#AusPol winners and losers: Who sold out their Australian values?

Approx Reading Time-11Some particularly rough #AusPol discourse, stolen identities and a metamorphosis into an inanimate object. Move over, Juarez, here comes Canberra.




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 Turnbull, for grabbing our ankles and having a go.

Ever since he won our hearts and minds in the election last year, Malcolm has been a victim of our disappointment. Plunging opinion polls, acidic resistance to his achievements, and glittering sparks frictioned into existence by our collective rubbing of hands when he makes mistakes. We’ve essentially been the alpha. The top dog. Well, that impeccably manicured Shih Tzu has finally snapped back, going what can best be described as “balls deep” on the electorate this week – and we’ve roared with displeasure. There is something that has been lacking in the tumbles prior, there is a plan.


Whoever has taken the identity of Paul Keating on Twitter, for granting the man immortality.

Much like something of a Philip K Dickian nightmare I haven’t read or seen, clones of politicians have been made, sans their original memory but with possession of their own intuition – so therefore, are they not people too? So it goes with our ex-PM and noted foreplay enthusiast, Paul Keating, who now lives on (in relevance) as @PMPaulKeating. Problem is, it cannot be him. One can’t surely believe he’d succumb to hashtag abuse, or lazily referencing his greatest barbs via a YouTube compilation…maybe.

However, there’s a silver lining to the folded paper crane (look it up), as the false/real Paul Keating actually adds something noteworthy to the AusPol debate on Twitter. Yes, someone is simply wearing the digital skin of Keating, but the mouth flaps decent truism.

This is fortunate, because where the real Keating may utter his last pithy comeback at some point, sadly all those moments will be lost in time, like tears in the rain. At least this way, DigiKeating may continue on, not as a person, or a clone, but as an idea. And ideas, much like the impulse to pad the number of your followers by pretending to be famous, cannot be killed.


Also on The Big Smoke



Barnaby Joyce, for setting the bar so low, it’s now subterranean.

It’s a sad day for memeworthy polictial goosery, as Barnaby Joyce has enacted a mic-drop that shattered every pane of glass in Canberra with its outrageousness. This week Joyce defended the indefensible, by rigidly sticking to an Anglo-Saxon pigeonholing of the migration nation’s values, by uttering a mono soundbite, whilst wearing a forty gallon hat.

What Barnaby now represents is not a bureaucrat, but rather a billboard with a simple message to sell. He’s less the member for New England, and more this:



The APVMA, for assuming that anyone would have extended discussions about their work at a BBQ.

The APVMA have been in the news lately, and if the acronym doesn’t grab you, the trials these poor saps have faced, and will continue to face, should jog the memory. They’re the government department who were forced to complete their work at McDonald’s after their office was relocated to Armidale. That tidbit went viral, and as a result, abject stupidity carried on after it – namely this:

Now, the sticking point is in the application of the document. Not in that it represents government micromanaging at its unrealistic worst, but rather that anyone would stay in a conversation with one of the employees of the department longer than however long it takes to explain what the acronym means, and what that means…unless you were actively trying to coerce them into the boudoir…and even then, it’s unlikely government-mandated propaganda would be palatable as an entree to foreplay.


Also on The Big Smoke


Honourable mentions

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

Julie Bishop, for her Mike Pence impersonation.

Jules, we know it’s you. Yes, you said the same thing that Mike Pence said to North Korea, we get that, it’s a reference, but you need to work on your costume. You still look like you.


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

Bill O’Reilly, for his disappointing dreams.

Much like when Michael Jordan decided he wanted to play baseball (side note: it’s because his dad was murdered), Bill O’Reilly, the man who was genetically blessed/cursed with a condition that didn’t allow him to hear what he was saying, has this week decided to ring in the end of his career with the news that he’ll pursue his original American dream.

Even if it’s a fake, we all want to believe it anyway; hard to believe he’s the adjusting-to-the-fun-of-retirement type:

Here’s hoping he does it. He can combine his two loves. Food and garbage television. I can imagine a reality show, à la Hell’s Kitchen, where Bill doesn’t do any cooking, he just wanders into a racist diatribe regarding the sous-chef until he goes broke.

Fox, that’s intellectual property, yeah?


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