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While you were asleep: Origin II to Qld, Prince Philip hospitalised, Slipknot v Nickelback

Prince

The classics, they say, never go out of style. Well, consider today a true throwback Thursday, as Qld won Origin, Prince Philip went to hospital and Nickelback dissed Slipknot. The past sucks.

 

 

 

Origin II goes to Queensland, endless conflict rolls on.

The closest thing we’ll ever get to civil war in this country, State of Origin, resumed last night; an entirely partisan conflict, where the devoted show allegiance solely to the place of their birth, or if you’re outside the boundary of New South Wales, then New South Wales shall by thy enemy forever. Origin is a coliseum where millionaire athletes are defined by four letter words, an arena where the warriors of yore attempt to resist their programming and illustrate the meaningless horrors of bloodying your fellow man for the pursuit of a plastic ball, and earning the laurel of victory which quickly withers and dries out a week after the hostilities reach the same point of armistice each calendar year. It truly is a war with no end, and perhaps no point, other than the collating of those in which there does not exist any tangible sense. That being said, the series is evened, after those marauders from the north cobbled together more fiction than the blue-coloured heroes of your town.

Queensland 18 – NSW 16

 

Prince Philip admitted to hospital, Liz decides to go to Ascot. Girls’ night!

Look. It’s going to happen. Gird your epitaphs in preparation. The Living Museum to Imperialism, Prince Philip has been admitted to hospital, in what has been officially labelled as a “precautionary measure” stemming from a “pre-existing condition”. It turns out he’s fine. Cranky and disappointed, but fine. Which is good news. Look, I don’t know what it is exactly, and I’m not entirely sure I care. What is known, is that Blighty’s premier racist granddad is 96 years old. And like the death of all grandparents, it’s a fact of life, and one that we’re never ready for. However, on an identical morning such as this, it’s going to happen.

So, in the quest of reaching a new low, I’m going to say rest in peace, Prince Philip.

In news relative to this, QE2 (the monarch, not the vessel) has decided to not change her plans and attend Royal Ascot, and anyone who has watched The Queen knows, Liz is a smashing biscuit indeed, and those keen should rightly view her appearance at Ascot as an opportunity to catch her on the rebound.

Just sayin’.

 

Writer discovers the dangers of time travel, brings 2003 thrash metal beef back with him.

I’ve somehow nodded off and found myself in 2003. It’s the only logical rope I can pull that makes sense of Slipknot and Nickelback feuding, and why I should care. But, it’s 2003, and those things matter, because I’m a confused teen, and shouty men from Idaho in orange jumpsuits and spiky leather helmets are the only ones who truly get me. With the cocktail of misplaced hormonal angst and partisanship support speaking for me, all I have to say is if that fool from Dickelsack talks shit about Slipknot again, I’m going to jump him with a box cutter. And I have access to one, dick, because it’s 2003, and I still work at Coles.

Also, side note: I foolishly decided to let the juvenile me YouTube some Slipknot, and…well, I’d like to formally apologise to anyone who had to listen to me lash that album at full volume. On repeat. Except for that pseudo-goth girl I was dating at the time, to which I’d like to add a further apology. Dear Steph, I’m sorry we broke up 15 years ago at the carpark that overlooked the Youth Centre, however, I’ve changed a lot and not much, and I’m wondering if you can get in touch, and remind me how to spell your surname again, I can’t find you on Facebook. Thanks.

 

The top five tweets from overnight:

 

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