Hypocrite! Berejiklian ‘Against Drugs’ Despite Last Name Clearly Being The Result Of Three-Day Acid Trip

New South Wales Premier Gladys Berejiklian has come under fire in recent weeks with her approach to recreational drug use, and in particular, its use at music festivals. Dismissing pill testing, and charging exorbitant fees to NSW festivals, are just a few of the policies which reflect her distaste for recreational drugs.

We call hypocrite! It’s pretty crazy for Ms Berejiklian to be so stringently opposed to mind-bending, recreational drugs, when her own last name is so abundantly the result of a deranged, three-day acid trip.

The Gospels say ‘Let she who is without sin cast the first stone,’ Gladys! And bloody well let she who is without an LSD-riddled, spacey last name cast the first anti-drug policy which affects the live music industry.

I mean, seriously, Berejiklian? That’s not some whimsical word conjured up by a Roald Dahl-type figure after a few cups of coffee. It’s no ‘snozzberries!’

And it’s still clearly not the result of a twenty-year-old festivalgoer after a few caps. It’s no ‘Peking Duk are fucking sick!’

No, it is very clearly the result of an epic, three-day, acid bender which took minds to the prisms of very language itself, resulting in a deconstructionist last name which is so out there, network television pundits still can’t pronounce it (and it’s not because they’re ignorant).

For the Premier to stand on her soapbox and wax lyrical about drug deaths, when an acid-fuelled adventure is responsible for the roguish combination of ‘j,’ i,’ and then another ‘i,’ is nothing short of folly.

Here at The Obiter, we have only one question for Glad Wrap.

What are you on, and a follow-up question - where can we get some?

‘Valentine’s? More Like Fuckentine’s!’ Screams Sex Addict Deputy President As He Escapes Rehab

At 8.03am this morning, notorious sex addict and Deputy President of the UQLS, Mr Henry Bretz, was found to have escaped a Gold Coast rehabilitation centre for his sex addiction.

The escape was discovered, not by detective work, but by staff noticing Mr Bretz sprinting down the street naked (admittedly looking incredibly fit), yelling at the top of his lungs, ‘Valentine’s? More like Fuckentine’s!’ and ‘Get ready, Australia!’

It seemed the Deputy President, who was due to return to normal duties when his comprehensive rehabilitation for debilitating sex addiction concluded in late February, had been planning a Valentine’s Day escape for some time.

Excerpts from his diary revealed his ingenious plan, which involved seducing his way out of the secure facility. God knows his raw, dangerous, enigmatic erotic power could seduce a gazelle out of the jaws of a lion - the nurses and doctors of Broadbeach’s ‘Help For Hot Stuff Rehabilitation Centre’ could hardly stand a chance.

The train from the Gold Coast to Central takes a little over an hour, and for that period of time, humble paying customers were treated to a tirade of erotic, sexy, and titillating statements, spoken by a man with a dangerous addiction.

‘When I get back to Brisbane, it’s sexy sex time for me,’ ‘Can’t wait for my erotic energy to consume some poor suburban bar,’ and ‘Valentine’s? More like Fuckentine’s!’ were just a few of the countless steamy phrases heard this Thursday morning.

Observers on the train indicate by this point, the Deputy President had found clothes, and was bragging that he had already enjoyed some ‘sexity sexy sex, a cup of frothy sex milk.’ His clothes in question were a tight-fitting leather vest, and gold pants. Truly the uniform of a man with an addiction so damaging, he was not constitutionally permitted to return to Deputy President duties until he could walk naked through the streets of King’s Landing without yelling out ‘Oohf baboof! Someone pour me some sex!’

The chilling details of his escape have reportedly done little to negate his Valentine’s power, with his already-staggering sexual energy only supplemented by the romantic vibes which hang in the air on the 14th of February.

Watch out, Brisbane. It looks like he’s back.

So much more to cum.

‘Close The Gap,’ Says Wealthy Ashgrove Resident

'It's just distasteful, for my beautiful Queenslander on Glenyon Drive to be so close to... to that place.'

Katherine Whitford (58) is a lifelong Ashgrove resident, and feels the tempo of the suburb flowing through her blood every day. The wealthy, semi-retired commercial property investor enjoys her life in one of Brisbane’s leafiest suburbs, but suggests there is one improvement that could be made.

‘Close The Gap,’ she told us, in a confessional tone akin to a small child telling you they’ve dropped Grandma’s favourite mug, although not as confessional as a so-called ‘Ashgrove’ resident telling you they technically live in Alderley.

‘I just find it uncomfortable that I live so close to The Gap. And to see the residents of The Gap, occasionally venturing into my home turf to enjoy the fine cafe and dining scene on weekends… well, not to be rude, but it makes my skin crawl.’

Obviously, closing a suburb of Brisbane is a fairly mammoth undertaking, particularly if the sole reason is one wealthy citizen’s elitist tendencies.

But Katherine is serious. And so she’s established seven targets that must be met in order to successfully close The Gap. Unfortunately, only two of those targets have been met so far, the first being a trip to The Gap to shake her fist at The Gap Coles and mutter ‘Shame,’ and the second being a strongly-worded letter to her local member, the iconic Kate Jones.

