Triple J Novice Starts Panic Listening to Psychedelic Porn Crumpets On Repeat After Being Invited to Hottest 100 Party

When Viola Banks (22) was invited to a law school jock’s Facebook event, “Hottest 100: LeT’s GeT cRuNk ahhhhhhhhhhhhh,” she broke out into a cold sweat. Like the rest of us, until Wednesday, Viola didn’t know who the fuck Amyl And The Sniffers were.

‘I’d not heard of Triple J, my go-to radio station has always been Classic FM!’ the 20-somethig-year-old descendant of Mozart told the Obiter.

‘They’re all going to know I’ve never been to Splendour!’ Viola anxiously stammered to herself, profusely sweating at the thought of being caught completely out of her depth tomorrow.

With only three days until Australia’s most hectic shindig, Viola promised herself she would learn the lyrics to AT LEAST the top 50 predictions. For the past 72 hours, the young trombonist has listened to the Hottest 100 Spotify playlist on repeat.

She can now proudly recite up to the first chorus of that Wiggles cover and is confident she won’t have to lip-sync ‘rhubarb’ for six hours on Saturday.

Like most young women, Viola has become a proud advocate of the saying ‘fake it till ya make it.’

The Obiter extends its best wishes to Viola for Saturday.

No more to come.

King's Boy Found Guilty Over Coward Punch, Sentenced to 3 Months of No Xbox on School Nights

Lawyers for the defendant, Dudley ‘Dudster’ Matthews, described the sentence as ‘manifestly excessive’, arguing that the judge clearly failed to take into account that Dudster’s Dad was, like, a really big deal in Warwick’s Agribusiness sector.

**********

‘This is honestly fucked’, muttered a deflated Dudster as he sauntered out of the courtroom today, having just been handed a sentence which he knew would rock him to his core over the next 12 weeks.

‘The cunt looked at me funny, what was I s'pose to do?’, exclaimed Dudster to a group of journalists at the conclusion of today’s proceedings, surmising what had taken place late one Sunday last year outside Prohibition nightclub.

By Dudster’s side was his father - renowned cattle-grazer and Warwick’s former heavyweight boxing champion - Warren Brust. Warren nodded firmly in agreement as his son spoke, sinking his teeth deeper and deeper into his third piece of Nicorette gum for the morning, the stiffness of his upper lip reflecting his loathing of what he saw as a clear failing of the justice system.

As Dudster returned to campus later that afternoon, wearing his trusty Titans footy shorts, he was heartened to learn that his fellow King’s boys had officially committed to boycotting Xbox nights for the duration of Dudster’s sentence, in solidarity with their battle-scared brother.

The Obiter understands that the hashtag #westandwithDudster has begun circulating in the College’s WhatsApp Groups.

When we asked lead prosecutor, Sarah Bulson, if this sentence was perhaps a little inadequate for someone who fully decked a bloke for no good reason, she responded, ‘yeah, look, this is actually a really good result for us. Last week there was this GPS Rugby Captain who confessed to committing war crimes and he only got a month of no Coco Pops for breakfast’.

No more to come.

Grown Adult With $40,000 In HECS Debt Still Has to Use Fingers To Work Out When April Is

A jingle to the tune of ‘Twinkle Little Star’ is also needed to figure out the positioning of the vast majority of letters in the Roman Alphabet, in spite of a private school education, two-thirds of a Bachelor’s degree, and an encyclopaedic knowledge of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

********

Makes you think, doesn’t it.

It’s not like the concept of a 12-month calendar or a 25-letter Roman Alphabet is a new one. I’m no historian, but I’ve been led to believe that these have been around for many a century.

And yet, on every occasion in which we are made to recite the place of a letter or month (or indeed the numbers of days contained therein), a cold sweet rushes through us - as far as we’re concerned, we could well have been asked to crack the Enigma code whilst simultaneously performing in the Cirque du Soleil.

The 6 we got in a first year psych course, shockingly, provides us with no help in this hour of need.

“Maybe, I’m just an idiot”, we sigh, staring hopelessly into the reflection of the person who was once described as ‘conscientious’ on a report card by his Grade 3 Geography teacher, and who just flawlessly explained the impact of reverse swing on a green wicket to his little cousin.

It fills us with little consolation that we’re able to recall the month number of our birth (+/- one month either side).

No more to come, sadly.

Engineering Student Supplants Personality For Pair of Avocado Socks

“Yeet”, exclaimed the proud Reddit user, with his 35mm film camera and water-resistant Casio wrist watch by his side.

