Student’s Unparalleled Knowledge & Faultless Exam Prep Undone Immediately By Wobbly Desk

UQ Law student Francesca Harris (22) was in a position that can only be described as perfect before her Medical Law exam on Monday evening.

She had memorised every relevant case verbatim, owing to her strategy of employing Stephen Fry to record each key judgement as an mp3 file.

She had become majority shareholder into a local paper mill, in order to acquire enough capital to print her lecture summaries.

She had attended class.

Ms Harris’ preparation was faultless, and she had been told by a former High Court justice, whom she flew interstate to consult on problem question strategy, that she had an unprecedented knowledge of all relevant areas of law and had earned a place on the nation’s highest court once she had completed the exam on Monday evening.

However, all of this exceedingly thorough preparation came to nought. On Monday, upon entering the Holt Room, Ms Harris sat down to her realise her fate was predetermined. She sat down to the only thing that could have blocked her on her ascent up the stairway to 7.

A wobbly desk.

At first, she didn’t believe it. ‘Surely just me moving it as I sat down,’ she thought.

However, as she gingerly shifted her elbows across the surface, the gravity of the situation became apparent – this was a wobbler through and through.

She’d heard the stories. Nightmares about students destined for greatness having the entirety of their knowledge about a given topic evaporate upon being faced with a slight little click back and forth of a desk on a floor.

Ms Harris threw her hand up with the ferocity of a Dothraki Khalasar. The youngest invigilator, a spritely gal of just 104, put to one side her massive mobile phone detector and jogged to Ms Harris’s desk.

‘Desk! Wob!’ Ms Harris could barely breathe, pushing the words out with difficulty.

‘Let me help you, deary,’ said Beryl as she folded up an A4 piece of paper and jammed it under the offending leg with all the precision and care of Dr Patel.

‘All better now.’

Whether Beryl the invigilator was blind or vegetative was unclear, but the desk was very obviously still fucking wobbly.

‘It move! It fuck move!’ Ms Harris was barely human by this stage, her stress rapidly suffocating her facilities.

Beryl called on Gavin, who was essentially dead, to execute his ingenious plan of folding a second piece of A4 paper into a square and putting under the wrong leg of the desk, causing one side to now lean over as if he was Jack Sparrow trying to capsize the ship in the criminally underrated Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End.

‘Up is down,’ muttered Gavin as kicked the desk upon rising and knocked all of Ms Harris’s notes to the floor.

‘Sorry love.’ Gavin scrambled to pick up the notes but was unable to contain his dribble which flowed so freely that the notes were a mushy gel of ink by the time they returned to the desk.

Moments later, writing time begun and Ms Harris was forced to push on. But it was too late; the wobble had led to the evacuation of any and all comprehension of course materials from her brain. One small disparity between reality and the controlled conditions of the desk Ms Harris had conjured in her mind was her unravelling.

Take it from The Obiter: if your desk wobbles, take the gamble and apply for the supplementary.

It is too dangerous otherwise.

For those who take on the wob, will be sure to lose.

The wob always wins.

More to come from this heartbreak.

Frightened Property Law Student Unearths Pre-Torrens Title In Restricted Section Of The Lawbry

Third-year student Thomas Weir has found himself shaking with fear and confusion, after doing a bit of research in the Restricted Section of the Walter Harrison Law Library.

Digging through dusty old tomes that were not for the eyes of the general student population, Thomas, or ‘Tom’ to his mates who are clearly in too much of a rush to use full names, happened across a registration of title to an estate - from 1812. Pre-Torrens. Pre-title by registration.

Letting out an incoherent scream of horror, Tom immediately dropped the tome to the floor. Anyone else think it’s weird that the word ‘tome’ is only ever used in the context of either old or dusty books? No-one ever cracked the new John Grisham ‘tome.’ Anyway, moving back to Tom.

The title documents were a mess, with interests and instruments flying across the paper as if by dark magic. Following the chain of title was difficult enough for Tom, an educated student of the TC Beirne School Of Witchcraft And Law (heaps of effort went into this joke), but when he cast his mind to the poor Registrars who had to grapple with the mess of deeds and documents, bile filled his throat.

He immediately sprinted to the door of the most portly, trustworthy Law professor he knew - Horace ‘Ryan’ Catterwell, who had put on a few KGs since that incident with Grindelwald in the Federal Court (native title, bizarrely enough).

‘Professor? I was in the library today, in the Restricted Section, and I read something rather odd about a bit of rare title registration,’ Tom began, before being cruelly cut off by Horace.

