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#Auspol winners and losers: Who turned heads with a new face?

A brand new identity, a pilot for a defunct reality show and a battle between two gigantic ancient foes headlines the week in #Auspol. What a fine system we have.



Every Friday, we wade knee-deep through the self-serving opaque muck of #Auspol in an effort to see our feet. Why? Because we’re sadomasochists. Yeah. You shouldn’t have asked.



Jacqui Lambie – for reinventing herself.

It’s been a rough couple of weeks for our assumptions, as characters we’ve firmly pigeonholed have managed to wriggle loose from their restrictive confines. Earlier in the month, we witnessed the Jaws to Malcolm Turnbull’s Blofeld, George Brandis, have a moral crisis and turn the gun on his own, shooting down Pauline Hanson’s burqa stunt. Schplendid. Wind the clock forward to yesterday, and the sight of Jacqui Lambie turning against One Nation was indeed a scene, man. Probably because we all assumed Lambie was a Hanson clone. The blueprints even look identical: Regional working class Australian hailing from an area everyone mocks, battering our senses with spurious logic fired in a falsetto bogan whine. But, no.

But, yeahnah.


I don’t even know who you are anymore, Jacqui.

And I like it.



The Coalition Government – for turning the Immigration problem into their own episode of Cribs.

(The ironic plot twist being that no-one is allowed to enter it)

“Come on in, MTV” Peter Dutton beckons, proud face shoehorned into a sensible suit, wall clock with no hands hung around his neck, “Let me show you around my crib.” The wobbly handheld camera moves into a room completely devoid of feature or hint that anyone habituates the space. Dutton booms, “…this living space cost me $9.6 billion, yo.” The man behind camera breaks in to offer his two cents, “…but there’s nothing in here, does anyone live here?”, Dutton sits mute, face twisted in confusion.

Moving out to the backyard, Peter proudly waves his hand over an expanse of barren blue ocean, directing the camera toward an empty jetty, “This is what I paid for, son. No boats. Dig it?”





Malcolm Roberts – for being bullied out of favour by a dinosaur.

As the prophet/urban medical professional Dr Dre once illustrated, things ain’t the same for gangtaz.

Not too long ago, Malcolm Roberts was the undisputed great ape of Auspol. Our King Kong. A prehistoric figure hailing from a mysterious place that time forgot, relocated into the public eye as we recoiled and gasped at the roaring size of his opinions, blinding him with the flashbulbs of hot takes.

Sadly, the audience is a fickle beast, and once the novelty wore off, we all look to kicks anew. Unfortunately for Malcolm, this week we found it. A lumbering clumsy dinosaur, legs powered by the bible, as it screams and kicks at the foundations of marriage equality.

Lylezilla! We must flee!





Nick Xenophon – for forgetting that the Internet exists.

Nicholas Xenophon, welcome to your brand new pariah status. In a week that saw the Coalition’s maligned media reform squeeze through the Senate; playing the Leyjonhjelm role of gubernatorial turncoat (fire your Adlers in air if you feel me) this time around is South Australia’s own Professor X.

Mind you, nothing wrong with using the wafer-thin majority to your advantage, it’s not like you actively said you wouldn’t be backing it, or that if you did, there wouldn’t be an easily accessible record of it, right?



It’s just a shame that the X-Man doesn’t have the mutant power to produce 404 errors.




Honourable Mentions


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


Ringo Starr – for wanting to head back to the Britain of 1965.

I mean if I was Ringo, I’d want to go back to the sixties too. The only surviving Beatle (Google it) has taken the crop whip to the expired equine of Brexit (if he had voted for it), pointing that they should break from the EU to spite Bob Geldof.



Editorial alert, but Ringers, bubbie, don’t lower yourself to Bob. He had one song.




The secret verbs and Spicer – awarded to those who fried up the tastiest, most regretful piece of finger lickin’ hyperbole – goes to:

Ted Cruz’s base urges – for allowing a divided country to momentarily join as one.

Earlier in the week, Ted Cruz’s official Twitter favourited a rather adult movie, a documentary on the Bretton Woods agreement. Nah, it was a different video, but it still involved wood. Now, and perhaps showing a Presidential suitability we didn’t see in the primaries, but he immediately blamed his intern, which gave the world this headline:



Lol. I personally hope that the same thing happens again, just so we can run ‘Porn again Christan’ as a headline.

Fingers crossed.





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