********

I do not profess to know anything about engineers. But then again, does anyone, really? Apart from being resolute sexual deviants, what even are they?

“Yeah, right. Ok.”, we reply politely, as the fourth year engineering student, and Counter-Strike mad lad, recounts his knowledge of his Honda Civic’s internal combustion engine.

“Did you see my new socks, haha?”, he continues, gesturing to the Avocado-themed apparel that stretches up to his shin. “Oh, nice, haha”, you reply, thinking how the fuck to get out of this conversation.

In saying all this, I admit that perhaps there will come a day where I am in need of an engineer in my life. Say if I want a bridge to be built or a chrome to be installed or a kettle to be boiled or a mine to be mined. If that day does come, I will happily take back all the things I’ve said about them.

Until then, please don’t ever talk to me.

No more to come.

'Yeah, But Like, I Don't Try,' Bloke With 2.9 GPA Reassures Prospective Employer

‘Oh, why didn’t you say so sooner!’, said the Senior Partner at King & Stick Freehalls, beaming excitedly. ‘We love nothing more than a free spirit, broski!’

**************

Fredly Barker (22) is built different, simply put. He doesn’t live by plebeian societal conventions like the rest of us. The man writes his own rules.

When Fredly was born, he had to drive his mum home from hospital. When Fredly goes to the bathroom, a baby unicorn is born. When Fredly decides to wake up, the sun rises with him. He also built the sun with nothing more than toothbrush and a packet of sherbet lemons, as an aside.

He is, without a shadow of a doubt, a phenomena.

But something even more remarkable than these feats is the simple yet brilliant motto that has guided Fredly throughout his brilliant life: Why apply yourself at anything at anytime or anyplace in life, when you can ascribe all of your shortcomings to a lack of giving any sense of a shit about anything?

Quite brilliant.

No more.

"OUT!" Exclaims Australian Border Force to Novak Djokovic

The world number one is reportedly set to take the Australian Government to Court over the decision.

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Breaking news out of Melbourne this morning, with local media reporting that Novax Djocovid has been turned around by the Australian Border Force after failing to meet the requirements for entry with a visa.

Novax, who chairs the really average bloke Hall of Fame, has repeatedly publicly stated that getting vaccinated is for commies and people who smoke weed and ride motorcycles.

Nonetheless, the world number one had reportedly anticipated that he would be granted a medical exemption to stay in Australian and compete in the nation’s Grand Slam after advising Aus Open officials that he usually had his five fruit and two veg, and would do the worm if he won the tournament.

However, it was confirmed by the PM this morning, who is bathing in the glory of people being momentarily distracted from waiting three years in queues to get a Covid test, that the Serbian had been served notice to leave the country.

The Serb has confirmed that he will challenge the decision in Court after he was advised that the border had been (grand) slammed shut on him.

No more to come.

Scott Smiles Blankly At Confused Waiter After Forgetting to Order Anything From Menu

“Whoops, haha, silly, goofy me! Just testing you, haha!” joked the PM, ironically.

*********

“Ah, fuck”, Scotty mumbled to himself, as the puzzled waiter at Papa Freddy’s Pizzeria handed over to the PM what could well have been, as far as the he was concerned, a laminated page of hieroglyphics.

“Um, are you going to order anything, sir”, queried the growingly bemused teenage.

“Sorry, what?” quizzed the Prime Minister, genuinely frazzled by the concept of needing to order anything from anybody.

“From the menu, uh, did you want to get anything from it, so you can uh eat?”

“Haha! You’ll have to speak into my good ear, Mario!” quipped the nation’s leader, air high-fiving the portrait of Prince Philip that he’d brought to his local diner.

I maintain that we should have sympathy for the Prime Minister for this lapse in judgement. It had, after all, been a busy day for the daggy dad of two. He’d not only clipped three of his toenails, but he’d also watched half an episode of Young Sheldon and thought about boiling the kettle.

So, while it may seem fairly fucking obvious to the rest of us to order something which may come in handy at a certain time and place, we have to remember that the PM had a lot on his plate. No literally, of course. That would require ordering something.

No more to come.

Shane Warne Quietly Begins Deleting A Few Hotmail Burner Accounts From Back in the Day

‘Yuuuup nothing to see here’ whistled Warnie, as he inconspicuously ventured into the sent items of a few of his old Hotmail accounts, deleting a number of the medium-to-large sized MB photos that he’d sent to Lis Hurley, Marilyn Monroe, and the Pope, amongst others.

