'On The Grind' Announces White Male Working Pretty Chill Admin Job His Dad Gave Him

For Michael Hardy (21), his summer holiday has been an endless parade of Instagram stories announcing he is ‘on the grind,’ drinks with his friends that he describes as ‘networking pow-wows,’ and relentless use of the phrase ‘powerlunch’ to indicate literally just eating a quick bite of chicken katsu curry with a mate from uni.

But despite the facade of being a hard-working, late-nights, started-from-the-bottom corporate player, Michael is hiding one key element from the world.

He’s been hiding how he got his job.

And he’s been hiding how much work he does in his job.

And he’s been hiding that he doesn’t need to ‘grind’ in his job at all, because at the end of the day, Michael is just working in a pretty chill administrative position his father, Greg Hardy, gave him at his firm, Hardy Nicholson West.

As an ‘Administrative Assistant/Office All-Rounder,’ Michael doesn’t need to be drinking ‘8 cups of coffee a day to stay on that grind,’ as much as he needs to be getting actual qualified lawyers 8 cups of coffee a day to fulfil his minimum contractual requirement as an office casual.

And as much as he might like to boast to his friends that his ‘full-time’ position is such a drag, analysis of Michael’s internet search history from the Hardy Nicholson West IT department reveals that cricket highlights of Pat Cummins’ golden summer, as well as Game of Thrones fan theories on Reddit, largely dominate his work day.

With university returning soon, Michael can’t wait to tell all his classmates about his ‘gruelling summer’ in an office that was kept airconditioned to twenty-one degrees celsius the entire time.

At least Michael won’t be entering a class titled ‘LAWS2703: Doing Pretty Much Fuck All And Getting Paid For It,’ because it would be the easiest 7 he’d ever receive.

We desperately hope there’s no more to come.

Student Who Spends $300 On A Night Out Reckons $45 For A Textbook Is ‘Daylight Robbery’

‘I’m sorry, $45? For a second-hand copy of ‘Fantastic Contracts & Where To Find Them: An Introduction To The Law Of Contract?’ Do I look like I’m made of money?’

Coming into another semester, students are faced with the eternal problem of textbooks. Are they necessary? Will they be used? Are they worth the money? Are they just an elaborate ego trip for career academics who can only point to a single chapter of an eight-hundred page textbook as evidence that their life has meant something?

But for some students, the financial cost of textbooks is more burdensome than others. Particularly for Miranda Hadley (20), a third-year Law student and prolific financier of the fine dining and classy drinking establishment, Friday’s Riverside.

Miranda struggles to piece together the $45 required for a secondhand textbook. Of course, this isn’t helped by the fact she regularly, happily drops over $300 on a night out.

And she calls that a Tuesday!

With a transaction history peppered by vodka sodas, vodka cranberries, late-night kebabs, and the occasional pale ale (it’s a Friday afternoon in Queensland, as if you’d want anything other than a beer), Miranda finds herself in dire financial straits every Monday morning.

And that’s before she considers all the Uber debt she accumulated from conveniently ‘forgetting’ to accept split requests from her friends. She expects those to start rolling in fairly soon.

When we interviewed Miranda about her textbook-purchasing struggles, she described the $40-60 range that many textbooks fall into as ‘daylight fucking robbery.’

‘It’s a complete joke. How can those rich boomers, writing their rich textbooks, with their rich laptops, expect us to afford them? We can’t even torrent them because the Federal Court blocked Pirate Bay. Um, pretty fucking dog, am I right?’

When we suggested a textbook loan program, her eyes lit up, and she remarked ‘That’s exactly like when I ask someone if I can ‘loan’ their drink, and they I just drink it and never give it back! So I can ‘loan’ a textbook, and just keep it?’

Despite our protests, that really does seem to be her plan. Cannot wait to see how this one shapes up.

Probably some more to come.

Israeli Archaelogists Unearth Most Ancient Form Of Recorded Law, The 4500-Year-Old ‘Bro Code’

In a historical discovery sure to rock the foundations of human civilization, Israeli archaeologists digging in ruins west of Jerusalem have unearthed stone tablets which are believed to be from approximately 2481 BCE.

The markings on the tablets, when translated from their original Hebrew, appear to be a set of instructions and guidelines for living life.

These include ‘Don’t dog the boys,’ and ‘Don’t sleep with your bro’s ex,’ and ‘Only hug the boys if Damo shouts everyone a rumbo.’

These guidelines are now believed to be the most ancient form of recorded law. The Hammurabic Code, from 1754 BC, was previously believed to hold this title. But the new discovery, entitled the ‘Hebro Code’ (by some very clever Hebrew archaeologists), outdates the Hammurabic Code by hundreds of years.