‘I beg your pardon? I don't know anything about such things and if I did, I wouldn't tell you! Now get out of here at once AND DON'T EVER LET ME CATCH YOU MENTIONING IT AGAIN!’ responded the PhD candidate, seminar leader, and professor.

Tom bolted down the stairs to the really slow tap, to fill up his S’well, and regroup. There was a frightening magic cast over the TC Beirne School Of Law, and he intended to find out what it was. And there was only one place to start.

Patrick Parkinson’s weekly baptisms in the Moot Court.

More to come.

'It's Time To Come Clean. It Was Me. I Wrote The Civil Liability Act.'

It’s the greatest legal mystery of the modern era. A question so vexing that the sharpest minds in the profession have tried and failed to decipher its answer. The Jumanji of legislation: who wrote the Civil Liability Act?

It was late, litigious evening in 2002. The legal world had put its thinky head to rest. That morning, as if overnight, a statute in Parliament, already passed. The Civil Liability Act was born.

The author has been forever unknown; a Banksy of breach. A Batman of Reasonable Foreseeability. A Michael Hutchence of ‘dang it, I got sued!’

The greatest Act ever penned, its mother known to none. Until today.

For too long I have carried this secret like a bag. I can live in the shadows no longer. It is time to come clean.

It was me. I did it.

I, John John Devereux, wrote the Civil Liability Act.

It is strange to think that I, a quiet boy with a middle name the same as his first name, would grow up to write a big book. But I have; and I did.

I wrote it in 49-minutes. It is very long and I had to write very fast with my pacer pen. But write I did. For Liability was uncivil for too long. I knew that 2002 would be the year to reform. 9/11 taught me that. I am thankful.

This law comic is long, I concede. But there are lots of funny parts. I am thankful.

Never forget that I wrote it. Never forget I sat down with my orange juice on the day of my birth and wrote the Act some call ‘nice.’

I will never write another Act, for this one hurt my arm too much. It is too high a price to pay, a sore arm, for legislative advancements. I am thankful.

When they ask you wrote it, say me. Well, say John Devereux. Don’t say me. For you did not write it. I did. Me.

Thank you for watching.

John Devereux is a lecturer at the TCB Beirne School of Law. He is very tired. There will be no more to come, thank you very much.

National Servers Crash Due To Traffic From QLD Out-Of-Office Emails

Outlook, Gmail, Hotmail and numerous email servers across the nation crashed today due to an unprecedented amount of traffic coming out of Queensland.

The sheer amount of Out-Of-Office automatic replies generated unthinkable workloads that email programs proved ill-equipped to handle. The overwhelming tsunami of communications that expressed the one simple fact, that ‘unforeseen circumstances’ of Gagai being a weapon and Ponga throwing two beautiful passes have rendered countless working professionals wholly unable to perform their duties.

For national companies and firms, a basic all staff email led to the pillaging of inboxes with:

‘Hi there,

I am currently out of the office due to circumstances that were unforeseen until the second half.

For anything urgent, please contact me on my mobile or send a big piccy of Cherry-Evans’ dick to my home address in a sexy envelope.

Best,

Queensland.’

The amount of traffic produced wasn’t just unusual for a Thursday morning, it would’ve been unusual for halftime at the Super Bowl. They crashed the Harvard Network. And we’ll be damned if that wasn’t Cameron Munster’s secret little plan all along, the terrifying little devil.

But at the end of the day, Queensland, a million tries isn’t cool. You know what’s cool?

A billion tries. You heard us.

No more to come in any way shape or form, whatsoever.

Peter Høj Forced To Step Down After Police Raids Unveil Cockfighting Operation

UQ Vice Chancellor Peter Høj has bowed to calls by animal rights groups to resign this morning after police raids on the Chancellory Building unveiled evidence of a massive, girthy cockfighting operation being run out of UQ’s administration buildings.

The resignation marks an inglorious end to his six year tenure as leader of one of Australia’s most prestigious G08 universities.

The raids, which led to the arrests of some 187 UQ staff members and the seizure of hundreds of game cocks specifically bred for strength and stamina in order to fight to the death for sport, saw Mr Høj charged under the Animal Care and Protection Act 2001.

The act of cockfighting is illegal in Queensland as is the possession, training and breeding of cocks for fighting. The ancient, cruel blood sport is known to inflict serious pain and suffering on the animals involved.

A member of the Queensland Police Force with first hand knowledge of the investigation was able to reveal to us that the raids also turned up dozens of cannabis plants and more than three million euros in cash. Police believe the cockfighting syndicate was part of an even larger ring with ties to the Japanese Yakuza and the South East Asian underworld.