***********

Jaw-dropping news struck yesterday, with revelations coming out that an elite, high-paid athlete, with a loving wife and kids, would dare dream of sending unsolicited pictures of his old out-swinging balls to a young female employee.

Cricket Australia have since apologised for thinking it was somehow a good idea to let a bloke cheating on his wife by sending unwanted dick pics to take over as captain from somehow who’d just been stood down for being a cheat.

Turns out the best bloke in the Australian cricket team is still a bit of a flog.

As the news broke that squeaky-clean Paine wasn't as much as a good bloke as what we'd thought, Shane ‘Warnie’ Warne, amongst a cohort of several other former Australian cricketing icons, fortuitously provided no comment on Tim Paine’s indiscretions, instead taking the time to delete a couple of thousand naughty emails that he’d smashed into his windows desktop keyboard on a few drizzling evenings in the 90s.

Investigations into the sexting scandal involving Paine are still ongoing, with our writers not certain on whether the former Australian wicket-keeper captain indeed sent pictures of his genitalia, or just of David Warner’s face. A disgraceful act nonetheless.

Earlier this morning, we contacted the Barmy Army lyricist for comment.

“Couldn’t have cum at a better time, we say! Haha! Wicketkeeper more like keep your dick in your pants you dosser!

No more.

Angus 'Angry' Robertson Spotted Walking Around Campus With the Severed Head of a Former Staffer

"Um, what have you got there, mate?", roommate, campaign manager and former UQLS Secretary, Kurt Munckton, asked Angry, as Robertson returned home to their Lutwyche mansion clutching the noggin of his former communications director. "Oh, it's just my new clarinet, dear one."

*****

"He’s done what?!!!! Who does he think he is?!!?? ANGRY is ANGRY!" bellowed Robertson, as one of his staffers sheepishly advised him that someone had submitted an advanced nomination for the position of UQLS Secretary.

As you can imagine, Robertson’s characteristic rage got the better of him. He murdered everyone in the room. Twice. That’s just the kind of man Robertson has become.

Collecting his effects, and inhaling sharply, Robertson returned to his chambers. As he approached his office door, he stared longingly into the life-sized 1.4m * 0.7m portrait of former UQLS Secretary, Kurt Munckton, that hung in the centre of his campaign headquarters, desperately praying to himself that he would one day secure the approval of Bundaberg’s greatest ever sheep shearer.

"I will not fail you, master. I will finish what you started" pledged Robertson, falling to his knees in front of his most prized possession.

“Whatever it takes”, he muttered, before returning home to continue watching reruns of Grand Designs with his dear roommate.

When news broke a few nights ago that Robertson would be running for the position of Secretary uncontested, we approached Angry for comment. He simply threw us that trademark grin, light up a cigar, and quipped: "Unopposed, you say. God, I love democracy".

Although Robertson appeared blissfully unaware that he may face a challenger from the floor of the AGM, we hastened to advise him of that possibility; we couldn't take the risk. He is, after all, the scariest man to have ever graced the four walls of the TCB.

Long live King Robertson

‘The Law Ball Is, First And Foremost, A Dance!’ Says Candidate Lily Standing On Pointe

Rushing to ensure everyone’s pirouette technique is correct, UQLS Presidential Candidate Lily Smith managed to spare five minutes with The Obiter to explain to us just how the culture of the Law Society can be revived through the power of dance.

No, it’s not a plot out of an 80s movie, like Footloose, or Flashdance. Although it sure sounds like it! It’s a modern approach to education that Smith has honed over decades in Russia’s best secret agent training academies/ballet schools.

‘See, the problem with the Law School is that the feet aren’t nimble enough. How you expect to ever be a lawyer if you can’t dance your way out of trouble?’ she barked, confusingly, in a thick Russian accent. Clouds of cigar smoke enveloped her for the rest of the interview.

As she stood on pointe while encouraging first-years to take up mooting, she shared with us her broad vision for the direction of the Society.

‘It’s simple. Much like McGonagall expressed with such poise and panache in the seminal classic Skyfall, the Law Ball is, first and foremost, a dance!’

As a first-year fell over his own feet, Smith approached with a thick coil of barbed wire rope, threatening to strike, before the young man rose to his feet and tap-danced perfectly for, we’re not kidding, like twenty-eight minutes.

A smile crossed her lips. ‘There is hope for you yet, Padawan.’

More to come.