#AusPol winners and losers: Stop the polls, I want to get off!

Approx Reading Time-12The final form of Malcolm, the re-return of the returning returner and one very sad panda. What a week of #AusPol it was. We survived it. At least until Sunday, you know, when I have to work, yeah?




Every Friday, your trusty commentators at The Big Smoke review the most lauded plays in the game of Australian politics from the week previous. Passionate? Unquestionably. Conniving? Undoubtedly. But it’s not about that. Headlines need to be made and an audience needs to be entertained. So, are you not entertained? I know I’m not.



Malcolm Turnbull, for aligning his chakra and excreting the last of the poisonous fucks out of his system.

Cleansing is a wonderful thing. You just feel so, mmmm…nice. On Tuesday, only a day after Lib MP Michael Sukkar stated that Turnbull’s party were “enabling young people to get highly paid jobs which is the first step to buying a house”, Malcolm whirred the political blender to eleven, grinding the last of his election empathy, whipping himself a cleansing detox smoothie so he could regain himself. By Thursday, the last of the harmful empathy toxins left his system, and he cut himself, and the nation, off the financial carbohydrates of penalty rates.

Breathe in, ignore the grumbling starving masses, breathe out.



Tony Abbott, for having a longer lifespan than a 1950s black and white television.

They build those old girls sturdy, as they do with backbenchers from the Northern Beaches of Sydney, and much like the radiation boxes of yore, Tony Abbott’s picture clears up after being hit the top of the head. Again (yes again), Tony has threatened a return to the top of the political ant hill, railing against the colouring viewing selection on offer from the big Canberran antenna.

Presumably, Abbott is referencing the one channel he had as a kid, the Judeo-Christianity Non Variety Hour, and if given the reigns of the program, he’d right the ship. You know, just like the good old days.


Also on The Big Smoke



Malcolm Roberts, for having faith in the democratic system.

There’s an unwritten rule in Australian politics: Dont include the electorate. Ever. On anything. Thumbing his nose to the commandments carved into stone passed down to John Curtain on Black Mountain (the one with Telstra Tower on it) is #AusPol winners and losers regular Malcolm Roberts, who decided to trumpet his views against renewable energy by starting his own Twitter poll.

The results?



Barnaby Joyce and George Christensen, for butchering a Hollywood classic.

Mike Nichol’s 1967 classic The Graduate is an anti-love story which is awkward to watch with educated 2017 peepers. Not because Benjamin Braddock jousted a mum, then pursued the daughter (part of our everyday modern lives, yay #ApatheticHedonism), but rather because Ben follows her to school and harasses her until she agrees to run away from her value systems in a rash ill-thought burning of all bridges. The climax of the film shows both parties initially happy, but unsure if leaving logic and normalcy, and hoping that they’ll be able to patch up the hideous damage caused by their words/actions:

Wonderful. The blink-and-you’ll-miss-it #AusPol theatre production based on the film opened it’s doors in Queensland this week, as two thespians of impeccable taste, Messrs Christensen and Joyce, took on the lead roles of Elaine and Ben, respectively. As you can see below, their attempt to bring this scene to life was hampered by a lack of budget that ruled out the use of a bus, Paul Simon or indeed, convincing costume. Nevertheless, is was an honest take, but you’d think that professional, elected actors could bring more into it.

Hello darkness, indeed.

Industry whisperers whisper that Bill Shorten is set to do an interpretive dance version of Sonny’s death scene from 1974’s The Godfather, featuring Bob Hawke as Vito Corleone, yelling at a corpse. Look how they massacred my boooyyy (those bums, ha ha ha).


Also on The Big Smoke


The “Golden Emerson” is awarded to George Brandis, for entirely not understanding the issue.

God. I try and be balanced, but it’s been a stupid week. Appearing on the weekly verbal stoushfest that is QandA, George Brandis was repeatedly queried about the government’s much maligned, and flogged to death Terminator-referenced robo-debt collectors. His answer, much like the depths of clickbait, will amaze you.

Apologies about the hideously capitalised, biased header, but the premium part of this pork pie was not George offering his solution, but the strange eerie lull that descended over the desk for the most fleeting of seconds, where collective brains were jammed, mouths left aghast, where we could do nothing but watch on in slow-motion. Like that plastic bag in American Beauty. We laughed at the stupidity, but, in turn, were we laughing at ourselves?

Yeah, nah, probably not.


“The Bushie” is awarded to the Fair Work Commission for trolling themselves. I think.

Woof. It’s a grand Claes Oldenburg piece of public art (look him up), highlighting the folly of man who names a department something said department couldn’t possibly live up to (though we value it nonetheless), or it’s the end of organised time in this country. Either way, it’s far too esoteric a reference for everyone to “get”.

Myself included.



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