Friend’s Anecdote Sounding Suspiciously Like A HIMYM Episode

A casual afternoon of beers and anecdotes has been absolutely rocked by the revelation that a friend’s ‘funny story’ sounds suspiciously close to the subplot of a HIMYM episode.

On a verandah in Auchenflower, surrounded by his mates, Arts/Law student Chris Ellis (21) decided to share with everyone a ‘hilarious’ anecdote about his misadventures the previous weekend. But about two minutes into the tale, it became immediately apparent that Chris probably just fell asleep watching How I Met Your Mother last night, and has somehow absorbed a classic episode into his human memory.

‘It all started when we were down at the bar,’ began Chris’ story, not really raising any suspicions. Indeed, being down at the bar is how most classic stories begin. But when Chris said that a friend of his charged in wearing a suit, dropped a ‘wicked catchphrase,’ and then began talking about their ‘legendary’ plans for the night, the suspicions began.

‘Yeah, the story he was telling seemed weirdly familiar,’ said one of Chris’ friends, Sarah Sinclair (20), in an exclusive with The Obiter.

‘He was talking about this mate who had gone home with a girl, but she’d fallen asleep on the couch, so they all nicknamed him ‘The Sexless Innkeeper.’ That’s literally the title of a great Season 5 episode.’

Not all of Chris’ friends can agree, however, on exactly which HIMYM story he was blatantly plagiarising from. A colleague of Chris’ at Panthera Finance, Marcus Harmon, said that the main part of the story was someone getting Chris’ name wrong, and calling him ‘Swarley’ for the rest of the weekend.

And we’ve even heard reports that Chris agreed with his wife (for a single bachelor, many were shocked to hear he had a wife) that they wouldn’t have children until they saw a doppelganger of everyone in ‘the gang.’ 

‘He kept talking about the gang, oh the gang, oh you guys I was with the gang,’ Sarah shared with us, her tone a blend of undeniable confusion and bemusement.

‘Like, we are literally his only friends. Where’s this other gang coming from?’

Chris couldn’t be reached for comment, but at press time, we’ve heard that he was on a Friends binge last night. Can’t wait for him to recount a story that is less creative, compelling, and innovative than anything on HIMYM.

Good luck, the Count of Monte Chris-o.

No more to come.

Disrupting The Market: I Came At Work Once And Now I Can't Stop Thinking About It

Dear The Obiter,

In this fast-paced media age, it’s all about market disruption. You can have the clearest set of KPIs, and a project management workflow that is the envy of all, but if you can be engaged in some cutting-edge disruption of whatever your chosen market is, then you might as well pack up your bags, move out of your office, and do some nature walks in Western Australia before tragically perishing at a beach just outside of Broome.

But with that in mind, that’s why it’s so alarming that I came at work once, and now I can’t stop thinking about it. Did I disrupt the market? I certainly disrupted ‘having a day where I didn’t somewhat accidentally have a bat at work.’ But did I disrupt my chosen industry, insurance sales?

They say ‘lucky you’re with AAMI,’ but I’m not so sure. I’m not so sure I’m lucky to be privy to this knowledge, that no-one can sort of stop you if you decide to come at work. Sure, it’s incredibly weird, and despite Matthew McConaguhey promoting it in what can only be a paid promotion by Big Wank in The Wolf of Wall Street, it’s not a particularly common thing you see in insurance sales.

So why do I feel like I’ve just opened up the company to a whole new set of possibilities? Why does it feel like insurance sales was never meant to know the raw power possible, trapped inside all of us? 

Sitting at my desk, asking people if they think their life insurance policy is enough to keep them safe should a tragedy befall their family, I think it is rapidly becoming the case that disrupting the market by having some catastrophic work orgasms is my only way forward in this corporate society.

Who knows what the future may hold. I certainly don’t. But I know I want to be a part of it. And I know I won’t be a part of it unless I innovate, innovate, and innovate.

(This has been an open letter to The Obiter from retired Broncos forward, Tonie Carroll. We are exactly as confused as you are).

'I'm Going Dry July,' Says Optimistic Man Thinking His Liver Isn’t Already Dead

Like watching a labrador try to get peanut butter out of one of those contraptions that makes the job difficult, the friends and family of local man Mark van der Walt (26) have looked on with a mix of condescension and adoration as he today declared he would be ‘doing Dry July.’

