#AusPol winners and losers: Who joined the Glitterati?

The first bricks of a hate wall, the stripping back of pretence and a picnic spoiled. Winners, all. Oh, #Auspol, what are you like?




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?



The security staff at Parliament House, for gaily wringing in the second Cold War with vintage pomp.

As John F Kennedy said about the original construction of a wall of division built on skewed logic: “a wall is a hell of a lot better than a war.” So it goes for the budget-impaired Canberran sequel, as the first bricks of the nouveau geopolitical eyesore went up around the lush rolling hills of Parliament House:

And hoorah, I say. If we’re serious about this Cold War Redux, we need a reviled symbol we can shake our fists and heads at. Finally, we can keep the ideologically-backward in check on the other side of the wire. Hopefully this means the streets of Canberra will now be safe, and nary a politician shall walk them.

At least not without the correct documentation.



Mark Latham, for finally freeing himself from the claws of subtlety.

To be perfectly frank, subtlety is a suit that has never fit Marky Mark properly – too tight across the shoulders, not flattering enough around the groin. However, Mark’s 2017 vintage has tannic notes throughout as Latham has relocated the vineyard to the far right side of the plateau, a place where the land is fertile, bleached white by the sun above. And I do mean white, as he’s shifted his Outsiders show from walls of Facebook, to the alley of far side logic.


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Everyone involved in Glittergate, for sparkling a new dawn of political stupidity.

Not two weeks from the theoretical bombing of ABC News, we’ve crashed through the floor with a new low: a punch-up enabled by the wanton sprinkling of nature’s most dangerous matter. Glitter.

To be honest, no-one is covering themselves in albeit fabulous glory here. Yes, covering Andrew Bolt in something as prosaic and harmless as glitter is hilarious, however, the punch-up (handily turned into a handy gif by The Australian) is not. If there are black eyes involved, it doesn’t rim the eye of Bolt or his transgressors, but rather all of us for having to endure what is to come. Take my doomsaying with due respect, for this moves well beyond the usual left/right antagonism; the stupid times are here, and they’ve made themselves at home.

We’ve already gone from this:

To this:

I’m moving to Tajikistan.


The park-loving citizens of Ballarat, for turning every solitary picnic into a “group thing”.

Think of it. You escape the dour suffering crush of your workaday life into the vague, verdant peace of the park. Yes, it’s filled to the brim with meth addicts and people trying to ignore their dog shitting, but nonetheless, it’s your little patch of green zen. With unwrapped sandwich and dogeared novella in tow, the outside world, and the problems we face, don’t exist.

Until you lock eyes with the bronzed brow of old mate. Dang.

To be fair, though, Abbott’s people have hired a pretty decent sculptor, unlike the whole Ronaldo fiasco.


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Honourable mentions

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

Boris Johnson, for emboldening the “English/Gypo” divide for the next four centuries.

Good lord. Quickly whitewashing the history between the English and the Gypsies (rocks, caravans, Snatch), and moving onto this unholy fuck up below: the best thing you can say about it is that Boris Johnson has the ability to manipulate time, as it seems we endure an eternity in 30 seconds or less. Classic Gypsy magic…?


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

Pauline Hanson, for drawing quickest after the London Bridge attacks. The meme creation department of One Nation must be a sight to behold. Quicksilver fingers compounded with rapid impulse, with nary a second of thought wasted, appropriating the met police’s “run, hide, tell” message to that of political point scoring.

Just wait for the day after, like everyone else.


Just before we part this week, at the time of e-print, the British would have gone to the polls. Now, I’m not one for politics, but as for a prediction, the method of schadenfreude is as good a rule as any.

See you next week, unless we slip to a one-party totalitarian construct.

Here’s hopin’.


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