An op-shop formal, a rainbow bullet in the foot and a blunt attempt to hang with the cool kids all found themselves in the pit of #Auspol this week. So, who won?



Politics is like that social event you show up to, where the only person you know isn’t there yet. So, you awkwardly stand in the corner and try your best to look serious. The music on-tap is the most overplayed remixes of 1990s glory day hits and the fridge is only filled with bitter. Eventually, the owner of the house kicks everyone out before it gets rowdy, or anyone has a chance to explore the upstairs bedrooms with a stranger. Thusly, no-one can figure out if they had fun or not. Yay, #Auspol.


Tony Abbott – for being everything we wanted him to be.

There’s a very famous scene in the very famous 1983 film/mash note to cocaine Scarface, where an extremely addled Tony Montana admonishes the effete clientele of a swanky Miami restaurant, as pointing out that ‘Choo need people like me…so you can point your phucking fingers, and say that’s the bad guy.

The same certainly goes for our ex-Prime Minister. Whatever the issue, he’s present with a hypocritical hot take, an explosive bombastic trite land mine, raining nonsensical shrapnel over the heads of the logical, rolling the eyes of who witnessed it.



So, just like the other Tony, we do sort of need him. A negative force to rally against, a face to laugh in when things fall our way.

As much as we hate to even entertain the idea of admitting it out loud, you be you, Tone. Push it to the limit.


The Twitter people – for expanding the expanse of their empire/word limit.

Well done, faceless Twitter executives. You’ve managed to circumvent the problem that Alexander the Great faced, when he weeped like a total bitch at the sight of what was ahead of him. There was simply nothing left to conquer. Twitter faced the same issue Alexander did, but decided to do something about it, inventing all new lands in which to ruin.

Nothing bad will come of this.




Also on The Big Smoke



George Brandis, for dressing up his nefarious moves in op-shop threads.

The Left/what’s left of Australia has experienced a shifting bedroom dalliance with Curious George lately, as he’s evolved from that castigated toolbox at work to being ‘almost cool’, after he castigated that toolbox at work. Suddenly, the moral free pass has his name under the laminate, however, I believe we should not be so quick to forget and/or automatically forgive.

Earlier this week, Honourable George railed against the same neg forces, criticising those who criticised Macklemore, the singer sentenced to a lifetime of hard labour, performing in front of a baying crowd of football fans at the big final this weekend, because sportsball/crimes in a past life.


Which is all good, hooray for empathetic George, but before we roll our scooters to the thrift shop down the road to wear our granddads clothes, he also loosened the Section 44 noose substantially, stating:


Yeah, that logic is worth 99 cents.


The No Campaign, for digging the bullet out of the foot of their enemies, before planting it in their own.

Wind the clock back slightly, and those on the fence regarding the marriage equality survey leant towards the ‘No’ side of town, recoiling at the sight of an unsolicited text message on their phone. Whichever way you want to cut it, those opposed certainly got something out of it. The lesson, it seems, was not to do something similar, and gift the other camp an easy win. Just don’t do what they did, right?



How many more weeks to go again?



Honourable mentions

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

Whoever assembled the petition to ban Macklemore, for crimes against stock photography.


The horror.



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

Steven Seagal, for his overt attempt to bed Vladimir Putin.


Be subtle, bro.

To be fair, the Seagull (Hello, Anton) has been circling for a while, trying to make himself known. His approaches famously reached their awful nadir when Steven decided to crash the wedding reception of Vlad’s third cousin, Petra.


Leave the Putins be.





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