‘This Will Reflect Well On Me,’ Says Cartoon Villain Peter Hoj Preparing To Expel Drew Pavlou

UQ Senator and occasional good bloke, Drew Pavlou, is in the firing line today, and it’s not just a Facebook comments section that’s grown hostile to his chaotic mix of aggression and tension. Cartoon villain Peter Hoj, fresh from diving into a literal pool filled with gold coins, has reportedly sought to expel Pavlou.

The Vice-Chancellor, a man of Danish heritage, is presumably very good at writing tense, bleak crime thrillers and taxing his citizens at an eyewatering rate, as his ethnic origins would suggest. But he is weaker at reading the public mood, exemplified by the latest flight of fancy which has preoccupied the man responsible for guiding Queensland’s premier educational institution through its greatest challenge of the modern era.

Instead of focusing his incisive wit and undivided attention to the COVID-19 pandemic and its impact on higher education, it appears Mr Hoj has taken umbrage with a cocky twenty-year-old who, armed with nothing but a Facebook account and a face that was punched once, has managed to embarrass Mr Hoj and the University to such a degree that Hoj is looking to expel the young man.

The fellow in question, Drew Pavlou, is a lot of things. A rebel. An iconoclast. A punk. A father. A poet. A serviceman. A dentist. A goldfish, in a bowl of dreams. But above all else, he is a student of UQ, and is undeniably, inextricably entwined with the fates of that institution.

Across a series of increasingly obnoxious Facebook posts, Mr Pavlou has criticised Hoj and the administration of the University. Instead of taking the high road, which would be relatively easy given Hoj is literally twice Pavlou’s age, Hoj has decided to become personally offended by these comments, many of which are blatant jokes. 

Admittedly, humour tends to struggle in Denmark. One wonders that if Pavlou was simply making tight crime-thrillers on SBS with subtitles and a stunning performance from a Skarsgard or something, Hoj would be listening.

But alas.

The University seems to have both barrels trained on Pavlou, in some misguided notion that expelling the man will reflect well upon them. This is up there with such classically foolish ideas as ‘that sixth beer won’t hurt at Jade Buddha happy hours,’ and ‘thirty pieces of silver is a worthwhile trade here.’

It’s worth considering whether the University is ignorant to its student bodies hopes, concerns, and dreams, or whether they are simply brazenly pushing past them to achieve their own goals. And when faced with this binary question, of whether they are blind or bullies, it’s hard to imagine which is better.

Twirling his cane, tipping his top hat, and adjusting his monocle as he strolls the halls of the University, Mr Hoj is likely feeling pretty positive about his prospects of succeeding against Mr Pavlou. After all, this is just some Arts student, just some kid, and the whole of the University surely has the resources to expel him.

But as that ninth bottle of champagne is consumed by Hoj’s four pet tigers, which were bought by the Vice-Chancellor in an incredibly prescient homage to Netflix’s ‘Tiger King,’ maybe a pang of doubt and guilt will set in. Who knows?

Plenty fucking more to come.

Uni Student Society Solves COVID-19 With Heartfelt ‘Stay At Home’ Instagram Story

They’ve done it. Those crazy bastards, they’ve really done it.

In a twist absolutely no-one saw coming, least of all the scientists, politicians, and researchers’ who were at their wits end, a small but plucky society of like-minded university students have come together to achieve the sweetest victory of all: ending the COVID-19 pandemic.

And all it took was a spirited series of Instagram stories reminding people to do the same thing they’ve been doing for the last three weeks! Who knew?!

The UQ Accounting and Financial Business Law Management Society (also known as the UQAFBLMS, which sounds like a degenerative motor-neurone disease you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy), with an executive composed entirely of third-year students who were searching for meaning beyond a 5.2 GPA and a penchant for schooners at The Regatta, decided to make the monumental decision this morning, when some absolute fucking bright spark in their group chat suggested the most impactful format of all for their message.

The humble Instagram story.

And in a series of adorable photos and videos, imploring their thirty-odd followers to ‘stay at home to save lives,’ it seems this brave society might have just done it. It’s not easy for an executive to transition from hosting social events at the Red Room to being at the forefront of managing a global crisis, but hey - if that’s not what they train you for at Grammar Debating, I don’t know what is.

Rest assured for those fearing these students will simply let their success stand without alerting the world. Reports indicate Treasurer Anthony Salisbury has already written ‘solved the Coronavirus pandemic without breaking a sweat’ into his LinkedIn bio, whilst President Lillian Jackson has promptly updated her resume with the title of ‘Problem-Solver Extraordinaire.’

