Depressed Man’s Apartment Empty After He Is Physically Unable To Spark Joy

As local bachelor Buster Frank (24) sat on his single bed in his single-bedroom apartment, staring at the plain, off-white wall in front of him, he contemplated whether taking Marie’s advice was really the best course of action. After all, the doctor had told him that his body was physically unable to create or process serotonin on its own.

But that’s just a doctor. Marie? Marie has her own Netflix show.

It all started at Christmas when his Mum had bought him Marie Kondo’s best-selling book, ‘Spark Joy’. Michelle Frank has been worried about her son ever since he finished university, and started working in accounting three years ago.

Mrs Frank sighed, and informed us that her son isn’t the same happy-go-lucky kid she used to watch head off to university. By all accounts, instead of a smile, Buster deploys the half-baked nod of a man who spends over twelve hours a day working for essentially minimum wage, on the promise ‘it’ll be worth it in a few years.’

Tired of relentlessly urging her son to visit a clinical psychologist, she turned to The New York Times bestseller list. ‘Why pay $180 a session to sit on a dingy couch, when Marie can fix him for $24.89?’ she thought.

Oooh, and it’s a hardback too. Nice.

In a similar vein, Buster was far more conducive to reading a book by himself than helping some psychiatry flog pay off their Masters.

Marie promised him that his life would be fuller if he threw out everything that failed to spark joy. It started off alright at first, Buster looked around his apartment, realising that his mugs don’t spark joy, and nor do his bowls. ‘Maybe this will work,’ he thought.

With each item that Buster picked up, he hoped that this one would break the numb haze that gripped his brain, to no avail. As the day wore on, Buster’s bin grew ever fuller. Not even the charming duo of Alex and Richard hosting ‘Pointless’ (the UK version, obviously) could save the TV, as it was unplugged and thrown onto the front yard.

‘Do I really like forks? Have they ever brought anyone joy?’ muttered Buster as his cutlery found its way to the rubbish.

A soft meow, came from the corner of the room. It was Bugsy, Buster’s cat, the only company he had since his long-term girlfriend had left him because she felt as though he was ‘prioritizing his job over his life.’ Surely he’ll spark joy.. He stared deep into the green feline eyes.

Unfortunately, not even Bugsy could fix the chemical imbalance inside his troubled brain, and into the bin he went.

Finally, sitting in a room that more closely resembled Nelson Mandela’s Robben Island prison cell than that of a young professional, Buster had a sudden realisation.

‘I should probably get this checked out.’

More to come from this poor soul.

Sweat-Drenched Partner Wakes Up In Gutter Muttering ‘Fucking Annual Professional Drinks…’

Last night, the UQLS hosted Annual Professional Drinks, which consists of drinks with professionals (annually). The evening provides the chance for law students to network and build relationships with partners from a range of firms and legal industries.

However, amongst the profession and university alike, APD is known as more than just a networking event. It is indeed Brisbane’s worst kept secret that APD is a hedonistic boozetopia, a jamboree of debauchery, the White Water World of drinking.

For Duke & D’Arcy McMullen partner, Arnold Turner, the old maxim that ‘some people just can’t handle APD’ proved only too correct.

At approximately 9am this morning, thirteen hours after the drinks were scheduled to conclude, Mr Turner woke up in a pool of sweat in what he initially thought was his Eagle Street office.

As Mr Turner swatted away the empty bottles of Wild Yak that were resting on his chest, he realised that he was lying in a gutter on Cavill Avenue. The Surfers Paradise sun had scorched his skin, causing the senior tax partner’s skin to well and boil into a smushy tomato-esque paste.

As he did up the two remaining buttons on his torn blue business shirt, Mr Turner muttered a phrase he had said only too many times before.

‘Fucking Annual Professional Drinks.’

Mr Turner reached towards his pocket, only to realise he wasn’t wearing any pants. ‘Christ.’ His phone, wallet, building pass and house keys had been in those pants. Then he looked up and saw it.

His pants were flying in the wind like a flag on the top of Q1.

‘Surely not,’ Mr Arnold spat, realising he had indeed free climbed Australia’s tallest building to tie his pants to that phallic pole, which is the only reason it’s taller than Eureka Tower in Melbourne. Literally they just stuck a pole on it (this is admittedly a different issue entirely but still important).