Academics are looking to these ancient laws to illuminate our present society. Some of the laws now appear a little outdated, such as ‘Stone any bro who dogs the boys to hang out with his girlfriend,’ whereas others are shockingly progressive, with ‘True bros ask senior management to promote women above them,’ and ‘It’s Medicare-for-all, not Medicare-for-just-the-boys.’

The punishments for violating such laws are equally intriguing. There’s the classics, with stonings, whippings, lashings, and being forced to down a pint in eight seconds all amongst the suggested punishments.

But in what was clearly a classic Hebrew punishment, rule 67 of the ‘Hebro Code’ requires a man who steals his brother’s horse to have his eyes licked by the very same horse.

Bizarre! But what an ultimately fascinating look into the history and development of law and masculinity.

No more to come.

Netflix True-Crime Documentary Explosion Continues With Wallace & Gromit Added To Streaming Service

Glorious news for true crime lovers, as Netflix announced today they would be adding Wallace & Gromit to their library.

The British documentary series, which investigated one man and his deformed, canine-looking partner’s bizarre tendency to find themselves amongst thieves, murderers, and were-rabbits, was celebrated in its day as a ‘pioneer of the gritty true-crime genre.’

And now viewers all over the world can enjoy its raw, unfiltered take on one man’s interaction with crime across the course of two years, and how it forever changed his relationship with his mute, hairy partner, Gromit.

Thanks Netflix!

In the wake of Ted Bundy documentaries, and the chilling ‘Abducted In Plain Sight,’ we at The Obiter thought there was nothing more the streaming service could do to combine well-polished storytelling, and frightening true tales of dark, human horrors.

But then along comes Wallace & Gromit.

As dispassionate as the filmmakers, Aardman Animation, endeavour to be, we advise audience members to watch this landmark series on an empty stomach. And whilst it is all too tempting to be drawn into sympathy for the lead characters, the brutalities they endure ensure it is best to keep them at arm’s length, lest you invest too much of yourself in their pain.

In the second episode, ‘The Wrong Trousers,’ violent, sociopathic criminal ‘Feathers McGraw,’ is able to win the trust of the unsuspecting Wallace, before unleashing a torturous tirade of mind games and physical control and dominance. You almost hope Feathers, a penguin-looking villain, is simply a diamond thief.

But when the gun is drawn, the pit in your stomach threatens to swallow you whole.

Whilst these individual scenes are nerve-racking, to say the least, a true sense of horror and shock is only gleaned when viewing the series as a whole. The very fact that two men were forced to endure murderous robots, violent black-and-white-penguin-looking sociopaths, and the pain of forgetting cheese with your biscuits, is disturbing enough.

But the fact we have taken joy in their pain for fifteen years is truly horrific.

More to come. Enjoy the programme, at your peril.

Pictured: A pure sociopath.

In Classic Mix Up, Liam Neeson Murders Whole Cast Of 'Hey Hey It’s Saturday Reboot'

Well, this is awkward!

In what can only be described as a classic blunder, actor Liam Neeson has turned his racially-fuelled violent urges into into a vintage slice of situational comedy.

The actor, who recently admitted to fantasies of killing black men, went on the hunt recently to satisfy his longing. But, in a doinky dunk move, Neeson accidentally slaughtered the entire cast of the 2009 Hey Hey It’s Saturday reboot! D’oh!

The brutal murders raise many questions, first and foremost why the entire cast of the infamous Jackson Jive blackface sketch were still in full costume, ten years later.

Regardless, Neeson ran into the cast outside Channel 9 this morning. Again, truly baffling that they were all still hanging around in blackface at their former workplace.

Neeson went full Aslan on the boys, biting and ripping and white-honky-tripping. But, upon the decapitation of Red Symons, Neeson realised that these were not the black men of his deepest nightmares, but humble whites playing silly dress ups!

What a snafu, Liam!

Giggling about the mix up, Neeson put away his machete and immediately posted a picture of the carnage to his Instagram story, captioned ‘What happens when I try to murder before my coffee! Whoops!’

At press time, police had issued safety warnings for Chris Lilley, Ted Danson and model Sophie Applegarth.

Man Who's Been In Relationship For Three Weeks Overdoes It On Valentine’s Day

‘Gee, that’s a bit much, hey?’ said Eva Moloney (23), the three-week girlfriend of Brandon Martin (25), as he presented her with three bouquets of flowers, three handwritten poems, three blocks of chocolate, and three flights to Fiji on Valentine’s Day.

Why three flights? Well, to celebrate three weeks together, of course.

Who will take the third ticket? According to Brandon, ‘love.’

As happy as Eva has been over the last three weeks, she hasn’t been placing an absurd amount of thought into her burgeoning relationship with Brandon. For one, her job as an accounts receivable clerk with Brisbane financial services firm, Cumm & Flam, has really been heating up.

