#AusPol winners and losers: Who skipped out on their community service?

A missed court date, the death of comedy and a nonsensical sentencing all happened this week in AusPol. Plus Pauline. But we’ve ignored her.




There’s that story from Ancient Greece that featured old mate who is sentenced to forever push a rock uphill for his community service. AusPol is kinda like that. Except in lieu of a rock it’s effluent. A large, steaming, fly-swollen pile of it. Just try and find meaning in it.



Messrs Hunt, Sukkar and Tudge, for bringing rebellion back to the Senate.

Do you know what’s cool, kids? Not giving two figs about “the man”. What’s cooler than being cool? Extending the middle finger to the establishment, when you yourself are the establishment. Ice cold. Consider this the existentialist version of those wraparound ’90s sunglasses with the rope for added safety, then consider those glasses perched on the noses of three ministers who decided to circumvent the binary word of law by turning their phones off.




George Christensen, for avoiding the easiest of definitions.

Just when you think you know someone purely through headline text…well. Literally a day after the Odysseus of the Dawson electorate’s journey across the boundless sea of bipartisan politics to cast his sword against his ilk, he pledged his never ending allegiance to the Apollo of right-hand uberpolitics, Rodrigo Duterte.

The neutral George is dead.

Long live the reign of George II, the same one as before.

Also on The Big Smoke



Scott Morrison, for being far too obvious.

Yes, the senate ostensibly follows the same format as the schoolyard; make things up, tell everyone. However, what differentiates the school house from parliament house (other than male-pattern baldness) is the quality of the whisper, Chinese or otherwise. Enter then Scott Morrison, who dusted off this very adult jewel of an insult, before quickly being forced to pick up rubbish for the rest of recess.

We’re better than that, Master Morrison. And if we’re not, let us look at your friends. I mean the Deputy PM’s initials are BJ, so what does that tell ya?


Malcolm Roberts, for ratcheting up his tease game to eleven.

This week our favourite everything Malcolm Roberts retrieved the most vibrant, low-cut, figure-hugging morsel of interest from the nether-realms of his mental cupboard, purely for his own gains. He’d wear it, purely because he knew that we’d see him in it. And he knew, as we do now, that we couldn’t resist him, especially when he promised us that.

Oh, Malcolm. Just give us what we want.

Don’t be a tease.

Also on The Big Smoke


Honourable mentions

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

Ed Husic, for the needless bending of our minds.

God, this is painful. It’s like having to put down the family pooch while she looks at you with those innocent, clueless eyes, watching you pick up the rusty shovel as you mouth apologies she doesn’t understand. I’m sorry, Ed, but this week, the Golden Emerson is yours, and I blame you. And John Woo.

Face/Off? I mean yes, it’s crazy-fun, but it’s not a particularly advantageous movie for a politician to be a fan of. I mean, how do we know it’s actually you under that face? Just because you say it is? How do we know that? Because a politician growing a beard is a bit of a Cage-in-Travolta’s-clothing move.

Which one is the real you? And who paid for the face-plant surgery?



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

Noted academic of our time, Pamela Anderson, ran through the booming surf of hyperbole to unequivocally state that Theresa May was the worst British PM, 5eva. What added a further layer of what-the-fuckery was Pam An addressed this point in a letter to Julian Assange.

You win, Pam.

Can I go home now?


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