#AusPol winners and losers: Who climbed the peak of Mount Avarice this week?

Approx Reading Time-11The rebirth of a true artist, the selling of one’s soul for sashimi and the death of tradition. All serious, all present this week in #AusPol. So, who won? No-one you dolts.




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, who won?



Malcolm Roberts, for becoming the truest artist.

As anyone who has reached the pinnacle of their profession will attest, staying on top is harder than getting there. Staying at the crest of the peak requires a resolute, but fresh digging in of one’s skis to avoid plunging off the piste of relevance. Credit must indeed be forwarded to Senator Roberts for the weekly besting of his previous material, each a new masterpiece to ensure that he’ll forever be lauded as the Senate’s truest, boldest nutcase.

For many, his grandest artwork was his very famous Duel with a Star Man (2016, Pixels on Canvas):


But this week, the master has outshone even himself:

The question that must be, and indeed has been asked in knowing circles, edges blurred and boldness enabled by the free Sémillon is, where does one go from here? No one can know, but we all cannot wait. Malcolm, you are a true artist.


The Census, for giving us something to aim for.

Affordable housing? A use for a degree? A millennial craves not these things. What we do crave are fantastic tales of upward mobility, shining lights of possibilities, a person who, maybe, if we applied ourselves, we could be:

Well, most of us speak English at the home…but don’t own it. And have no cars, not two. But what we do have is a starting point. All we need is fiscal inspo. Proof that it can be done… (*crickets*)


Also on The Big Smoke



The proud Labor tradition of necking an ale quick, ehhhh.

The Australian Labor Party may not know how to run a country, but something they do know is how to neck an overpriced ale in public, really rather fast. The long-standing tradition perhaps started by long-standing (and still standing) PM Bob Hawke came to a glacial, eventual end this week, as Billiam Shorten managed to polish off a schooner in a frankly piss-weak 18 seconds.

Also, side note on the tail of the video: check out the punter who has decided that such an effort was worthy of the handshake he’s practically running to offer the Leader of the Opposition. Well, frankly it isn’t. It’s time we expected better from a Labor leader. If Bob Hawke was here with us today, he’d…


The Animal Justice Party’s Mark Pearson, for selling out, but falling in a Shakespearian manner.

“I strayed for that morsel” is a wonderfully soloquiesed barb that is worthy of the bard, or at the very least the Internet-famous restaurant scammer who gave us “…this is democracy manifest”. However, the woe uttered by Mark Pearson: it’s root cause is treachery. Like noble Icarus who flew to close to the sun, and fell because of it, noble Markarus sat too close to the Teppanyaki bar, choosing seafood over the mantra of his party that stateth: “Eating fish, whether farmed or wild, is incompatible with AJP’s advocacy of a plant-based diet.”

Judas! Although, it is Japanese seafood, so, eh.


Also on The Big Smoke


Honourable mentions

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

Chris Christie, for holding onto that dirty laundry.

Yes, it was missed by Sean Spicer, Spicer is a just a programmable pantomime robot underneath that pulpit, so blame him not, for he’s just a tool…for the administration. However, we can attach blame to someone – namely one of Trump’s exes, Chris Christie, who decided to publicly act like all jilted lovers should, by making a complete tit of himself.


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

Wayne Swan, for firing insults from outside the house.

Political zingers, much like the usual tenets of comedy, operate on timing. Just like the rest of us when we figure out a premium comeback, eight hours later, in bed, it seems the Swan has swooped in slightly too late. Relevant, but, it needed to be delivered while sitting on an ugly, pastel couch.

Sorry, bro.



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