‘Huh, This Might Be Serious,’ Says Sheltered Millennial As Splendour Gets Cancelled

As news broke yesterday of Splendour In The Grass’ cancellation, thousands of youth across the country began to think that maybe the COVID-19 pandemic is a little more serious than initially thought.

Coming out of an alcoholic stupor is never easy, particularly when accompanied by the news of Splendour’s closing. But such a fate awaited Gold Coast local Trent Darcen (22) yesterday morning, as his beers-and-nose-beers-ridden weekend gave way to the depressing weekday reality that Splendour is shitcanned.

And whilst Trent has been overheard telling ‘panicked city boys’ at the local RSL that they look like ‘fucking wankers’ for using hand sanitiser while they play the pokies, this may be the move he needs to start reading the news. 

‘After all, if they can cancel Splendour, what else could they cancel? The footy?’ suggested Trent, before we calmly had to pull him aside to explain that football games will likely be played behind the closed doors.

‘They fucking what?!’ he exploded, before we managed to calm him down with a matcha latte. It seems that the catalyst for Trent’s appreciation of current affairs has been the Splendour cancellation, as he is now rapidly informing us that the Federal Government’s social distancing measures are insufficient to flatten the curve given that testing only ever gives an accurate picture of infection rates two weeks ago.

What a turnaround.

Trent is evidently not the only chap disappointed about the Splendour cancellation, as Australia’s top drug dealers are now wondering what to do with their 30 000 sugar caps and 400kg of ‘magic’ mushrooms (actually just from Coles) on that fateful weekend in July.

Godspeed, gentlemen. At the end of the day, if you were just going to Splendour to get fucked up at a campground with everyone you knew in high school four years ago, you might as well just drink yourself into a state on your living room couch, passing out at 2pm, and only waking up at 8pm to have a half-assed wank and eat a single slice of pizza.

Plenty more to come!

‘Haha, Tom Cruise Was Also Isolated In That Movie!’ Says Local Comedian

A local nitwit has just put two and two together, making the most obvious joke of the week in a year where everyone noticed the ‘coronavirus’ sounds like a brand of beer. 

David Hard (22), a Commerce student cruising into his sixth year of a four-year degree, treated himself to a little chuckle yesterday when news broke that local actor Tom Hanks, and his smokin’ hot wife Rita Wilson, had tested positive to COVID-19 on the Gold Coast.

‘I can’t believe it!’ he yelled to no-one in particular, as he sat in his bedroom vaping and watching episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine on his Nintendo Switch.

‘He’s going to have to isolate himself. Tom Hanks! The Gump of Forrest himself!’

If you were in the room next to David, you could’ve almost heard the gears in his mind working overtime. His mind scanned through countless movies Mr Hanks, searching for the joke that everyone had figured out a few hours beforehand.

As his fat thumbs stubbed their way across his cracked iPhone 5, informing his cleverly-titled groupchat ‘CoronaBoys’ of every thought that crossed his diseased brain, his mind raced faster than Valentine Holmes making a break at 1300SMILES stadium tonight.

‘Toy Story? Is there something there?’

But there was nothing there. Until a metaphorical volleyball hit him in the face. ‘Cast Away!’ he exclaimed, flecks of spit flying everywhere. ‘Tom Hanks was isolated in that movie Cast Away!’

As he informed all his group chats of his comic revelation, he rested easy. The big fella had nailed another one for that day.

More to slum.

New Strain Of Coronavirus Forces UQ Patient To Go To Friday's And Get With Everyone

Researchers and epidemiologists are absolutely baffled by the latest case of coronavirus in Queensland, as the patient, a UQ student who had recently returned from Europe, was reportedly compelled by the virus to immediately head to Friday’s Riverside and get with everyone, including your ex.

As news broke today of the misadventures of this unwell young man, memories start flooding back of the weekend for many of Brisbane’s youth. 

‘There was that guy everyone got with,’ stated Obiter reporter who just happened to suspiciously be at Friday’s that night, Caity Anderson. ‘And I guess he was also coughing in everyone’s drink, and also making sure every surface was covered in his spit.’

‘But I didn’t think anything of it at the time.’

With the young man now in isolation after obtaining countless sweet, sweet hookies on Friday night, researchers are doing the utmost to understand the fresh strain of COVID-19 present in his system, which encouraged him to go absolutely bananas after a couple of Furphy’s and pash literally everyone present.

‘It’s incredible. Not only did he come down with a fever and respiratory issues, the virus also made him some absolute playboy, and he immediately became irresistible to everyone present,’ stated lead researcher, Dr Stephen Beh.

Many commentators have suggested that ‘it is incredibly disturbing’ for such a virus to have spread at Friday’s, but in our opinion, if you’re leaving Friday’s with only coronavirus to your name, you’re doing a lot better than last time we went there, and all received gonorrhea from those weird cosmopolitans they do at like 11pm.