At press time, RSPCA Qld Chief Inspector Daniel Young was urging anyone with further information to come forward.

Mr Høj’s lawyers have thus far declined to speak to the media.

More to come.

UQ Solutions: Turn The Schonell Into The Ramsay Theatre For Western Performance!

Anyone who's anyone walking around the fabled grounds of the UQ campus at the moment will know three things are in huge debate.

The demolition vs redevelopment of the Schonell Theatre, the introduction of the Ramsay Centre for Western Civilisation to build on an Arts degree, and finally whether the drinking tap at the entrance of the Law Library is so slow to fill up a water bottle that it’s even worth using.

While for legal reasons we can't comment our thoughts on the pissweak bubbler, we are willing to lend our voices to the debate, and to anyone nearby, as to the future of the Schonell and the Ramsay Centre.

Proponents of the Ramsay Centre say it will bring 'free' money to UQ's HASS department, while advocates against it claim it is simply a bullish form of imperial racism disguised as a friendly degree. As for the Schonell, really the debate is between whether we need another building of classrooms.

I know I love classrooms!

But, to quote Mia (that's actually her name) from Old El Paso, 'porque no los dos?' Or to more accurately quote the people who created One Direction, 'why don't we smoosh them together?'

Genius!

Let's create the Ramsay Schonell Theatre for Western Stuff and other Performances. Then we'll have a juicy new theatre, for free, and the Law Revue, Med Revue, Underground Theatre, Opera students etc. will be able to perform to their heart's desire, in between the odd showing of 'An Octoroon,' and the musical retelling of 'Birth of a Nation'.

And we can’t wait to see Tony Abbott star in the debut production of ‘The Book Of More-Men,’ a musical about Tony’s opinions on the makeup of the Federal cabinet.

Can't see how that could possibly go wrong!

Peter HOwithalinethroughitJ, the ball is firmly in your court. And by court, we mean the Supreme Court, because if you don't make it happen we'll sue you for something or another.

So much more to come.

Phil Gould Delays Origin Kickoff With 236-Minute Monologue

The Obiter can confirm that kickoff for tonight’s State of Origin Game I has been delayed, with Phil Gould’s pre-game monologue expected to stretch to a staggering three hours and fifty six minutes.

The speech, which tops the length of each of the Lord of the Rings films, is expected to touch on a range of topics, including Queensland’s hopes in the Cherry-Evans era, the prevalence of filmed group sex in the rugby league community, denuclearisation, puppy fat, and the legacy of Henry Kissinger.

Most interestingly, Gould’s speech will include a performance of his very own forty-three minute one act play titled ‘Friday Night Hairball,’ which tracks his struggle with having stupid looking hair in 2011-2012. The one-act piece, which also stars Jessica Lange in the dual roles of The Angel and The Doctor, has been described as ‘surprisingly good,’ but in the same way you’re surprised when the $7 steak special at the pub isn’t grilled cardboard.

As players and fans grow restless, Gould has rumbled on with his very special turn of phrase, drawing a long analogy between Cherry-Evans and Jesus Christ. ‘From pariah to messiah’ is clearly a phrase that Phil has spent some time working on.

No matter how long we wait for kickoff, however, we can be sure that whatever nonsense Gould spews for the next hour will be better than the simply deranged decision to have Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson provide the pre-match speech in 2015.

That was fucked.

The rest of the details surrounding Gould’s speech remain a mystery. But one thing is certain on this chilly Wednesday night at the Cauldron.

This….. is…. Origin.

More to come from this young team, the weight of history upon their shoulders, as they look to their new captain for hope and inspiration when the times get tough, and Origin football falls upon you harder than ever.

Centuries Of Genocide Made Good By Elite Private School’s 'Sorry Day' Display

Phew!

Just as it looked unlikely that the vast disparities in health and economic outcomes between Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians would be closed anytime soon, The Obiter is excited to report today that centuries of genocide, ethnic cleansing and structural discrimination have been made good by a local elite private school’s Sorry Day display.

The display, incorporating an Aboriginal flag, as well as poems written by the non-Indigenous students of what is among the country’s most expensive private schools, has properly addressed the gaping historical injustices that linger on in this country to this day and completely healed the divide between Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians.

At press time, a spokesperson for the Yugara and Turrbal peoples of Brisbane confirmed that Indigenous Australians everywhere had accepted the elite private school’s apology and looked forward to the day the progressive minded sons and daughters of the elite would themselves come to power and preside over the exact same system of structured oppression and inequality their fathers presided over, while making sure to begin every uttering with a blithe acknowledgement of Country.