As he scrambled around trying to figure out how to catch a bus to Brisbane, Mr Turner genuinely did not know how he’d ended on the Gold Coast. He ran to a pay phone and dialled 1800 R-E-V-E-R-S-E.

‘Honey!’ he yelped, as his visibly panicked wife answered.

‘What happened?’ she begged through tears.

Turner took a breath. ‘I got APD’d.’

‘Again?” Mrs Turner’s voice shook.

‘This is the last time.’

‘You said that last time, Arnold! It’s too much. You have to make a decision – it’s me or APD. I can’t live like this for another year.’

Turner knew what he had to do. But he couldn’t. He loved his kids. He loved his wife. But then he thought of the champagne, the limp handshakes, the weaving of moot participation into conversations about the view from Flight Centre. He knew, deep down, that he wasn’t ready to give that up.

He never would be.

‘I’m sorry Rachel. This does not work. I must network.’

The ink on the divorce papers has not yet dried. The kids are at school, yet to learn that they’ll be sleeping at Aunty Meg’s tonight and for every night to come.

But Turner doesn’t care. He never did. Nothing is real anymore. He only needs 3 things for fulfilment.

Annual.

Professional.

Drinks.

Miscarriage Of Justice! Putrid Judge Dog Jails Good Bloke Who Din’ Do Nuthin’

Fights broke out at the Bendigo Magistrate’s Court this morning, as the putrid Judge Dog wrongly imprisoned local innocent sick cunt, Georgey P.

I haven’t done Crim B yet, but in what surely amounted to a grave miscarriage of justice, Georgey, or ‘Diamond P’ to his friends Two-Tone Toney and Alan ‘AJ’ Jones, was sentenced to rot in a cell for six years. The wrists of Diamond P must have been suffocating in those handcuffs. Not unlike when he broke his wrist playing park footy!

Witnesses reported Georgey’s government-provided lawyer tried to console him before Georgey tried to leap over the gallery, to just have a fucking go at the coward, two-faced judge before being tackled by court security.

He was led away while professing his innocence, his boys in tow, screaming at the ‘dog cunt’ police officers to release him.

Our understanding at press time is Diamond P is currently looking to form allegiance with a gang on the inside, and has shortlisted the White Supremacist Brotherhood and the Mukka Mad Boys.

There’s no comment on whether those gangs have an opinion on this cowardly sentence of a local brother just tryin’ his best in this shitty society, but we’ll wait and see.

For now, let’s just know that this justice system is broken, and it’s just so dog to see this good bloke who din’ do nuthin’ hittin’ the slammer. Just honest to God bullshit, if you ask us.

More to come as the situation unfolds.

Cuck Second-Year Who Was ‘Only Doing Handwritten Notes This Sem’ Whips Out MacBook In Week 3

Second-year LLB student, and certifiable cuck, Kirsty Watson (19), has really eaten shit this week.

As her colleagues attested to The Obiter, in a series of sit down interviews (in chairs!), Ms Watson spent a good chunk of Week 1 telling anyone who’d listen that she was foregoing her days of Microsoft Word and adapting the practice of handwriting her notes.

According to Ms Watson, ‘it’s the only way it sinks in.’ She reportedly spent upward of $35 on bedazzled pens and designer notebooks from Kikki K, the popular stationery chain (not to be confused with the KKK, an American white supremacy group that, whilst awful, are not quite as racist).

In the first lectures of the semester, Ms Watson made an ‘absolute fucking song and dance’ about her pen-led enlightenment.

‘She’s prancing about like fucking Hemingway because she purchased a pacer,’ fumed beleaguered acquaintance of Ms Watson Lucy Nicholls.

‘She told my group that our eyes would be permanently damaged from the laptop blue light. It’s a fucking joke.’

However, despite her proclamations of educational ascendancy on the grounds of a Smiggle rubber, witnesses report that Ms Watson (again: cuck) has been forced to undergo an embarrassing retreat on her position.

‘She pulled out a MacBook in fucking Week 3 as if she’d never said anything,’ a now grey-haired Ms Nicholls screamed.

