year old graduate lawyer at McHewitt Pearce Gordon, as he stepped outside of his beautifully air-conditioned Eagle St offices, and into the hellish, oppressive 31-degree heat.

As a fairly hot wind blew, slapping Daniel’s sweaty Oxford shirt across his flabby body, sapping Daniel’s already-sapped strength and willpower, he had a fairly profound realisation.

‘My god - this must be exactly what a bushfire feels like. Gee frickin’ whiz, it’s a stinker out here!’

With a leap in logic largely unmatched throughout history, Daniel has extended his experience of feeling a bit toasty at 1.15pm in Brisbane’s CBD to being caught in the midst of a roaring, horrifying, swirling blaze of fire, ash, and smoke.

Whilst conditions can certainly be uncomfortable on a hot day in the city, Daniel enjoys two advantages over those caught in a genuine bushfire - (1) he can always head back inside to enjoy the cool, refreshing air-conditioning, and (2) his flesh isn’t burning alive.

With Daniel’s usual coffee place a scorching 450m away, the kiosk outside his office will have to do. And with the sweltering, sweaty blueberry muffins offered by the kiosk looking more and more unappetising by the minute, lunch will have to be a hasty apple consumed in the comfort of the office.

After the trials and tribulations of waiting for a flat white in 31-degree, sometimes-30-degree heat, Daniel will reportedly head back inside to sip on it, before exclaiming ‘Frickin’ fuck! That’s too hot!’ and wondering whether the slightly burnt roof of his mouth is remotely similar to what it feels like to be in a bushfire.

Interesting scenes. Doubtful there will be more to come, but you never know.

‘Punch Their Batsmen In The Dick To Show Dominance!’ Inside Michael Clarke’s Bizarre Idea Of The ‘Australian Way’

The public media feud between ex-Australian Test cricket captain, Michael Clarke, and Australian sports journalist, has illuminated many as to the nature of Clarke’s views on the ‘Australian Way,’ and the manner in which the Australian Test team should conduct themselves.

But a series of Tweets and public comments can hardly substitute for an in-depth understanding of Michael Clarke’s view of what constitutes the Australian Way of existing, breathing, and playing cricket. So with the help of The Obiter’s investigative department, we have dived deep inside Michael Clarke’s mind, by way of an extensive interview, to glean a deeper understanding of his unique philosophy.

The interview below has been paraphrased for brevity. Clarke’s longer ramblings, and more deranged rants have been edited extensively, in both the interests of retaining a younger audience who should not be exposed to such filth, and also in the interests of protecting the reputation of one of Australia’s premier cricketers.

OB: So, Michael-

MC: It’s Pup.

OB: (chuckles) I mean, Pup.

MC: Thanks for getting it right. You have no idea the amount of pressure I’m under at home.

OB: ...To be called Pup?

MC: Bang on the money, skip.

Clarke then shot finger guns at the interviewer for at least three to four minutes by our count, or at the very least, until it became enduringly awkward to witness.

OB: You’ve been quite outspoken by suggesting the culture of the Australian cricket team has become too ‘weak,’ and ‘soft.’

MC: You’re forgetting ‘fucking cowardly.’

OB: We were going to get to that, Pup, but yes, ‘fucking cowardly’ has been among your comments. Now, clearly your conception of the Australian Way of playing Test cricket is built on the tough approaches of previous captains, your Waughs, Pontings, Borders, etc, but is there anything to your approach that you would consider unique?

MC: Of course. My view is that by being friendly and weak, you invite them into your house - and once they’re in your house, it’s hard to get them out. Be tough. Don’t let them inside. It actually helps to imagine your opponents as vampires!

OB: Right, right, but with respect to something like sledging, is there--

MC: And I don’t mean vampires like the Count from Sesame Street - he’s just a humble mathematician with an accent and bad teeth. I mean vampires like Edward from Twilight, or whoever Hugh Jackman was hunting in his undisputed masterpiece, Van Helsing!

OB: We appreciate the clarification, Pup, but getting back to your views regarding aggression in the modern game-

MC: Punch them in the dick.

OB: S-sorry?

MC: You heard me. Punch their batsmen in the dick. I’m not kidding. We did it all the time during the Ashes. The camera angles can be extremely deceptive, but in any period of dominance the Australian team has had, it’s been down to dickpunching - or ‘shaft-hitting,’ as Mitch Johnson used to call it.

OB: So, it’s not about bowling fast, or setting aggressive fields, or anything like that?

MC: Never. What Tim Paine is forgetting is that a clever, fast bowling group, and gritty batsmen, won’t win you games. You need to punch their batsmen in the dick. It’s the Australian Way.

OB: You mention the Australian Way again, Michael, and we’re just wondering if there’s anything more to it than ‘shaft-hitting’?

MC: It’s Pup. P-U-P. Rhymes with CUP.

OB: Does it rhyme with ICUP?

MC: Yeah, I reckon it might do.

OB: Could you spell ICUP for us?

MC: Of course I can mate, I graduated Year 12 and have a Bachelor’s in being fucking alpha, I reckon I can spell that. I… C…. U…. P.

OB: How are you seeing me pee, mate, I’m not even peeing!

Tense silence.

MC: How could you do this to me?

OB: Dunno, mate. You never tried the ICUP sledge?

MC: Not at all, we just stuck to-

OB: Punching them in the penis, yeah, we all understand. Any more insights to offer, Pup, or are we able to end this now?

MC: Happy to leave it here.

OB: As are we.

What followed was a surprisingly spirited game of backyard cricket with the former Captain, and whilst he certainly tried to punch The Obiter XI in the genitals more often than not, it didn’t distract from the friendly and enthusiastic nature of the match played.

Probably some more to come.