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Straight from the greater world of icky ugliness to your personal space. Sorry about that.

Approx Reading Time-11The morning after a public holiday. Why? While you were dreaming of a way out, Marine Le Pen quit her party, Cory Bernardi built his, and M Night Shyamalan returned to form.

 

 

 

Marine Le Pen turns her back on party, vows to return with more drinks.

In what has been wonderfully described by the Agence France Presse as “inconsequential marketing”, far-right candidate Marine Le Pen has temporarily abandoned her post as head of the National Front to attempt to broaden her support ahead of the next vote on May 7. Now, for local audiences, it makes as much sense as Pauline Hanson abandoning One Nation to attempt to curry votes from The Greens. But, as Fwance is Fwance, and as this election is closer than a cheese string on the cheek of a fine fromage, then it’s worth a shot, non?

Well, apparently it’s not all Gouda as the gallery has peeked through the holes in her plan.

Although, this le bombe upon mons lap has dented not a brûlée in the land of the tricolour, as most voters are either jaded or find no problem with it. Indeed, the whole thing is lost in translation for some, as the English-speaking world goes “phwoar” through misunderstanding, while the locals may indeed utter:

via GIPHY

Side note: Belmondo, you stud.

 

Family first party jumps into bed with the Australian Conservatives, Bernardi comes first.

There can only be one…far right-fringe’s fringe in the Senate seemingly, as the members of the Family First party (yeah, us neither) have decided to move their possessions into Cory Bernardi’s garage. The man of the moment, Senator from Nashville, Peter Dutton, was quick to deposit his change in the political machine to pop back a can of that sweet sugary discourse. Refreshing.

A longtime investment property collector, Dutton has given reason to believe that he may have moved onto the art world – specifically for one piece in particular: a self portrait, hidden under a cloth, growing uglier each Question Time. Think of it. The dip has been sharp, For the hedonistic chap with the political world at his feet, and the feet of the electorate toward his neck. Surely there’s something behind it.

“You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit.” – Peter Dutton

 

True artist meets some bloke in Tokyo, Editor loses plot.

Upon this date in the calendar, wrap the largest smile; tattoo it with the reddened ink of optimism, and forever mark it as a day that is good. Cast your crusted, beaten peepers upon this image; within the borders of it stands an individual of great importance. A man of great art, of great mystery, and of great appeal, despite his brutish methods.

On the left is Jiro Ono. The sushi grandmaster of Tokyo, a man of great talent, and great stubbornness, a man in his late eighties, who looks like a tortoise, but nevertheless is the da Vinci of Nigiri. For the expanse of his cruel genius, Google him. (Especially Jiro dreams of Sushi.)

After the above-listed doco, and subsequent Googling (read: moving on), we presumed that Jiro had passed, but, confirming the opposite is probably the zenith of M Night Shyamalan’s career. Jiro lives! How wonderful.

Now that’s how you twist an ending, bruh.

 

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