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#AusPol winners and losers: Whose bell tolled for thee?

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Approx Reading Time-10A hung up phone, a search for an Internet bride and the canonisation of Joe Hockey. I’d ask who won the sack race of #AusPol this week, but it seems pointless.

 


Standing above the felled equine, one can’t help but wonder if another blow upon the decaying carcass of the beast named “AusPol” would it do the slightest of good.

With that in mind, as the democratic construct here and abroad saunters headlong toward the glue factory, let us mark the finality of the clip-clop upon the government pavement with revelry, with lols, and with the knowledge that, while it might be the end of times, no-one escapes the hook of pithy Internet judgement.

 

Winners

Paul Keating, for teasing the nation with an opportunity to do us slowly.

The second coming of Paul Keating has been trumpeted in certain circles louder than the other second coming (which was Elvis). Keating seared back into the stratosphere of our collective amorousness as social media posed the poser, What would Keating do?

For what it’s worth, as Malcolm was pushed around by Donald, we threatened to procure someone his own size to fight back, our older brother Paul, but social media didn’t really speculate what it’d actually be like beyond calls of “yeah hit him, brahhh”.

 

Pastor Lawrence Shave, the One Nation candidate proving romance is not dead.

The next right-hand drive vehicle heaving off the One Nation production line may be the Lawrence Shave, a Pastor from WA who claims many things indeed. One, that homosexuality can be “cured”, and two, that he cured cancer. We’re not here to judge, because there’ll be plenty of time for that if he gets into parliament.

In speaking to the Daily Mail, Shave mentioned that alongside a meaningful tilt at politics, he was also looking for a “special Christian partner, with old fashioned family views” between the age of 20 and 44. Assisting him in that endeavour is his profile on an Internet dating profile website that apparently specialises in Russian brides. Now, this is not a criticism, merely a respectful doff of the cap to you sir, as what woman in Vladivostok would say no to the advances of a pioneering political figure in exotic Австралия? It’s actually quite romantic in a way. A loose public exclamation of your love. I mean it’s not Heath Ledger loudly banging out Can’t take my eyes off you while evading the flailing arms of campus security, but it’s in the same league.

You’re just to good to be true…

 

Losers

Malcolm Turnbull, for getting away with it, until Mum got home.

Well, it worked for that small couple of hours, between you putting a cricket ball through the kitchen window and Mum getting home and finding out about it. So it goes for our embattled PM who assured the country that all was indeed well after discussing the refugee deal with Trumples, before the Don rolled casually into the driveway and saw through the artificially positive facade. Although, much like the kid who has been sprung, Malcolm is now turning on his team-mates, not for breaking the window, but enabling it. It’s their fault too, Mum.

Malcolm, dry your nose. Listen, Mum would say, I’m not angry about the window being broken, I’m disappointed that you lied to me.

Oh well. Could be worse.

 

Us, for enduring the previous week.

I don’t want to dip to cynicism here (much), but this is almost planting us in the Winners column. We’ve displayed great grit and wit in the face of absolute . However, we have to sit through 206 weeks of Trump, barring some unforeseen incident, and #AusPol will forever be broken.

Well…fixed, in a nationalistic paternal fashion; cluelessly bodged together with tape, instead of actually fixed. (So, just like Dad taught us?)

…Stay frosty.

 


Also on The Big Smoke


 

Honourable mentions

The “Golden Emerson”, awarded to those who waste everyone’s time with complete verbal tosh, goes to:

Television chef and smiling enthusiast, Curtis Stone, for his advice regarding the spitting, acidic flames of the Trump administration, in “Give him a chance”. Well, we did, but it’s now week two, Curtis.

 

The “Bushie”, the George W Bush commemorative plaque to honour outstanding performance in the field of trumpeted “fact”, goes to:

Who else, but Donald Trump’s Twitter, where choosing a nonsensical tweet to pick holes in is akin to shooting fish in a barrel? One very stout flounder. Also, worthy to note that this makes Trump the first current President to receive the award named after a previous President – and oh dear, I just figured out that’s not actually a good thing. Feast your eyes on the nonsense of this:

 

 

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