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

Approx Reading Time-11It’s Monday. Hoorah. While you were dredging your subconscious, France settled on Emmanuel Macron, the A-League was finalised, and the Internet ganged up on Piers Morgan. Pretty standard.




Macron trounces Le Pen in French Election, populism takes another blow.

Well, it’s official. The people of France prefer to be led by a sugary biscuit thing over a right-handed writing device. In the world’s great lounge-chair election, with a result crucial to our sensibilities, the wings of the flapping white albatross of the alt-right-pro-fascist-populist-anti-immigration-sans-sense diatribes of the seafaring Le Pen were brought aground by a 39-year-old outsider with little political experience and a background in investment banking. Le joy. So, roll out the barrel and march to the Bastille in joy, for we (as in, not us at all) have beaten back the minor voices of hate. 

Until next time.


Sydney FC wrest the toilet seat from the hands of Melbourne Victory, footballing community at large grasp for Gauloises.

It’s been a week of, well…let’s call it for what it was: complete bullshit from the other sporting codes. There was the refusal to vacate the groundexcessive promotion of a cocaine bust in Rugby League circles, and indeed the trumped-up media threat of excessive fan violence, physical or otherwise. On that point, I’d just like to place an image discovered prior to a recent Port Adelaide match.

Right. Despite all of this, the final game of the A-League delivered a classic of grit and woe, exaltation and commiseration. Yes, this classic was sullied somewhat by the incredibly divisive teams that took part in it, which left footballing fans around the country considering which equally heinous option to choose, but nevertheless, the cheeks upon the sterling silver toilet seat are those of Sydney FC, after an historical footnote achieved through a penalty shootout, by a score of four onion baggers to two.

As for Sydney FC being champions? Well, to paraphrase a fellow TBS writer on the subject, himself a rabid Western Sydney Wanderer diehard: “at least Melbourne didn’t win it”. And too right, too. Ne’er has there been a more divisive pack of scoundrels that wandered the pockmarked grassy knolls of yore. Yes, Besart Berisha, I’m talking to you.


Internet cares not for the tone of Piers Morgan’s definition of manhood which reduces mental health issue.

The name’s Bond…as in, that’s the name of the correct example Piers Morgan feels modern men should aspire to follow. As a man, and a fan of James Bond, in response to Morgan tweeting that the “trend of male public soul-bearing” isn’t helping and that they should “man up”, I’d like to extend a middle finger in gratitude for these comments and plainly state the following: Fuck off, Piers.

We should be tearing down the constructs of the male stiff upper lip, not rebuilding the wall. The Internet’s response has been two-fold, shaming Morgan for reducing mental illness to ancient truism, and bringing lols at the fact that Morgan has placed stock in a character as fictional as James Bond to steer him through life.

It’s worth noting that in one his own movies (Goldeneye), 007 was defined as “a sexist, misogynist dinosaur”, but it goes deeper than that. James Bond is a horrible person to idolise. Here’s a quick supercut of his policy of gender equality.

Now, that might be an Internet departure to infer that Morgan is suggesting that instead of bearing your feelings, you should raise your hand to your spouse. Maybe what Morgan means, in that you should do what James Bond does when someone forces you to reveal your feelings in a difficult situation, is that you should fuck everyone involved.

Is that the inference, Piers?

Although, to be fair on Bond, and cruel to Morgan, 007 has actually revealed his feelings twice, primarily in the matter of love. Both in losing Vesper in Casino Royale, and perhaps more crucially, after Blofeld clipped his wife in On Her Majesty’s Secret ServiceWhich, for my shaken Martinis, are the grandest of all the Bond films, because they actually meant something. We saw Bond as a person, and not a blunt sex object, and his feelings were central to that. So, Piers, what the fuck are you on about?

Piers Morgan will return in “Muckraker”.


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