‘Like, are you kidding?!’

At press time, Ms Watson had yet to comment on the fact that she was spotted with 11 tabs open in a Crim lecture, all of them Gorman.

More to Krum.

Pell Defenders Happy To Let This One Go Through To The Keeper

The explosive allegations of Michael Jackson’s sexual abuse, aired in the confronting documentary Finding Neverland, have shocked and appalled many. The documentary has inspired outpourings of support for the victims, as well as a few reactionary pockets of society who continue to defend the deceased pop star.

But for those who are just exhausted, having spent the last few weeks defending allegations of child sexual abuse against Cardinal George Pell, there’s not much energy left to defend Jackson.

Bryce Strandinson (24), a right-leaning seventh-year Arts student who can be found in Facebook comments screaming ‘presumption of innocence! trial by media!’ at anyone who criticises Pell, has informed The Obiter that he’s happy to let this one go.

‘Yeah, to be honest, I just haven’t got it in me to go round two. Besides, Jackson was a creepy, weird, eccentric pop star who had a documented history of strange behaviour around children. Unlike George, whose face just screams trustworthy.’

We wondered whether Bryce’s defence of Pell, and non-defence of Jackson, was grounded in his religious faith, but that idea was quickly quashed.

‘Oh, I was born an Anglican and haven’t been to church since I was four. I just couldn’t tolerate the left-wing media, preaching from their high horse, saying things like ‘he was convicted by a jury,’ and ‘appeals often don’t succeed.’ Couldn’t cop it.’

‘If there’s one thing I hate more than a rapist, it’s cocky lefties.’

On the other end of the age spectrum, 71-year-old Enoggera resident, Gladys Parsons, has indicated that her willingness to believe the Jackson abuse stems from her faith in the format.

‘I’d probably believe in George’s guilt if it was a compelling, four-hour documentary, but sadly he was merely convicted in a court of law.’

‘Until Channel 10 runs Finding Vaticanland twenty years from now, I’ll never be able to believe it.’

Hopefully bugger-all more to come.

Cookie Monster Hospitalised With Scurvy

At 8.15am this morning, popular children’s entertainer and self-confessed ‘cookie addict,’ Cookie Monster, was admitted to St Andrew’s War Memorial Hospital in Spring Hill, with an acute case of scurvy.

Whilst the precise pathology of Cookie’s disease is yet to be known to the public, we can report that our best medical experts have laid the blame squarely at the feet of a single lifestyle habit. And it will shock you.

‘It’s the fact he only eats cookies. It’s a miracle he hasn’t already suffered from hypertension, liver failure, skyrocketing cholesterol, an iron deficiency, and to be honest, pretty much anything that isn’t Marfan syndrome,’ stated Dr Harald Doofenschmirtz (no relation), a clinical physician at The Wesley Hospital.

Cookie was found by his younger brother, Mark, face-down on the carpet of his Auchenflower home, surrounded by flecks of vomit and cookie crumbs. When checked for signs of life, Mark was relieved to hear his older brother murmur ‘Cookie, cookie,’ but called the ambulance regardless.

It now looks as if this bold lifestyle choice made by Cookie is paying off in the worst way possible. Scurvy, a disease caused by acute Vitamin C deficiency, can result in decreased blood cells, gum disease, and bleeding from the skin.

Left untreated, scurvy victims can die from infections, or bleeding.

We can only hope that Cookie Monster, body filled with tubes, IV drips, and every medical approach to removing cookies from the bloodstream, can treat this as the wake-up call he requires.

Because he’s been a friend to us all. And we always thought we’d have a chance to say goodbye. But who knows? Time is fleeting. Spend it eating Vitamin C, not cookies.

More to come from this sexy blue cookie addict.

Triple J Executes Entire Male Staff For International Women’s Day

Ita Buttrose has begun her reign as Chairwoman of the ABC by announcing the mass culling of any male staff in the Triple J office this Friday.

The national youth broadcaster has traditionally shown some mild form solidarity towards women through their ‘girls to the front campaign,’ stacking the airwaves with female presenters and artists. However, reports indicate Buttrose felt, although well-intentioned, the move was not radical enough to achieve meaningful change.

