JK Rowling Reveals Neville Longbottom Totally Would’ve Cracked An Egg On Fraser Anning’s Head

Joanne Kanne Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series and chronic over-sharer, has today revealed further facts about a key Potter character’s backstory.

In a press announcement made whilst curled up at home with a blanket and a hot mug of tea (ie, on Twitter), Rowling revealed to ravenous fans what Neville Longbottom’s approach to dealing with far-right Australian senators would have been.

Synthesising Neville’s character traits is a difficult task for even the most astute literary students, as he ranged from cowardly to brave across the course of the books, and a fat nerd to incredibly sexy across the course of the films.

But fear not! Rowling has confirmed that, if he was in Australia at the time of Senator Fraser Anning’s comments on the Christchurch shooting, Neville ‘100% would’ve grabbed an egg, and cracked it over Anning’s head.’

Indicating that she had ‘always intended’ the character to be one who would crack an egg over Fraser Anning’s head, Rowling further suggested that Neville might even use a dragon egg.

‘Whilst no bigger in size, dragon eggs are important for characters to use because they ensure there isn’t an over-representation of chicken eggs in media. The diversity of egg types is crucial.’

Tragically for desperate fans, little is known about Neville’s likely actions immediately following the egg-cracking, and exactly how many points it would warrant from Dumbledore. But in an exclusive interview with The Obiter, Rowling was happy to describe Dumbledore’s approach to the points system in alarming depth.

‘Oh, he just made it up as he went along. However many points was needed for Gryffindor to win, that was the go.’

At press time, Joanne is considering letting audiences know that prior to the hypothetical egging, Neville served Anning’s far-right supporters piping hot mugs of Buckbeak’s sperm.

More to come.

‘It’s Like UberEats!’ Says Kings Boy Glad He No Longer Has To Go To The RE To Assault Women

Kings’ College today announced a new chapter in their proud (yep) history. From 2020, the iconic UQ institution will be accepting female residents for the first time.

The announcement has been met with widespread praise from current Kings students.

‘Absolutely stoked,’ said second-year Trav McAllister when The Obiter asked how he felt about the news. ‘Now I won’t even have to leave Kings to drink exorbitant amounts of piss and force myself on girls. It’s like UberEats!’

The change will mean female students will finally be able to fulfil their childhood dreams of living in an environment that for years has been widely regarded as a breeding ground for misogynistic and entitled male behaviour.

You’re welcome, ladies!

Members of the Kings board have dismissed any concerns about the safety of female residents.

‘Harassment and mistreatment of women is a problem that solely exists in the realm of pub crawls and uni balls,’ said a board member who wished to remain anonymous because of all the reasons.

‘No woman has ever faced these issues in their place of residence. No dramas.’

The Royal Exchange Hotel have already started adjusting their revenue expectations for 2020 and beyond in anticipation of the inevitable dive in attendees. In a statement, the venue said, ‘I mean, why would you bother?’

The reactions of female-only colleges on campus have been described as that of a person watching a horror film where the protagonist is about to walk into a clearly dangerous situation – ‘Don’t go in there!?!?’

At press time, the college was considering rebranding as Kings of Queens College.

Excited For Clerkship Evening? Here Are 25 Useful Segues To Brazenly Bring Up Your Relevant Extra-Curricular Involvements

Clerkship Evening is upon us, ladies and gentlemens.

Sure, you may have missed Annual Professional Drinks, but never stress, tonight is the night to make an appearance and ask interesting, thoughtful questions to firm representatives, that also subtly mention the fact you run a small successful entrepreneurial business selling sexy watches, and the skills you learnt from WhoWatchWatchM3!.org are perfectly translatable into the clerkship context.

Not confident in segueing your own achievements into conversation? Well here's some useful one-liners to get the ball rolling - and by ball, I of course mean the fact that you did a week's work experience at Minters in Grade 8!

Just replace [INSERT] with whatever you think gets your name out there:

1. Hello, my name is [NAME]. Speaking of names, did you know that ... [INSERT].

2. Hello, nice jacket. Speaking of jackets, I think I should let you know that [INSERT].

3. Hello, nice shoes. Speaking of shoes, I did [INSERT].

4. Hello, nice nose. Hah, speaking of noses, are you aware that [INSERT].

5. Hello, nice angry face at me interrupting this conversation. Speaking of faces, did you know that [INSERT].

6. I see you are a person. Speaking of persons, are you aware that [INSERT].

7. Oh no! My wallet is missing! Nah, just joking friends. [INSERT].

8. Hello, did you know that [INSERT].

9. Yes, I study here at the University of Queensland. Do you want to know an interesting fact about the University of Queensland, a uni which I attend? Well, I actually [INSERT].