Guess this is a major bullet dodged for those afraid that tokenistic recognition of the suffering endured by Indigenous Australians would detract from any resolution of the broader issues.

And at the end of the day, it’s unlikely anything will be able to have remotely the same impact as a moment’s silence at assembly before the school collectively listening to ‘Solid Rock’ by Goanna.

Please for the love of God, no more to come.

Smear Campaign During Year 7 School Captain Election Ruthlessly Effective

The hopes of a future Year 6 Leader in Kedron West are in tatters today after the launch of a merciless smear campaign. Brody McFadden (11) was the forerunner and 6C nominee going into the general election however pre-polls now have him polling in the single digits after rival Timothy Duke accused McFadden of shitting himself during last week’s assembly.

McFadden’s campaign, based upon fighting austerity measures imposed by the P&C who reduced the schools muffin morning from weekly to monthly, proved wildly popular among the student body. It appears that Duke could not secure the funding to upgrade the school’s computer labs and had to fight dirty.

The smear campaign was launched during first break with a team of lobbyists spreading rumours that quickly made their way through the handball line. This coincided with the appearance of posters showing McFadden’s face smeared with poo coloured Texta. While Duke denies any involvement in the erection of the posters despite an outcry by McFadden loyalists.

We reached out to Brody for a comment, he spoke to us through tears.

‘I didn’t poo my pants I swear. I was sitting near stinky Hamish, he probably did it. This isn’t fair I don’t even want to be school captain anymore I just want people to not think I’m weird and a pant shitter.’

Unfortunately, the impact of the campaign has reached the McFadden family. Brody’s dad can no longer drop his son in the zone near the school in the mornings due to fears of being associated with a known pant shitter.

‘Yeah, it’s pretty fucked, I thought I’d raised him better than this. Everyone knows politicians are grubs but I didn’t think they ever meant it this literally,’ stated Chris McFadden (42).

Even Brody’s mum Tracy, who has been a lollipop lady for over a decade at the school hasn’t escaped unscathed.

‘Some of the meaner kids added an extra O to my fluoro vest so now it says Lollipoop,’ said Tracy.

As at the time of publication McFadden is preparing to fire back with accusations that Duke is a nose picker however it may be too little too late with Timothy already preparing his victory speech. In hindsight such a brutal campaign can’t be good for the mental health of a prepubescent boy, but if you can’t handle the heat get out of the quadrangle.

Further election coverage to come.

Heartbreaking: This Student Has Lost Five Grandmas This Semester

The Obiter loves a heart-warming story. A local piece about a hero or fete or hero at a fete that just puts a smile on your face.

But sometimes, that’s not news folks. Sometimes, news be dark.

Third-year Arts/Law student Tyson de Shaw (21) was already having a tough semester. Taking on an unbeaten four subjects at once, Tyson had been struggling to balance the demands of assessment and his job at City Beach, where shifts were coming in twos, threes, and even fours each month.

Tyson was not in the headspace to take another blow. And then it arrived.

Over the course of this semester, academic records leaked to The Obiter reveal, Tyson has lost no less than five grandmothers.

Many of us will only ever lose, at most, two grandmothers in our lives, or one if we’re lucky. But Tyson has experienced the worst loss imaginable to a person multiplied by 2.5. Losing five grandmothers in one semester is a pain to be unbearable to comprehend.

And the worst part? All five deaths coincided with the major assessment peaks of semester. Yep, you read that right. What did Tyson do in a past life to deserve this fate? Engineer a genocide? Plan 9/11? Write for Brooklyn Nine-Nine?

During the mid-semester break, when most students were ploughing through essays, Tyson was forced to ask for two extensions when the first two grandmamas ate shit in regards to living.

Then, after attending both funerals at Event Cinemas, Tyson attempted to rebuild his life and get his study back on track in time for exams. No can do, said Madame Fate.

Week 13 rolled around and Tyson was slapped across the dick a second time by reality: three more grandmothers had been cordially invited to stop being alive. Hell hath opened up and swallowed our Tyson, for it is where he now resides.

Thankfully, UQ were able to grant Tyson extensions for his assessment; a measly silver lining to an otherwise grandma-less existence.

The only person hurting more than Tyson is his Grandpa Brigham, who lost five wives. The family are reportedly leaning on their Mormon faith more than ever throughout this hard time.

More to come (both grandmothers, and news).