In a speech to a gathering of concerned Ashgrovians, Katherine lamented that only two of the goals for closing The Gap have been met.

Using her oratorical skills to distract from her movement’s failure to succeed in key areas, she proclaimed ‘This is a day of learning, a day of focusing on our future ahead. We mustn’t simply strive to close The Gap, or do our very best - we must dedicate ourselves to this task, and pursue it with reckless abandon.’

Venturing from her Glenlyon Drive house in a rare journey, Katherine recently again travelled to The Gap to try a Filet-O-Fish from their McDonald’s restaurant. Chewing down the sandwich of steamed bread and battered fish, she whispered ‘Sun Tzu’s Art of War. To beat my enemy, I must know them.’

More to come. Go GPS!

Problem Solved! Ripper 'Close The Gap' Speeches By Morrison And Shorten Definitely Enough To Solve The Issue

Phew!

The eleventh Close The Gap report could have put our politicians in a touch of strife when it was delivered Thursday morning. After a decade of failure to meet targets on improving Indigenous life expectancy, child mortality and school attendance, our Parliament could have appeared completely beaten.

So thank God Scott Morrison and Bill Shorten were able to entirely avoid this mistaken perception, by delivering a pair of killer speeches on reconciliation! Well played, gents! Nothing helps literacy more than a fiery speech on the floor of Parliament about literacy.

Morrison’s speech was touching. It was personal. He expressed a deeply human frustration with these issues. The issue, of course, not being the failure to actually meet the Close The Gap targets, but with the fact he was expected to devote time and attention to the issue. No matter what you think of his politics, you have to admit that he made a fair dinkum effort by bravely reading out a speech.

I mean, it’s frickin’ 2019 already. How much more time do you want the guy to spend on this ‘Close The Gap’ racket?

Shorten’s speech made for a great contrast between the two leaders. While Morrison at times appeared unsure whether he wanted refugees or Aboriginals to receive lower quality healthcare, Shorten was clear sighted in his vision for a better future for Indigenous Australians.

'I watched Bran Nue Dae last night,’ Shorten noted, in a thrilling addition to the national discussion on Closing The Gap.

‘And then I saw Rabbit-Proof Fence was on Stan, so I added it to My List. Call me Bill ‘Mabo’ Shorten.’

Despite knowing he will likely do fuck-all to fix things, at least Shorten thinks the current status quo isn’t the best, and that is kind of a step forward, isn’t it?

We do know one thing for sure. If today was a test of our nation’s political leadership, they passed with flying colors. As long as those colours aren’t yellow, red, and black.

Such was their performance speaking in Parliament, they should be able to get away with ignoring all other Indigenous affairs for the entire next year without too much backlash. At the end of the day, the Indigenous Australians who are incarcerated, suffering, or hungry, should be able to feast on the sublime words of two of Australia’s sharpest intellects.

And if that wasn’t enough, our TV editor thinks that Q&A might touch on the issue for one night. Wow! That should go down well with a green tea and a Tim Tam.

Yum! If thrilling speeches is what we get for failing to meet our goals as a nation, then let’s continue to fail, I say. At least we’ll get a ripping soundbite out of it.

No more to come for a year.

My Autistic Horse Can’t Just Make Friends With Himself Now, Can He?

Hey doctors, listen up. We get it. You’ve got your degrees. You’ve got your stethoscopes. You’ve got your scrubs, and we’re not talking about the offbeat sitcom starring Zach Braff, Sarah Chalke and John C McGinley.

But doctors, I’ve got a bone to pick with you. And not a broken one, because I know you’d love that, wouldn’t you? “Ooh let me fix the bone.” No. You can’t fix this.

For years, doctors have agreed that equine therapy is a successful treatment for children with autism. Time spent with horses can enhance communication and coordination skills and has palpable benefits for autistic children. For these developments, I salute you.

But herein lies the problem. I’ve had my horse Ginger since I was a young boy. Throughout my youth, whenever I was bullied or bashed at school, I would smile as I cowered on the bus because I knew that Ginger would be there waiting for me when I got home. We’d gallop and frolic throughout our 1 acre at Samford. I felt free.

But then came the diagnosis. On my 8th birthday, doctors confirmed to me and my family what we had suspected for years.

Ginger was autistic.

Now, it’s all well and good for autistic children to reap the curative rewards of horses. But what about my horse? Ginger can’t exactly just make friends with himself now, can he? Can he?

It’s the single biggest failure of the medical community in Australia that they have not yet told me how I am to address my horse’s autism. My horse could not seek therapy by making friends with horses, because he is a horse and he’s autistic. All the other horses in our neighbourhood grab a drink together after work at the nearby dam. I can lead my horse to water, but I can’t make him drink with his mates. You see, he’s autistic.

I tried forcing him to spend time with a hairy, four-legged human I found in Mt Isa just to see if reverse-equine therapy had any effects. Guess what, Doogie Howser MD – it didn’t work!

If the doctors of Brisbane do not get back to me in one hour with a feasible solution to address my horse’s autism that does not involve the frankly ludicrous suggestion that he spend a relaxing day in the country, riding and petting and feeding HIMSELF, than I’m afraid I have no choice but to blow up Gotham General Hospital.

Your move, Doc.

'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.