Blergh. So early. What happened while you were asleep? Well, the number of those who marched was known, Barnaby Joyce skirted popularity and the road to the Superbowl was made concrete.
One in 100 Americans marched against Trump, making history, and an administration nervous.
I know we’re all about mirth, tenuous metaphors and the creaking infinite time for a laugh to kiss our ears, but allow me to be serious for a staggered moment. The number that participated in the weekend’s towering Pro-Women, Anti-Trump march has been tallied, and Lord, it is historic.
According to two professors’ tabulations, a mind-blowing one in 100 of the US populace participated in the 526 rallies held across Trump’s kingdom.
— Matt Haney (@MattHaneySF) January 22, 2017
Erica Chenoweth, one of the aforementioned professors announced the breadth of history’s page writ large by all those #NastyWomen.
Conservative count just surpassed 3.65 million, high estimate 4.5 million. we witnessed some history in the US today https://t.co/4DeNpSlogK
— Erica Chenoweth (@EricaChenoweth) January 22, 2017
Historic, flabbergasting, beautiful, humbling. Bravo. And grand work. Congratulations to all who stepped to the streets, and those who will surely now face the “alternative truth” in the coming days, which is to say, the “real” number.
Barnaby Joyce’s new bag makes new friends, confuzzles enemies.
The expanse of Barnaby Joyce’s charm is bordered by the assumption that whatever the issue is, he’ll possess the opposite view. The cookie cutter antagonist. Be it bullying the tin cup dogs of a man who has spent most of his twilight years believing that he is a pirate, bullying the Chinese while they’re in the room, or reducing his political opposites to fish, you can rely on Barnaby to stay on his side of the fence.
However, things got a bit awkies when Joyce let himself into your lounge room and helped himself to the fridge, and it’d be poor form to turf him yonder, because he said this:
“We don’t sign agreements to pull out of them”
– Barnaby Joyce when asked if the Government will be sticking with the RET #auspol
— Jane Norman (@janeenorman) January 22, 2017
So, Barnaby Fossil-Fuel Enthusiast Joyce will not follow the US in pulling the pin on the Paris Agreement, and more importantly, says we “should not base its emission reductions and renewable energy policies on the decisions of Donald Trump.”
Alllllttthhhhoouuugggghhhhhhh, in reading his full statement, I can release my kung-fu grip on the bannister.
— Primrose Riordan (@primroseriordan) January 23, 2017
As the world recommenced his spin, the grand copulations in the street ceased, the mass looting enabled by the nervous assumption of Armageddon was halted, and the planet drew one collective breath upon the realisation that all was actually well.
The road to the Bowl now Super, now known.
And so we finally have it. The clash of tight pants, glittered showboats and a the orgy of roman numerals is known. Gather ye light beer, ye processed whatevers and best “I understand what I’m seeing” face to prepare yourself for the one day of the year where most of the commonwealth gives a tinkers cuss about Gridiron. Super Bowl Fifty-somethingth.
In a proverbial battle of the proverbial ages, the final duo for the prom night dance was known to the entirety of the schoolyard. But that’s not to say that the going was easy; Lord no, it’s a rough and tumble clash of gladiatorial angst, where a collection of 50 millionaires take time out of paying too much tax to see whose pants are tightest, whose handshake is the most ornate, and which city foreigners would never visit on purpose would indeed be crowned the best city of America.
The two teams that put the cream in this athletic cream bun have earned the bandwagon supporters they will gather in the lead up. Earlier in the piece, an employee who works in a warehouse from Wisconsin was crushed by a flying bird of prey from where they filmed the Dukes of Hazzard. Elsewhere, a collective of drunken nationalists from Hollywood’s favourite backdrop, overcame a collective of drunken steelworkers from Independent Hollywood’s favourite backdrop.
For those who don’t understand the game, this is the kind of abject sexual harassment you should expect come Super Bowl Sunday. That and ads we never see.
Julio Jones. Beautiful. pic.twitter.com/a0g558nF1J
— NFL on ESPN (@ESPNNFL) January 22, 2017
Not excited yet? How about a morsel from NFL analyst/professional swearer/medicine enthusiast who tweeted this upon the victory of his beloved Falcon.
Foot In Ass Disease is Incurable!!!!Rise Up!!!
— Samuel L. Jackson (@SamuelLJackson) January 22, 2017
Top five Tweets from overnight…
— cricket.com.au (@CricketAus) January 23, 2017
— Jenko (@7_jenkinson) January 23, 2017
— murta (@murtaman) January 22, 2017
— Wombat (@AusWomby) January 22, 2017
— Tinfoilhatter (@TinfoilhatterOz) January 13, 2017