‘Dry July,’ an inherently cowardly undertaking, involves not consuming any alcohol throughout the month of July, for no apparent reason other than the fact that ‘Dry’ rhymes with ‘July.’ Seems like a lot of intellectual muscles were really sprained with naming that one.

But for many, the month is an opportunity to reflect on one’s relationship with alcohol, to sober up, and to even raise funds from friends who you normally can’t persuade to shout you a pint, but will definitely chip in $30 to your chosen charity that will likely have zero relevance to alcohol abuse.

Mark falls into the camp of ‘doing this to help out my body.’ The Auchenflower local, who has had an excessive BMI since second-year uni, knows that he could be in better shape, but has rarely been able to find the motivation.

This year, however, the relentless nights of drinking and eating starchy carbs have caught up with him, and he has boldly proclaimed to anyone who will listen that he will be embarking on the coward’s way out, ‘Dry July.’

For anyone who knows Mark, however, stifled laughter tends to be the reaction instead of the warm applause which he was expecting. This is because Mark’s liver is so obviously functionally dead.

The hard-working liver, which fought through three years at King’s College, two years in a Paddington sharehouse unironically named ‘The Boys’ Beers Cave,’ and three years (and counting) of office Christmas parties where you try to forget calling the boss’ wife ‘babe,’ is so obviously dead already. 

It is the height of blind optimism to assume a month without alcohol will make any impact on this deceased little fellow.

But go for it anyway, Mark. We’re watching. We’re waiting. And we’re ready with an ice-cold six-pack of Furphy for when you inevitably realise that you want one.

No more to come.

ASOS Software Asks ‘All Good There Brother?’ Every 5 Minutes For More Authentic Shopping Experience

‘Too easy champion, give us a yell if you need a hand,’ and other patronising phrases have been added to the online retailer in order to give customers a more traditional brick-and-mortar shopping experience. 

‘We found that customers were enjoying browsing at their own leisure but were missing the feeling of being alpha’d by a guy who looks like an extra in every early 2000’s frat movie,’ explained an ASOS market analyst. 

The software is effective but proved costly to perfect. The key was getting the tone of voice just right, so you couldn’t quite tell whether the assistant is actually happy to help, or you’d be burdening them if you genuinely require assistance. 

Nevertheless, the results speak for themselves with 85% of customers panic buying the items in their cart when approached by the heavily tattooed virtual assistant.

In order to be gender inclusive a female avatar has also been added for customers who enjoy being called ‘babe’ three times during every sentence.

‘The uptake has been amazing with consumer retention increasing by 35%,’ continued the analyst.

‘People were missing feeling somehow emasculated by a man who was wearing Vans and a lanyard, we are extremely proud to now provide a solution online.’

More to come on this groundbreaking market research.

Academic Board Approves Ramsay Center For Making Sure The Lamb Isn't Fucking Raw

In a move that has stirred a storm of controversy across UQ, the Academic Board has voted in favour of an on-campus presence for the Ramsay Center, and approved their degree, a ‘Bachelor Of Where’s The Fucking Lamb Sauce?’ ( the B. WtfL). 

The Ramsay Center, the brainchild of chef Gordon Ramsay, has long been the subject of criticism, with many on the left claiming it is a poor excuse for a professional chef to come into Australian universities and criticise our students’ ability to cook a sous vide pork belly.

But prominent figures on the right, such as Tony Abbott, Alan Jones, and Matt Preston, have suggested the Ramsay Center’s new degrees will be essential in preparing Australian students for a new global climate.

‘In the digital age, your knowledge of whether any oil is needed in the pan when cooking foie gras will be absolutely essential,’ said the cravat-wearing Preston, before giving us a devastatingly harsh look and stating ‘...of course no oil is needed because foie gras is pure fat, you utter blithering idiots.’

The Ramsay Center promises to teach students the requisite skills, with each Bachelor degree overseen by Gordon Ramsay himself.

Particularly controversial has been the ‘Making Sure The Lamb Isn’t Fucking Raw’ degree, wherein each student will be subject to severe psychological torture at the hands of Ramsay himself.

Indeed, testimonials from schools that have already adopted the Ramsay Center and its associated curriculum have raised some eyebrows. One student describes lovingly making a wedding cake with fresh strawberries, caramelised pineapple, and a delicate grape jus, but upon serving the cake to Ramsay, being met with enormously harsh criticism.

