#AusPol winners and losers: Who went postal after the postal vote?

Esoteric impersonations, public mastication and the inability to drink all headlined this very storied week of #AusPol. So who won? 



Every week we step into the blunderdome, where those who renege on deals must face the wheel, or retreat to the backbench and pocket dem cheques, yeah boyyee. However, seldom are we faced with a week where the lines of division are so stark, where the winners and the losers in the #AusPol sphere are so obvious, nothing more needs to be said. But we’re saying it anyway. If you were fortunate enough to miss the week via a slipping into a coma, you lucky duck, consider the headline below as a decent aperitif.


You know what? Can I start with an admission of naked honesty? I know it’s Al Bundy, and the Tele played to their audience, but I don’t get it. Which is my own stupid fault, I guess. I only registered to vote to eyeboink Christina Applegate. That being said, if someone can join the dots, I’ll be able to shake my fist with gusto, instead of the limp shaking eye shifting way forward I’ve been rocking since Wednesday. Send help.



Malcolm Turnbull, for his spot on Oscar Wilde impersonation.

As the story goes, Ireland’s greatest wordsmith/bisexual was quickly approaching his last, entirely ruined in a tumbledown Left Bank hotel, mustering a final swathe of wit to those grouped around him, uttering: “Either these curtains go, or I do.”

The benefits of a private education graced me with the contours of that anecdote, as it would have also for our Prime Minister, as evidenced by an image shared on his Twitter feed.



Very subtle, very droll. An outstanding nod of the head, Mal.



Cory Bernardi, for handling defeat in the right manner, by getting back up on that flogged horse.

As a dead man (who had glaring personality deficiencies, which we tend to overlook) once opined, victory has many fathers, while defeat sits at the back door waiting for the outline of the paternal figure that just left to get cigarettes…in 1995. However, the importance of defeat is to not get down on yourself. One must dust yourself off and try again (try again).

So kudos this week, Cory, for not giving up. You’re doing so well. Allow me to attach a sticker to your work that depicts a cartoon goat saying You’re giving it a ggggoooooooo….at.



You too, Lyle. Bring your sepia rainbow drawing up here.





Old Mate from the ABS, for dragging it out.

In the large minutes prior to the clocks ticking over to high equality noon, on that (soon to be storied) morning, abject nervousness was in the air. Both sides twitched with anticipation of the Australia they both thought they knew, both sides faced the horror of refreshing Twitter, as the promise of 17 new tweets all held us, before the numbers would drive us apart, forever.

Suffice to say, the last thing we needed was a sales pitch. Especially from a brand we were forced to buy from, and certainly from one that we promised we never would again. Cough, Census Fail.

But, a sales pitch is what we got, which, gave us a final moment of unity as a country, as we all banded together against the ABS representative to speed his superfluous waffling.




Jacinta Ardern, for bringing her troubles to work.

Now, don’t get me wrong. The passing of a family member is a terrible thing. Especially if it happens to be the family pet, as they’re usually beyond reproach, and usually don’t steal money out of my purse. However, the important thing to do is to not bring that grief to work. As we all know the newly minted Prime Minister of New Zealand Jacinta Ardern recently lost her cat, Puddles. Which is not a knock on her (unless murdered it), but I’m wondering why so many people know about it. Especially those beyond the borders of NZ. I mean, yes, we’re all very very disappointed by the current flow of things, but must we latch upon everything that isn’t Trump, or Turnbull or Dutton and deify, and elevate nonsense to stratospheric levels? I mean it’s a dead cat.



Why does Shinzo Abe a) know about it or b) feel the need to extend condolences at a diplomatic meeting and c) why this deceased feline on my breakfast table?

I’m just going to call it now. Puddles for US Prez 2020 – You know he’s dead on the inside.


Also on The Big Smoke


Honourable mentions

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

Chris Kenny, for becoming what he

What we have here is criticism-ception. A criticism within a criticism. One that has me dreaming of a swift end. Or, an eternity with Marion Cotillard spent razing buildings of sand. Kinky. But I digress, what Chris Kenny has done is hammered the left for not focusing on the victory of marriage equality, instead choosing to yell at Tony Abbott, by yelling at the left for yelling at Tony Abbott and not focusing on the victory of marriage equality.






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

The Trump Presidency, for giving us their own Watergate.

And yes, it’s not the one we want. But, they’ve given us something far more precious/fetid. In a landscape of utter headshaking non-issues, we might indeed have a new winner – which will probably be surpassed by the time I finish this sentence. For some reason, we’ve taken Donald to task this week for his inability to drink water.





However, and I’m really sorry about this, but the story doesn’t end there. As it turns out, some evidence predates the above, as Donald, the man who can’t drink water, criticised another for not being able to drink water.



What does it all mean?  Well, I’m going to chug the rest of what lives under the sink to ensure I’m not present for the day where our kids demand an explanation for what we’ve done.



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