Whilst official government directions have been to refrain from naming the infected young man, for fear of lynching and violent reprisals from both health activists and jaded exes, we can formally reveal that young’s man name is: Michael Fielding.

No more to come.

Man Accidentally Confesses to Committing War Crimes in Tutorial Icebreaker

An ECON1010 tutorial group has been left shellshocked this morning after mature-age student Andrew Saunders (32) accidentally claimed responsibility for a war atrocity during a game of 'Two Truths One Lie'.

Reports say tutor James Somerville (21) began the activity with an eye toward continuing a proud UQ tradition of making Week 2 tutorials incredibly uncomfortable and objectively useless. Somerville initially appeared to have accomplished this goal, as student after student rose to deliver uninteresting facts about themselves, sprinkled in with an uninteresting lie about themselves. All students were grateful to learn that Cara Simpson was born at the Royal Brisbane Hospital.

After appearing somewhat sheepish, Saunders jumped into his turn with a smile.

"Alright here goes:

1. I played badminton for Queensland when I was in Grade 9.

2. I engaged in extra-judicial killings during my first tour of Iraq before being honourably discharged after a massive coverup.

3. I have an identical twin."

The room stood deathly silent as his usually apathetic audience sat up in their chairs at the possibility of a pretty sick edgy joke. Sensing nobody would have a punt, Saunders revealed his deepest, most disturbing secret:

“Number 3 is the lie! While I do have a twin, he is actually my fraternal twin, not identical!”

As the group of supple first years recoiled in horror, Saunders realised his mistake.

“Haha… just kidding. I did NOT kill those civilians… Haha… pranked!” stated Saunders, before sprinting out of the room.

No more to come.

Oldest Trick In The Book: ‘You Don’t Look A Day Over 30!’ Says 19-Year-Old Bartender To MILF Ordering Birthday Cocktails

‘Who’s this good-looking young thirty-year-old?’ he claims.

He’s a master of his craft.

It’s a scene everyone has seen before. A recently divorced woman from Jindalee, who invited her equally uncouth fellow compatriots out for a night on the piss has fallen in love with the young man behind the bar, who is doing exactly what any self-respecting, horny young man in his position would do.

‘Well you’re a kind young gentleman,’ slurred the horrendously intoxicated 50-something, swooning over the vaguely spotty, teenage bartender. 

Despite him not even being alive to watch the 1995 Pride and Prejudice mini-series, Karen Murray (52) feels like she is staring into the eyes of Colin Firth in all his wet-shirted glory, following the well executed compliment by one Jack McDonald (19).

But the fanny-flutters don’t stop there! 

McDonald tactfully deploys yet another missile by refusing to let Murray pay for her drink, telling her that ‘this one’s on the house… happy birthday darl (sic).’

Despite having no interest in romantically pursuing the enamoured geriatric, McDonald admits it would be ‘pretty sick banter,’ to be able to tell all his mates he shagged a woman old enough to be his mother.

And it’d be even sicker if Karen turned out to be, like, one of his mate’s aunts or something.

More to cum.

Criminally Hungover Partner Really Regretting Sending It At Annual Professional Drinks Last Night

Every year, 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.

Suri Cup Cricket: First-Year Tells Russell Hinchy To ‘Get Ready For A Broken Fucking Arm, Mate’

Dramatic scenes are occurring in Forgan Smith, as tensions are ratcheting up between students and staff as legendary cricket match, the Suri Ratnapala Cup, draws ever closer.

Sledging and aggression is reaching new heights, as one plucky first-year was recently overheard telling swashbuckling opening batsman, and prominent law lecturer, Russell Hinchy, that he had better ‘get ready for a broken fucking arm, mate.’

As Mitch McDonald (18) was held back by his other Churchie mates, the harsh sledge escaped his lips, catching the attention of Mr Hinchy, who gazed up and down at the lean young Anglican product.

‘I’ll see you on the pitch, you snivelling coward,’ spat Hinchy, fixing McDonald with one of his withering glares usually reserved for students who fail to correctly highlight the ratio decidendi in some obscure English legal decision.

As excitement builds around this Sunday’s cricket match, an aggressive tone has gripped the Law School, with rogue cricket balls flying around like bludgers. Our sources indicate Nicholas Aroney has taken to wearing his box as he lectures, as his fear of any premature low blows is far outweighing any embarrassment he might feel.

Regardless, Sunday’s entertainment promises to be a frighteningly exciting, beer-soaked, action-packed day of frivolity. But if your name is Lewis Radford, expect them short, fast, and frighteningly close to your jaw.

No more to fuckin’ come, mate.

Corporate Office Makes Up For Relentlessly Overworking Grads By Whipping Out A Woolies Mud Cake

In Eagle Street offices everywhere, junior lawyers and bankers are being rewarded for their sacrifices by their corporate overlords. 

Despite only surviving on 4 to 5 hours of sleep per night and working 70 hour weeks, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed junior associates are relieved to finally see the fruits of their labour, arriving in front of them in the hallowed shape of a Woolworths mud cake. 