‘I actually got the idea from a lovely gentleman named Darren in our Facebook comments that said if women get paid less, why don’t you just hire only them,’ explained Buttrose.

‘So, today the halls of the ABC will be filled with crimson equality!’

Chaotic scenes ensued, after a memo calling women to arms was distributed at lunchtime. Breakfast hosts Ben and Liam, who had enjoyed a rare weekday sleep-in, were bound and gagged before being paraded around the office.

‘We’re not fucking around’, screamed Veronica, as she plunged a dagger into Lewis’ chest.

Tom Tilley had barricaded himself in a supply closet and was sobbing as Brooke broke down the door with an axe. ‘Heeeeeeeeeere’s Boney!’ she screamed maniacally, as she showed a weeping Tilley the true meaning of Hack.

Long-term friendships were cast aside, as Linda Marigliano used piano wire to hang Dr Karl from an exit sign. ‘You old fool, you have bestowed the sacred knowledge upon me. Now I wear the party shirt!’ she cackled.

While potentially detrimental to the station’s regular programming, the textline has been generally enthusiastic about the day, with many listeners texting in ‘gnarly’ and Susie from Mt Gambier texting in ‘You girls rock, I’m G Flippin’ the fuck out right now!’

Was this a move toward gender equality, or will it only serve to cause a greater rift in opportunity? Only time will tell.

More to come.

'Woo! Girl Power!' Thinks H&M Sweatshop Labourer Paid 19c/Hr

‘Yeah, the shirts I’m making say ‘Girl Power,’ and ‘The Future Is Female,’ so I’m not too worried about this whole ‘exploitation thing’, to be honest,’ said seven-year-old Prisha Chowdhury, who has been working at the fast-fashion factory for over four years now.

‘They seem to have it under control. After all, this matching pajama set ($24.99 RRP) clearly states ‘SISTERHOOD.’ And there’s no way the sisterhood wouldn’t care equally about those who make these shirts as those who buy them!’

In the past four years, Prisha has risen through the ranks to become one of the most senior managers in the factory which produces fashion items for global brands such as H&M, Cotton On, and Zara.

And with that new level of seniority has come a pay rise. Prisha is now earning the staggering salary of 45c/hr, a far cry from the entry-level wage of 17c/hr which she had become accustomed to.

But despite being a seven-year old fast-fashion factory worker/manager, some commentators worldwide have indicated the conditions in which Prisha have been working are ‘tantamount to modern slavery,’ and ‘rely on the exploitation of women.’

However, those arguments can immediately be set aside when you look at the clothes they’re making, indicates Prisha.

In our exclusive sit-down interview, whilst she was on a break from a nineteen-hour shift where she was given water once and allowed to go to the bathroom never, Prisha suggested that ‘girl power is clearly coming through loud and clear from these shirts.’

‘I mean, what sort of company would make this stuff without being committed to these ideals? And I’ll bet you five dollars, my salary for two years, that people wouldn’t buy these if they weren’t overwhelmingly happy with our working conditions.’

‘So don’t stress!’ Our interview abruptly came to a close when two five-year-old labourers fainted on the factory floor whilst stitching a tote bag with the logo of ‘Femme + Fierce.’ But after a cup of warm water and a firm slap, they were back in action in no time!

Contacted for comment about the plight of girls like Prisha, and the 40 million young, disproportionately female workers trapped in near-slavery worldwide, the managing director of H&M, Karl-Johan Persson, replied ‘Seven years old and she’s already a senior manager in a factory? Wow. Talk about #GirlBoss.’

‘She’s kicking goals and smashing expectations. She might even be on her way to a little raise - we might take her all the way to 48c/hr!’

When informed that paying her 48c/hr would immediately ruin H&M’s profit margin, Mr Persson indicated she would stay at 45c/hr, but ‘she should be very proud of that glass ceiling she’s smashing!’

Hoping for no more to come.

Disgrace! Man Not Given 3-Hour Blowjob Despite Posting Woke Status For International Women’s Day

In a move that rivals Eve’s consumption of the Forbidden Fruit for its stunning treachery and deceit, we can sadly report this morning that area women have denied local feminist ally, Elliot Cox (22), a three-hour-long blowjob, despite the fact that he posted a woke status celebrating International Women’s Day that received hundreds of likes.