This is just what this country needed, and it’s so darn good of these students to provide. Brilliant efforts, everyone!

No more to bitterly come.

‘Had An Insane Bender For The Easter Long Weekend,’ Says Bloke Who Had Two Beers With His Dad

‘Thank fuck for a public holiday Monday, I am feeling dusty as,’ said local man Brent Power (23) in an unanswered text to his group chat, ‘The Caxton Street Regulars,’ this morning.

Whilst the Easter long weekend would traditionally be a time of rejoicing, being grateful, and using the two public holidays to absolutely murder your liver with ethanol combinations the likes of which have not been seen since Christmas, this Easter certainly has a different flavour.

And that flavour isn’t the flavour of pangolin, or bat, no sir, but the flavour of ‘hanging out with Dad.’

Whilst Brent, a long-term Commerce student and account representative officer for the Department of Financial Affairs & Mysteries, usually ‘gets tanked’ with his ‘great group of guys,’ at some remote faraway location like Straddie or Moreton, the quarantine orders imposed this Easter have granted the entire affair a certain ‘beers with Dad’ feel.

However, Brent, in a misguided if vaguely-admirable attempt to keep the spirit of his long weekend alive, decided to have a ‘mental bender’ with his parents last night.

‘King of the mid-strengths, aren’t you Dad?’ whispered Brent in his father’s ear over the lamb-cutlet dinner they ate last night. Proceeding to drink three cans of Mountain Goat Summer Ale in seven minutes, Brent whacked on a few episodes of ‘Marvellous Mrs Maisel’ on the television screen and promtply fell asleep.

Only time will tell whether this supposedly ‘legendary’ night goes down well in the canon of ‘awesome moves’ from the ‘B-Man’ himself, but one thing’s for sure.

Amazon Prime is a great investment.

No more to Krum.

‘The Rules Don’t Apply To Me,’ Says Dickhead Going Away For Easter

A local dickhead has today weighed up two of his most pressing concerns. Firstly, the global pandemic which is killing tens of thousands across the globe, and shattering the institutions and structures we hold dear, and secondly, his rampant desire ‘to get away’ for Easter.

‘I deserve a holiday, right?’ he declared out loud, to no-one in particular, after skimming the Government’s public health directions which pretty clearly state this Brisbane man shouldn’t be trying to ‘get up the coast for a couple of days and have a couple of beers on the beach with a few mates.’

The Brisbane local, Andrew Salisbury (26), has been working from home for the past month, or as he calls it in a weird, nonsensical inversion of the classic joke, ‘hardly working.’ Like, he literally says to colleagues on Zoom calls, ‘working from home or hardly working?’ as if it’s a groundbreaking piece of comedy.

Moving on.

But after watching the Premier’s clear statements of ‘don’t go away for Easter,’ and ‘all our hard work could be undone if you go away,’ this bright spark decided to himself that the rules apply to those who are at risk, not a fit young thing like himself.

After all, he’s been following Men’s Health prescribed muscle-building, fat-burning workout routine, which is basically pushups and steamed chicken breasts, repeated ad nauseaum. 

‘I’m still good to go up to Noosa, right?’ he texted in his group chat of fellow muscle-and-chicken-breast aficionados, all of whom have profoundly nuanced takes on the legislative regime surrounding the COVID-19 pandemic. 

‘No dramas, mate, go bananas,’ stated ‘Dave,’ a young father of three who’s staying at home this Easter because he’s designed a ripper Easter Egg hunt for the backyard of their Taringa home.

As Andrew packed away six cases of Tooheys New, and began calling around his friends to see who wanted to come on holiday with him, a brief moment of conscience flashed before his eyes, before it was dismissed as easily as a tail-end batsman facing Mitchell Starc with a new rock in his hands.

No more to come.

This C**t Won’t Stop Getting Off

Returning to form, George Pell once again got off today.

The disgraced former Cardinal was granted his freedom in a unanimous High Court decision. Keane J, in his majority opinion, wrote that ‘I’ll admit it. I like getting people off, I do it a lot, and sometimes it gets me into some unfortunate situations,’ likely referencing the impending media backlash to his decision.

‘But I’ve got to do it. I have to get this guy off. In the interests of justice.’

Andrew Bolt was seen in the gallery licking his lips and sweating profusely. The notoriously sick puppy let out a sharp, squeaky exhale upon hearing the verdict, before excusing himself from the courtroom.