10. LISTEN TO ME RIGHT NOW! I [INSERT].

11. Hello sir, while I do realise you are currently at the urinal, please let me tell you that [INSERT].

12. Hello madam, yes while I do realise that you are in a cubicle that is very much meant for one person, while you are in here, did you know that [INSERT].

13. Ah yes, I love prawns! I also love [INSERT].

14. Ah yes, I love the drive from Bowen Hills into the city. Here is another fact about me: [INSERT].

15. Yes my day has been good. [INSERT].

16. No I won't leave the building. In fact, [INSERT].

17. Have you seen Captain Marvel? It reminds of me of the time that [INSERT].

18. I literally am here to eat the canapes. That reminds me of a job where I [INSERT].

19. Sorry, I thought this was a cornship evening! Like where we learn about the vessels that transport corn! To corn factories! But I will say, [INSERT].

20. [INSERT].

21. [INSERT], also [INSERT].

22. [INSERT], pause to breathe, [INSERT], [INSERT], [INSERT].

23. Please sir, may I have more jobs? On the subject of poor little kids with jobs, [INSERT about that time you worked at Grill'd].

24. Sorry not sorry to interrupt whatever the dick you were discussing, I did [INSERT].

25. Listen here you snivellous fucks, shove this interesting fact down your fact-hole. I don't care if I've literally run in here from the other side of campus, I don't care that there was a big group chat with other students also using MY segues. Other students merely suck the willy of the big wide world, whereas I HAVE the willy. And on the subject of huge massive willies which I have, I [INSERT].

The last one comes with a guaranteed job offer.

Fraser Anning Releases Statement Blaming Fraser Anning For Egging of Fraser Anning

Controversial Australian senator, Fraser Anning, has been on the receiving end of a public tirade this week after his statements blaming immigration for the massacre of fifty people at mosques in Christchurch on Friday.

The public fury was embodied in a 17-year old boy’s act of attending a political meeting of Mr Anning’s supporters, and egging the Senator from behind.

In the wake of the egg tragedy, Senator Anning has released another one of his trademark statements. However, instead of blaming the now-martyred Egg Boy, Senator Anning blamed himself for the attack.

‘If I hadn’t have been at that meeting, the boy wouldn’t have had anyone to egg,’ Anning explained.

‘I should have had the hindsight to know that being there would have made Egg Boy offended and angry. He was well within his rights to egg me.’

The Senator went on. ‘I detest all acts of violence, obviously. However when you look at this one you’ve got to see that it’s really just my silly fault for thinking I could be safe at own political meeting where I was meeting with likeminded people celebrating our common beliefs.’

Senator Anning says that fact the he himself was fleeing persecution did not make his mistake any more justifiable.

‘Yes, I was at the meeting to escape the prejudice I had endured at the hands of the news media, millennials, politicians on both sides of the aisle, and people with consciences. But the fact that I fled in the first place really makes it my bad.’

Senator Anning said he would not resign.

‘I have a mandate to serve earned from those who elected me. All 19 of them are meeting me for a candlelight vigil later tonight.’

More to come.

Zucced! Mark Zuckerberg Shuts Down Instagram After Selfie Fails To Break 10 Likes

‘If I can’t be validated, then nobody can!’ screamed a distraught Mark Zuckerberg as his wife Priscilla, Queen of the Silicon Valley Desert, wiped away his tears.

‘Be careful, Mark-A19B, the crying short-circuits your electronics,’ she reminded him.

‘I do not understand, I gave them the platform, I peddled them their cheap dopamine and what do I get in return? Ignored and rejected, it’s not fair!’

This is not the first time this has happened. According to Facebook insider, Justin Timberlake (38), the last time Mark failed to break ten likes, he ‘cracked the shits’ and changed the app so it no longer showed individual names of users who had liked the post.

However, it appears that this time Mark has taken it a step further and dragged Facebook and Instagram into the recycling bin.

The UN is calling for Mr Zuckerberg to reverse his decision as the ramifications are being felt around the globe. Influencers are reportedly drying up into prune-like corpses, without the ability to refresh their feeds.

‘It’s fucked. One minute she was fine, and then she started wailing, before turning into ET’s ballsack!’ exclaimed the boyfriend of local influencer Isabell Wain.

A preliminary investigation into the limited number of likes received by Mr Zuckerberg has indicated that Mark is that mate that nobody actually invites but is still around.

A second finding is that the tagline for the academy award winning film ‘The Social Network’ is misleading. The promotional material reads ‘You don’t get to 500 million friends without making a few enemies.’ A more accurate representation would change the number of friends to approximately eight.

For real though, I really need social media back up, or I’m going to do something rash and productive.

Hopefully more likes to come.

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.