‘Wedding cake? More like divorce,’ stated Ramsay, before hurling the plate onto the floor with such intensity it awoke Jeff from his comatose slumber (didn’t expect a Wiggles joke in a Ramsay article, did you?). 

Regardless of how controversial the Ramsay Center For A Great Eye Fillet may be to those heavily involved in student politics, and those who earnestly care about whether or not they are publicly thought of as ‘Labor Right,’ it’s worth remembering that deep down, no-one actually fucking cares. After all, it’s oil, salt, pepper, in the pan, baste, off the pan, rest, carve.

It’s fucking simple.

No more to come.

'Friend From London,' Actually Just An Acquaintance Who Spent A Day In Notting Hill

A local Brisbanite, who has tragically not graced the shores of the UK this winter, has still decided to tell anyone and everyone who listens about her ‘friend in London,’ and her ‘amazing recommendations,’ despite the fact this friend has been revealed to be a tute acquaintance who, by all accounts, spent like one or two days in Notting Hill, and ate a sandwich at the Camden Markets.

Kathleen Clayton (22) isn’t joining the mass exodus of Australians abroad this winter, but she still wants to get in on the fun. So, for the last few weeks, everyone in Kathleen’s circle has been subject to constant London and Europe recommendations, all from this shadowy figure known only as her ‘friend from London.’

Kathleen’s best friend, Sarah (23), who is travelling the UK and Europe with her boyfriend Daveed (hectic name, right, and he’s white) as we speak, had to endure Kathleen’s very personal take on the ‘Best 9 Gin Bars In Chelsea’ that bore a striking resemblance to an article posted by TimeOut London earlier that day.

But when challenged, Kathleen simply returned to her default position of ‘nah, my friend from London gave me all these recommendations. You wouldn’t know her.’

In a move almost like a primary-schoolesque ‘Yeah, I have a girlfriend, but she goes to a different school,’ Kathleen’s incredible defensiveness about her mysterious fake friend is matched only be her relentless sense that her friends actually want to hear her shitty recommendations.

‘Last night she told us that for a great cup of coffee, we should try Starbucks. Starbucks! What the fuck, cunt?’ shared close friend Nat Harmon (22). Nat’s travel partner, her uni friend Melinda (who Kathleen has once called ‘that gossipy bitch’ to her face), has stayed relatively quiet on the issue, only chipping in when the idea of ‘Nutella crepes in Paris’ was floated as if it were remotely original.

The ‘friend from London’ almost certainly cannot be identified, but The Obiter’s best guess is a loose acquaintance of Kathleen’s who, judging by a careful and detailed search of Instagram, spent one or two days in Notting Hill, taking colourful photos outside of people’s actual homes. 

How fun!

A stream of Instagram stories aside, it’s becoming rapidly apparent to us here at HQ that Kathleen’s friends are being needlessly ungrateful, and should probably just grab a deck of cards and deal with it.

No more to come.

Foxtel Subscription Cancelled After Posting Homophobic Status

Um, yikes.

Recently we’ve seen some big names eat a slice of bigot pie and, rightly, earn a #cancelled stamp across their name.

This week, a local family’s Foxtel subscription is the latest to be #cancelled.

The account was already on thin ice when, the week after the Game of Thrones finale aired, the account suggested that Bob Brown ‘might not be helping’ when he drove his Caravan of Courage up north to trick bogans and kill mines. 

Hey boss, can my eyebrows get a raise - this is bad!

But as Big Little Lies and The Handmaid’s Tale came back on TV, the subscription appeared to have pulled its head in. Think again. 

On Tuesday, the account was #cancelled after posting a status on its Foxtel Facebook (please don’t ask questions) saying ‘maybe those complaining about Israel Folau should google a little thing called freedom of religion.’

Sorry Foxtel - you’re #cancelled, you homphobic, backwards, bigoted organization. You’re #cancelled, you gay cunt.

Oh fuck, we didn’t mean gay like gay we meant... 

We are so sorry.

Our time has come. Our song is sung. 

The Obiter: #cancelled.

Absolutely nothing more to come.

Selfie Outside Random Church Enough To Convince Mum You’re Doing Something ‘Cultural’ In Europe

While Europe is generally regarded by Australian youth as one giant brick of reliable coke, many parents have a different conception of the continent. 

This quite archaic worldview tends to picture Europe as a set of incredibly culturally diverse nations, each with sights and landmarks well worth experiencing for the young traveller. 