A jubilant Pell spoke passionately outside the High Court, pointing at the media and shouting ‘just when you cunts thought my days getting off were over, I get off harder than I ever have before!’

Pell proceeded to cackle wildly as he jumped into the nearby sidecar of a leatherbound, motorcycle riding Tony Abbott, and rode into the sunset.

Someone please, for the love of god, put this man in a cell.

‘Well Good Afternoon!’ Says Mum As You Pour Yourself A Bowl of Cereal At 1PM

As you sheepishly crawled up the stairs at 1:18PM on Day 7 of nocturnality, after a well-deserved 11-hour sleep, you realised that this might be getting a little out of control.

Lucky for you, Mum would remind you of that fact as the sound of Uncle Tobys Bran Plus, clattering against the China, rang throughout the four walls of the kitchen.

She took the time to stress you that you weren’t on ‘school holidays’ and that this was a ‘bad habit.’

‘Getting up at half past 3 is no way to live, sweetheart!’

Although you weren’t proud of the time of your awakening, it was hard to see how mum’s achievements of ‘making a coffee’ and ‘chatting to the neighbour’ were really any more significant than the 7 episodes of Tiger King you’d watched in the early hours of that morning.

‘Nice of you to join us!’ Mum exclaimed, peering up over her glasses with Michelle Obama’s autobiography in hand, before detailing the five things she’d achieved that morning.

‘Day’s almost over!’ Dad added quickly in support, hoping that this might help earn his wife’s forgiveness for the sham job he did cleaning the garage yesterday.

Throughout that day, Mum, quite remarkably, managed to mention the time you woke up a total of 38 times, including 12 times to Dad, 4 times to the dog and once to ‘Pol Pot,’ the pot plant on the veranda.

‘Try not to sleep in till 4 o’clock again!’ were the last words you heard that evening.

No more to come.

Local Man Glad He Now Has Good Excuse For Eight-Month Dry Spell

A local hopeless case and Tinder aficionado, Todd Watson (24), has been quietly relieved this week regarding the global pandemic, as it has finally provided him with a ripping excuse for his eight-month dry spell.

Todd, a connoisseur of Toohey’s Extra Dry, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, and the sharp lyricisim of Eminem, has been stuck in a metaphorical sexual rut for some months now, with his awkward demeanour, poor dress sense, and overall air of desperation all being key contributing factors to his inutterable sexual failings.

Over the summer holidays, he desperation plumbed new deaths, as he was rendered unable to talk to his friends about literally anything other than where he was going to ‘get a chop from, lads.’

Indeed, even his work performance suffered, as his tragic obsession with his dry spell bled into his daily life as a town planner. Whilst his workmates were largely supportive of his made-up plight, Todd’s mental state continually deteriorated, imagining his colleagues were bullying him with such inventive phrases as ‘the bloke can plan a town but he can’t plan a root! Bazinga!’

Nevertheless, the dawn of a new era was heralded by Prime Minister Scott Morrison’s comments on Monday night, ensuring that Todd was off the hook, at least for now. ‘It’s unreal,’ he told The Obiter, fresh from downloading the latest season of Law & Order: SVU and cooking spaghetti bolognese for the fifth time this week.

‘There’s no pressure anymore. Like, I could totally have sex if I wanted to, but the government has clarified the legislative approach to one-night stands. Damn!’

His group chats have come alight with such bold lies as 'Haha yeah, quarantine mate, ruining my sex life. Totally. Can't get a shag to save my life.' Whilst some handle this quarantine with self-deluding aplomb, others suffer the daily fear and stress of economic uncertainty and shaken faith in the capacity of the world to deal with crises. Each to their own, we guess!

No more to slum. 

Self-Described ‘Extroverted Introvert’ Realises He’s Just An Extrovert Two Hours Into Quarantine

For many Australians battling feelings of loneliness and isolation during these difficult times, sympathy and empathy is deeply deserved. However, for a rare breed of flogs, we at The Obiter are actually pretty happy that they get some time to think about who they are.

One specific breed is the self-described ‘extroverted introvert.’ This is the person who loves to talk over you in a tutorial, and seems to be at a different 21st every Tuesday night, yet also, in a crazy twist, enjoys watching Netflix alone, and is even happy to spend a night in once every six years.

One such ‘extroverted introvert,’ or as they are also known, ‘liars,’ is Trent Morrison (24). The second-year consultant at David Whitney Hogg Solutions sees himself as a ‘unique character,’ unable to fit into the so-called ‘little boxes’ that have been established.

