#AusPol winners and losers: One Nation under the thumb

One Nation fell further into the deep fryer, we’ve had a spate of overindulgence on hate pie and the emergence of Canberra’s own caped crusader. But who could it possibly be?




Let me be up front. I’ve done some terrible things in a past life. I think. So, therefore it makes sense that the cosmos has sentenced me to forever drag meaning from the inherently meaningless selfish sexual conquest of Australian politics. I hope I can go home soon, and die, so I can be reincarnated as something more advanced.

Like a weevil.



Peter Dutton, for finally ingesting that cake, before looking for seconds.

Doing is his best impersonation of an obese python struggling to shuffle off the garden path after digesting an errant labrador while still keeping an eye on your calves is our Immigration Minister who took the firing of Yassmin Abdel-Magied as a win for…dunno? Slytherin?

With that battle won, Dutts cast an eye to his next conquest: slaying the snarling, snapping chimaera of the ABC, QandA host Tony Jones – a man who, let’s be honest, is probably the least-threatening member of ABC, or indeed in the history of this sunburnt Commonwealth. In fact, he reminds me of the archetypal girlfriend’s dad – the one you struggle to hold a conversation with because he didn’t entertain cynicism, because he was too nice.

Why should we celebrate this sort of chicanery? Because it makes our shit behaviour okay. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to pretend that I have a phone call instead of locking eyes with the well-meaning, downtrodden backpacker who is looking to chisel my disposable income from my pocket to save the third world.

Peter Dutton.

Barnaby Joyce, for living out his grandest Superman fantasies.

Yes, our own Kent Clerk and Deputy PM went strangely missing this week when crisis unexpectedly struck in the pool outside Parliament House.

However, an RM William-ed figure, shirt bursting with rippling manners, was able to fish the errant citizen from the murky limitless depths of the infinity pool. Unfortunately, the assembled press and bystanders didn’t think to ask who the saviour in question was, and The Big Smoke traipsed the watering holes of Canberra and later found our missing Deputy PM elbows deep in a Coopers, claiming that he knew nothing about it, adding a slight wink. Unsure what to make of that, we’re now staying for dinner.

My hero?


Also on The Big Smoke



Ed Husic, for making politics relatable to the average introvert.

I’m a bit of an Ed Husic completist. I’ve seen most of his performances, which allows me to make sweepingly unfair statements like “he’s great, but I like his old stuff better.” Like the time he brought a model of a skeleton to parliament. That was to Husic what the cover of The Star Spangled Banner was to Hendrix. The quintessential “you had to be there” moment.

Adding to his repertoire, the skilled fingers and bent mind of Husic twisted from high-five to half-shake to full-realisation of the throng of societally useless who glimpsed this moment of truth, in that those people who were never popular, and never will be popular for not being present when the rules of cool were read out, could still gain a job that solely runs on the machinations of popularity.

I’m chalking it down as a loss, Mr Husic, because I’m no longer voting for the best for my country. I’ll be blindly following you around, held by the trite aphorism – “he just gets what I’m about, that Ed.”

Yes, it’s identity politics. But I see myself as an extremist introvert.


One Nation, for being gone with the Whims.

Not to pick on them, but this week they’ve done fucked up, from the early release of James Ashby’s debut EP Ponzi scheme n’ Me which included the urban bangers Play it smart, get da paper and Fake rekordingz to a bollocking from the Senate estimates which looks terrible, especially in the landscape of news by soundbite all the way to Malcolm Roberts’ understanding of the Interwebs:

It’s probably for the best we move on. But never fear, because:


Also on The Big Smoke


Honourable mentions

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

Whoever started this petition, for putting the Commonwealth at risk with your juvenile antics.

Thank fuck Democracy doesn’t work. And this is why it shouldn’t.

Mind you, we’d have to reach out to Andre 3000 and Sir Lucious Leftfoot (which’ll look good on the official documentation explaining who composed the national anthem) to write more appropriate lyrics that reflect us as a nation. “Yeah nah”? However, we’ve been saved the ignominy of having to stand at the Olympics and/or official ceremony for a song that goes “alright alright alright alright alright, now ladiez…”

Well done Nameless Turnbull intern #57, you’ve done us proud.



The Secret Verbs and Spicers for the sauciest, most regret-inducing piece of fried hyperbole each week goes to:

This American Bishop, for likening Trump’s changes to US healthcare to that of ethnic cleansing.

Yes, it was a cracking opening line, and yes, the coming changes to an already broken US health system are very bad indeed. But, it’s not Srebrenica bad. So pop some salt on that vitriol, Rev, because Donald Trump is not Slobodan Milosevic.


Also, one last thing this week. Let me divert your attention to the evolution of a masterpiece. While we were cheated by circumstance that we didn’t get to see Michelangelo paint the roof of the Sistine Chapel, we do get to witness the developing brushstrokes of the grandest renaissance artists who paint in the medium of photoshop.


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