Even after only being paid the equivalent of $13.70 an hour, Mikayla Harris (24) and her colleagues report that they’re so grateful for the partner’s generosity after he painstakingly  organised the delivery of such a difficult to find, and expensive, delicacy. 

‘Hey it’s the least I can do for them, you know?’  reported M&A partner, Tim Swanson. 

‘We really care about mental health here at [REDACTED]. We let staff do yoga sometimes to help them de-stress from their busy corporate schedules. And hey, at our Sydney office, we’re sometimes cool with you going to the gym on your lunch hour!’

HR officer, Sarah Ford, also noted the unbridled generosity of Swanson and decided this was a perfect time to whip out her phone to capture some perfectly candid moments for [REDACTED]’s LinkedIn page like she was fucking Mary Antoinette.

Mikayla, a first-year grad with a sense of relentless optimism that will soon be crushed by the cold realisation she’s wasting away the greatest years of her youth, spending three hours a day ruminating on the pros and cons of ‘hotdesking,’ is pretty stoked about the cake, to be fair.

Amid the tears and breakdowns, the soothing flavours of chocolate and chocolate work particularly well with the budget napkins and plastic forks upon which they are served. However, The Obiter is hearing reports that uniquely nefarious firms have switched out the Woolies mud cake to a gluten-free carrot cake option from Nodo.

Are they trying to fucking kill us?

No more to slum.

Bottle Of 'Extra-Virgin' Olive Oil Really Enjoyed Latest Season Of Rick & Morty

A local bottle of Coles Extra Virgin Olive Oil has some pretty positive comments to make about the latest season of Dan Harmon’s nerdcore masterpiece Rick & Morty, according to shoppers of Coles Alderley this morning.

The humble container of Coles Brand (not Coles Select) Extra Virgin was chirping away to anyone who would listen, and bizarrely, wearing an ill-fitting T-shirt tucked into white jeans, with a pair of white socks tucked into its sandals to match. 

Whilst many culinary scientists and food specialists have suggested that the ‘Extra Virgin’ tag has nothing to do with the sexual prowess of the olive oil itself, and rather, refers to the number of pressings the oil has experienced, the evidence seen this morning at the supermarket begs to differ. How else can one realistically explain a literal bottle of olive oil yelling at customers ‘Rick Sanchez is my idol! I’m Pickle Rick, look at me! Pickle Rick, woo! That episode about snakes in Season 4 was actually pretty unreal!’

Befuddling local consumers, many of whom were simply trying to buy local produce and enjoy the sweet sounds of Coles Radio without being interrupted by the aggressive diatribes of an anthropomorphic bottle of olive oil, which was somehow less entertaining that Seth Rogen’s supermarket flop, Sausage Party.

‘Yeah, I was just trying to get some kidney beans for my dialysis treatment,’ reported local grandmother, and keen over-80’s tennis player, Beryl Bethlington (82). ‘And then this bottle of fucking oil, of all things, kept screaming in my ear exactly how much of a genius Dan Harmon is, and wouldn’t shut up about how Jerry is a metaphor for cucked men everywhere.’

‘I mean, get over it, virgin.’

At press time, the olive oil has just discovered Fortnite and vaping, and seems pretty committed to singing the praises of both of those incredibly hot and sexy pursuits.

No more to come.

Beleaguered Bartender Sick Of Answering Which Beer Has ‘The Lowest Carbs’

In frustrating news coming out of Brisbane’s vibrant pub scene, a local glassie has reportedly sighed yet another sigh of exhaustion this Friday night, as he was faced yet again with an enterprising, thoughtful, if somewhat vague young patron absentmindedly asking ‘hey pal, which beer has the lowest carbs?’

Gritting his teeth together, he ran the local punter through her options, weaving a verbal tapestry down the road of Pure Blonde and Burleigh Brewing, before she decided to simply go with a vodka soda.

Whilst that decision made far more sense in terms of calories, it served only to frustrate the beleaguered bartender, Tom Salisbury (21), who currently studies a Bachelor of Paramedics. Whilst he sees many patients in the course of his degree, the real patience he needs (hey!) is the enormous reserves of patience to deal with the four-schooners-deep Friday afternoon crowd who just read a Pedestrian.tv article about the benefits of a low-carb beer.

‘Look, it’s beer. It’s not good for you. Just order a schooner of Toohey’s New and enjoy it,’ Tom told The Obiter in an exclusive interview as he wiped down the bar of Jade Buddha.

‘It’s carbonated yeast and hops-water. I don’t know why people are expecting some miracle health benefit from low-carb beer. It’s not a Powerade, or something,’ he said, misguidedly, although Tom’s crooked grin and bleached-blonde hair meant our interviewer was as turned on as he was confused.

At press time, the young woman who asked Tom the ‘low-carb’ query was recently spotted asking the Uber driver with the Mentos trapped in the backseat ‘was vegan.’

No more to come.