With a great number of these young travellers receiving ‘support’ for their European journeys from their parents, it is pivotal to keep the expectations of the folks in mind, even if completely superficially. 

Well, today’s your lucky day! 

The Obiter has one sure fire tip to keep your parents happy: take a selfie in front of every random church you walk past and send them through periodically to keep them off your scent. 

While in reality you’re rooting/attempting to root hot Europeans, buying cheap pingers off some rando despite a severe language barrier, and spending 80% of daylight hours recovering in a hostel, your parents will be none the wiser.

So, next time you’re walking back to your hostel at 9am after a big night out in Barcelona/Prague/Split/Berlin/any other typical European party-city, take a bit of time out to pay respects to your parents who funded that trip. It’s not hard.

And in the words of Retox Party Hostel Budapest, ‘it is a close family of drinkers who like to drink at the bar during the day and head out to party at night.’ Remember your real family and maybe send them a selfie in front of a random old building that you can boldly call ‘Hungarian Parliament.’

More to come on our devastatingly useful travel trips.

'League Is Mungoball, Lol,' Says Union Fan Who Last Went To A Reds Game In 2011

The endlessly clever brigade of rugby union supporters have today reached their absolute zenith, deploying their trademark brand of incisive wit and devastating analysis on the fans of rival code, rugby league, describing league as ‘Mungoball.’

This is despite the fact that the vast majority of union supporters last went to a Reds game in 2011, and are still pretty convinced that Pocock plays for the Western Force. But hey, what can you do? It’s Mungoball.

The earth-shatteringly intelligent comment came in the wake of a suggestion that league is a more popular code in the Australian sporting landscape, which is obvious bullshit. League might have greater viewership figures, more sponsors, more participation, and not be on literal life support, but it’s also, and you can’t forget this, ‘Mungoball.’

The charming folk at Green & Gold Rugby are sure to remind each other of this at every turn, with the same sort of shared delusion that we’re sure was enjoyed by the passengers of the Titanic as it sank into the icy depths below.

But at least the passengers of the Titanic were able to enjoy a relatively quick death, as opposed to the excruciatingly, agonisingly slow demise of rugby union in this country, a process that started with Eddie Jones’ 3-0 vengeance in 2016, and is currently in the ‘Israel Folau forever murders the ARU’s reputation’ phase.

But enough about Israel Folau, and don’t breathe a word of Palestine Folau. This is about ‘Mungoball.’ The ‘lesser code.’ The ‘little brother.’

Ignoring the fact that with many union fans letting their Foxtel subscription go, they literally haven’t watched a Super Rugby match in years, it’s worth asking what kind of lower-class game would have uncontested scrums. Um, thugs, much?

Witty Facebook comments aside, it’s evident to all nineteen rugby union fans that theirs is the superior code. After all, they play it at Nudgee, and do you remember James O’Connor? Wow, what a player. Ignore everything he’s done since he graduated from school, and you have yourself a fairly bona fide argument for union being the true world sport.

But all football debates aside, everyone can agree that the only global game with any sort of claim to that throne is the devilishly simple, erotic art of Golf.

No more to come.

‘It’d Be Rude Not To,’ Captions Influencer Being Rude By Taking A Boomerang During Dinner

11.4K. It’s not only the amount of money a poor person makes a year. It’s also the number of followers Bec Holly (@bec_holly) has acquired on Instagram, after three years as a full-time influencer.

The small fortune Bec has built up photographing herself putting $88.99 goat smegma on her cheeks allows her to shout her group of awesome and interesting friends a cheeky dinner on the town, roughly every day or so. 

Treat!

At the latest, but certainly not last, supper, Bec’s cheeseboard and cocktail proved too aesthetic to eat without a thorough documentation process.

Activate Operation Boomerang.

Bec captured the meal in an innovative lean-in-and-out motion. She utilised her absolutely sharp wit on her go-to caption, ‘It’d Be Rude Not To .’

The caption failed to recognise that the Boomy was taken in the middle of her closest friend’s account of a harrowing breakup, and that her feeling of duty towards the polite Boomy was misplaced.

‘Sometimes you have to,’ she captioned a follow-up story, as the waiter tried and failed to check in on how she was enjoying her meal.

The final instalment read ‘Thank you so much to the hard working kitchen and waitstaff’ as she wandered out, without remembering to pay.

More to come.