‘I’m a bit different, you know. I’m happy to enjoy a beer with my mates, but also I don’t mind being home, just watching a movie,’ stated Trent, describing a feeling literally every human has as something somehow unique, or interesting.

However, this recent bout of quarantine has highlighted Trent’s hypocrisy, as he now realises he is just outright an extrovert. Speaking to us from his one-bedroom New Farm apartment, with a view of the city but no mates to enjoy it with, he revealed the error of his ways in a patchy Zoom call.

‘Oh yeah, I totally prefer being with other people. Being alone with my thoughts is dreadful. They are mind-numbingly boring. The other day I spent half an hour staring at a wall trying to think of every Australian Test cricketer whose last name starts with ‘D.’ When will this shit end?’

The raw honesty from Trent was actually rather touching, although we still fondly remember the time he Snapchatted all his mates a photo of him having a beer solo in his kitchen on a Wednesday night with the caption ‘happy to enjoy my own company.’

‘What a flog,’ said his friends, from behind face masks.

No more to come from this fascinating, rare breed.

‘My Bank Account Needed This Quarantine, Haha,’ Says Teen About To Go Through The Great Depression 2.0

In the midst of the worst financial crisis in almost a century, which is already seeing the loss of millions of jobs throughout Australia, second-year economics student, Amanda Lee (19), is actually rather relieved about it all.

‘Yeah, it sucks not being able to get shitfaced and go to Birdees every Thursday,’ she said to her vehemently nodding friends on Zoom.

‘But like, I am actually saving so much money now!’

Entering her 19th year of living off the Bank of Mum and Dad, Amanda can’t quite seem to grasp the concept that this whole pandemic thing isn’t great for the economy.

Her Dad, Barry Carmichael (51), tried, without success, explaining this concept.

‘Sweetheart, you see, when businesses close down, people lose their jobs, and when people lose their jobs, they stop spending money, and that’s a bad thing for your generation because…’ 

Amanda jumped in before he could continue.

‘Yeah but like, Dad,’ she began, inspecting her admittedly-impeccable nails, ‘usually I spend literally like $150 on Uber’s and Basics every weekend, and so like I’m saving heaps.’

Barry could give off nothing more than a wry smile, lamenting the $30 000 a year he spent on that private school education.

No more to come.

Bloke Shadowbatting In His Bedroom Brings Up Maiden Ton

For local cricketers, isolation has been a familiar feeling, as the pursuit of such an esoteric, colonialist sport has led to countless lonely Wednesday’s wondering when that girl you DM’d on Friday night will message you back. And for cricket tragics, the archive of Robelinda2 has provided warm company on par with that of a few kind words from their respective fathers.

But for one young cricket nut, the quarantine has provided an opportunity far greater than merely the chance to binge-watch The West Wing on Stan, and order UberEats with the pained justification of ‘I’m supporting local business!’ 

Michael McMorrow (22), a failed Commerce student and one-time Bitcoin investor, has just achieved the rare honour of which other cricketers can only dream. He has brought up a ton, a century, a dazzling hundred, at the MCG. All from the comfort of his own bedroom!

Staring intently at the Pulp Fiction poster on the wall, with Foo Fighters’ greatest hits playing in the background, he brought up the milestone with a deft late cut, slipping the ball through the four slips and a gully, using the pace of the delivery to ensure he hit the ropes, before raising his bat to the empty bedroom.

‘These opportunities come but once in a lifetime, Michael,’ he thought to himself, after completing four hours worth of imaginary batting alone in his room. And not the wanking kind!

Had to get that joke in there somewhere.

‘The members at the MCG are standing as one,’ he imagined, as his family labrador watched on, bored shitless at the antics of the 22-year-old who had declared at the start of the year that he would ‘really get his life together.’

The strange thing is that Michael has been in the 90s countless times before whilst shadow-batting. However, his crippling ego complex has meant that whenever he ‘envisions’ himself on 98*, he finds a way to shadow-bat an outside edge, and in a unique feat of mental gymnastics, he has even been able to shadow-bat handling the ball on 99, leading to his inevitable dismissal after a spirited appeal from a yet-unidentified South East Asian Test side.

Yet as he knuckles down further in his Paddington bedroom, the doubts have begun to return, and his once steely-resolve is beginning to crumble. Is this quarantine-driven mental decline? Or has shadow-batting always been the issue? Only time will tell.

No more to come from this profoundly tragic figure.