Despicable! His birthright has been stripped away from him. This summons bile to the throat and tears to the eyes.

If Elliot can’t get an epic, three-hour-long extravaganza of oral sex for posting about the systemic oppression of women in an inherently patriarchal social structure, then what point is there in living?

In an act that demonstrates the inherent selfishness of all women, the Earth’s entire population of female beings collectively chose not to perform fellatio upon Elliot, even though he is one of the good guys that doesn’t call for the outright sexual enslavement of all women in a Handmaid’s Tale style dystopia. Wow - that sounds like a guy that deserves sex!

The fact his status was a repurposed Clementine Ford argument (who Elliot quietly describes as a ‘bit much’) shouldn’t harm his chances at ejaculation. Nor should the fact that Elliot took advantage of an intoxicated staffer at a Labor Left function.

The man suggests women should enjoy comparatively similar rights to men, for Christ’s sake. Give him some sex!

All we know is that this is completely fucked. If a man professes himself to be a feminist ally, women owe him sex. It’s as simple as that. One of the suffragettes said that. Or was it Germaine Greer? Who knows, who reads those feminazis anyway?

Elliot just informed us that his unopened copy of “The Female Eunuch” occupies pride of place on his bedside table.

At press time, Elliot was proceeding to slut shame all 3.8 billion women on Planet Earth for not orally stimulating his penis as reward for his feminism.

Men are great, so there’s so much more to come!

Tinder Guy Who Labels Himself ‘Not A Dickhead’ Most Likely A Dickhead

Our recent investigation into the use of social media dating platform, Tinder, by young Australian males, has revealed valuable insights and a staggering amount of unsolicited penis photos (or ‘diccpiccs,’ as they are otherwise known).

We’ve been able to unearth a clear positive correlation between men who proudly proclaim to not be ‘a dickhead’ in their profile, and men who can objectively be classified as dickheads.

Unbelievable! We never would’ve guessed that someone who is so insecure about their dickheadery as to post it on their public profile, is actually a true dickhead. Truly shocking!

This ironic contradiction isn’t the only startling thing we found.

For one, a dick pic we were sent featured a man cradling his testicles with what appeared to be a white, bedazzled, Michael Jackson-style glove. Now, we’re not saying this is necessarily a bad thing, but certainly startling.

We unearthed a number of other key findings from our journey into Tinderland.

‘Not looking for anything serious,’ with a winky tongue emoji was revealed to be the most popular sentence contained in the biography section of a Tinder profile. Of course, often the men who aren’t looking for anything serious are the ones who will be completely devastated if you don’t reply to their message within an hour, but that’s besides the point.

In second place for most popular sentence in the biography was the ever-illuminating ‘Have car. Have job.’

It is genuinely astounding that this is what is used to attract a sexual partner - a vehicle and employment. Looks like the bare minimum of adulthood is now a substitute for seduction. Can’t wait to see ‘Have Lime Scooter account. Have casual job,’ as the new substitute.

Speaking of the art of seduction, the act of taking photos with stranger’s dogs is a common practice among users of the app.

‘Yeah, birds fucking froth that,’ commented a subject of our investigation, Harrison, 21, University of Queensland (3km away).

‘Best place to do it is at a café if you see like a nice golden retriever, or actually a sausage dog, yeah, they’re good for the swipes.’

Makes sense.

Almost as much sense as Harrison’s bio, ‘6’3 [surfboard emoji] yewwwwww.’

Just when we thought that there couldn’t possibly be anything more to know about this guy, a scroll revealed another section of the bio. Harrison has included his top Spotify artists, which include the likes of Sticky Fingers, Mac Demarco and Oasis. This curated discography appears to be a desperate substitute for a personality.

When questioned about whether Harrison actually listens to these artists, he became defensive. ‘Oath, they’re just solid tunes! Like I went to a Mac Demarco gig in 2018, before triple J even knew her. She’s so much better live aha.’

The success rate of these profiles is still unclear. A follow up investigation on the relationship between dirt bikes in profile pictures and frequency of female orgasms is being proposed.

Anyways, here’s Wonderwall.

More to come (but not the ladies of Brisbane).