And for two, it’s literally been three weeks. Mild constipation can sometimes last longer.

But unfortunately for Eva, her blissful existence in the fog of a relaxed, early relationship was cruelly shattered by Brandon truly overcooking it on the 14th of February. She had been expecting a nice dinner together, maybe a card, but even then that could have been pushing it.

Yet this incredible overkill is probably pretty indicative of some fundamental differences between Brandon and Eva. Her blank face as Brandon presented the fruits of his romantic labour indicated as much.

‘Fuck you, St Valentine,’ Brandon grumbled to himself as he realised the gravity of his mistake, before noticing the string quartet he’d hired to play Elvis’ classic ‘Can’t Help Falling In Love’ out of the corner of his eye.

‘Get out, get out, you’re not needed,’ he hissed, desperately trying to ensure Eva saw neither the quartet, nor the skywriting which boldly painted the blue Brisbane sky with the sickeningly sweet words of ‘Eva + Brandon 3ever.’

Normally, Brandon could resolve conflict by doing nice things. But this might just add to the problem. As this bloke has stuck his foot in it, and Eva is grappling with dating a creep, it’s times like these you remember just how important quality independent journalism is to freedom of thought.

The Obiter, however, is neither quality, independent, or journalism, so we get a free pass.

More to come, if we want.

Victorian Gangland Lawyer ‘Informant 3838’ Revealed As Source Of 21 Savage’s US Deportation

As they say in the classics, the plot thickens. And thicken it has, with an explosive new development in the ‘Informant 3838’ case, concerning a former Melbourne defence barrister turned informant.According to documents freshly leaked to The Obiter, Informant 3838 didn’t simply report on gangland crime in Victoria. The informant went one step further - and gave the key information that led to the arrest of British-cum-American rapper, 21 Savage.

It appears that alongside her work representing Melbourne’s peak crime syndicates, Informant 3838 was also the go-to legal advisor to Mr Savage and many other ‘Atlanta’-based rappers on issues such copyright, immigration and how often to include background vocals that go ‘straight up,’ ‘skrrt’ or the ever-reliable, ‘gang gang.’

Indeed, Informant 3838 herself appeared as backing vocals on several of Mr Savage’s tracks, intermittently whooping and hollering.

When approached by the Victorian Police to inform on her gangland clients, it seemed only natural that the next step would be to act as an Informant for the US Immigration and Customs department. This is an obvious choice, considering the organisations’ equal global standing.

As a police informant, Informant 3838 will be entitled to a range of special privileges, not least of all hearing 21 Savage’s mixtapes one week before they are officially released.  

When approached for a comment, Mr Savage was incensed, exclaiming ‘bugger’, ‘cor blimey’, pish posh’, ‘bleedin’ ‘ell’, ‘Brexit’, ‘Jeremy Corbyn’, ‘Keira Knightley, ‘bad teeth’, ‘tea’, ‘double decker bus’, ‘colonialism’ and then stormed out with a fiery ‘toodaloo’.

Returning for one last comment, Mr Savage remarked ‘this is complete codswallop, and I will not have my honour besmirched in such an uncouth manner. Cheerio!’

Skipping away, whistling ‘God Save The Queen,’ we finally knew the right decision had been made.

Some more to come.

Opinion: G Flip Is An Industry Plant Designed To Destroy Australian Culture And I Will Be Personally Responsible For Her Downfall

I have just one question for you, treasured reader: Do you believe in G Flip?

If your answer is ‘I do’, then I have some tragic news. This isn’t Peter Pan, and G Flip isn’t Tinkerbell, and everything you thought you believed about the supposed Unearthed ‘superstar’ is a fantasy propagated by Culture Kings, Ben and Liam, and their loony lefty cronies.

Let me hit you with some stats. G Flip has played 45 minute sets at Splendour and the Laneway main stage, and is set to perform at the massive Reading & Leeds Festival later this year.

Before 2019, G Flip had two songs. Now, she has four.

So what the fuck happens for the other 32-38 minutes of her set?

Does she do covers for a while? A quick check of her setlists says no. Does she engage with the audience for an ungodly amount of time? This isn’t a TED Talk! Does she scat sing for a while until everyone just fucks off? Possibly.

Whatever happens, it’s weird and I don’t like it.

And what’s perhaps weirder is the faux-punk skater chick style she’s got going on that looks like a Baby Boomer Executive’s fever dream of a millennial, as if Avril Lavigne didn’t (regrettably) go out of fashion over a decade ago.

But what is most likely the weirdest part of all of this is the constant promotion G Flip receives from Triple J over the airwaves and the internet. She seemed to just pop up out of nowhere around a year ago and suddenly had multiple interviews, a short documentary video on the Triple J Youtube page, and songs in constant rotation throughout the day.

This steady stream of promotion has rarely slowed since her ascendance, and for me, there’s only one logical explanation for this.

Triple J, a public body, has been bribed by Culture Kings to try and make chicks wearing backwards snapbacks a thing again.

While G Flip’s music is fairly benign, it’s not what I take issue with here. It’s the fact that she represents Culture Kings’ continued hegemony over Australia and its government, people and trends. We need a royal commission.

Hell, we need God.

Heck of a lot more to come.

Super Bowl Protest! Activist Music Fan Bravely Takes A Knee During ‘Moves Like Jagger’

Saucy wings. Chilled beers. Tosses, tackles and a whole lot of Tom.

The Super Bowl is a day when the American people put their differences aside, pick them up again and then move them to a footballing context.

In recent years, the football has become just as much about what happens on the field as it has what happens, well still on the field, but before the on-field action starts. It’s on the field but not the game, it’s like the pre-game stuff. Which happens on the field.

Protests and political activism have injected football with an unprecedented cultural relevance. While Colin Kaepernick’s stand against police brutality caught the activism world’s eye, the trend towards harnessing the power of sport to spread a message has not stopped there.

During yesterday’s clash, sports reporter Buck McSport was not who he said he was. In actuality, Mr McSport was Pitchfork music critic Aristotle McMusic. Mr McMusic had posed as a Superbowl correspondent in order to enter the press area.

However, upon gaining access to the high-profile zone, Mr McMusic waited until the halftime show before revealing his true motivations.

Maroon 5 have engaged in acts of musical brutality ever since that one good album about Jess or Jane or someone. When they were booked for the fabled halftime performance, Mr McMusic knew he couldn’t stand idly by and watch Adam Levine try to act all sexy and that.

Mr McMusic decided to take a brave stand by not standing at all. As the rest of Atlanta and, indeed, America stood and watched Maroon 5’s performance with a patriotic ‘meh, I liked their first album’, Mr McMusic took a knee in protest.

As Levine and his merry me njammed to ‘Moves Like Jagger’ with all the charm and electricity of a crumpet, McMusic bowed his head and kneeled.

‘Some call it inflammatory,’ McMusic told The Obiter. ‘I call it resistance.’

Unfortunately, due to the swirling crowds around Mr McMusic, his taking a knee lead to him being swamped and trampled. Hospitalised with several broken bones, the Pitchfork writer claimed he was ‘brutalised’ for his act of ‘undeniable musical bravery.’ When we pointed out that taking a knee in literally any crowd is likely to lead to physical injury, he called us the ‘Greta Van Fleet of satirical internet writing.’

Cold. No more to come from this prick.

Scott Morrison Hopes Sick Wally Lewis Tattoo Will Let Him Get In The Mind Of ‘Ordinary Blokes’

As the Federal election looms, Prime Minister Scott Morrison is sparing no expense his attempts to win the votes of Queenslanders.

In a major policy speech in Brisbane’s iconic Paddington Tavern this week, the embattled leader laid out his vision for what he’s already calling ‘a big fuck-off tat of the King of Lang Park down my neck.’

‘This vision for Queensland, that of an inking that will keep even the drunkest dickheads at the Eatons Hill Hotel out of my fucking face, is the kind of bold policy initiative that Queenslanders will not see from a Shorten Labor Government.’

The Prime Minister then used a series of aggressively homophobic slurs to describe Shorten, including one that was clearly made up on the spot, before biting an ibis’ head off, Osbourne-style (that being rock artist Ozzy Osbourne, rather than the Valley’s popular watering hole, The Osbourne).

‘Welcome to Paddington, dickheads!’ the PM bellowed.

The neck tattoo, of a naked Wally Lewis drinking a schooner of unfiltered Brisbane river water, was only the beginning of the proposal.

At press time, ScoMo had entered the fourteenth hour of a further sleeve tattoo session that he hopes will allow him to wiggle further into the mind of ordinary men and/or blokes.

Holding back tears and gripping his wife’s hand, Morrison panted, ‘To understand your average Aussie bloke, I must become him,’ as he bore the excruciating pain of the tattooist’s needle.

‘I’m down to earth. I’m a man/bloke. I’m listening to the working class. If that means getting skulls, snakes, a Southern Cross, and Ned Kelly’s famous last words ‘Such Is Life’ incorporated into a sleeve tattoo that covers most or all of my arm, so be it,’ Morrison whispered through deep breaths.

After the session, an exhausted Morrison was crying into Jenny’s shoulder, crying ‘Who are you, dammit!’ as the tattooist in the dimly lit Bankstown studio begun work on a huge, fair dinkum ‘Fuck Off, We’re Full’ graphic across Morrison’s stomach.

More to come from the Prime Minister’s pained screams.