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Current Affairs Wrap: Piers lubs Donald 4eva, Pyne rides the tram, 2018 will do something to someone

You’ve been drinking again, haven’t you, the week that’s just past. I can smell it on you. You’ve been with that Piers Morgan again, haven’t you? You sicken me.

 

 

International

Sometimes you get in a relationship that people just don’t understand why you’re together in the first place. Cue the thousand of text changes, social events or platitudes to your closest, defending your new beau. It’s fortunate, because it acts as a sort of self-denial. The constant defence of relationship you know is questionable, actually gives it merit. Even if you do end up looking like a complete cockwaffle in the process.

Piers Morgan and Donald Trump have that kind of relationship. Their confused amour fou was on full display this week, as they met in London, where Piers bought Donald a shirt that he thought he’d look good in because it’s got your name on it, babe.

 

 

What followed was a really unfortunate hot flaming piece of garbage, as Donald unhinged his jaw, and trumpeted this:

 

 

Which, bitterly, garnered this response, in response to our response:

 

 

It must be love, love, love. I guess.

 

Elsewhere on planet nonsense, the big spoon to our social little spoon, Mark Zuckerberg has become equal parts reckless, and donated the entire back catalogue of fucks he doesn’t have. You see, Marky Mark seemingly no longer likes the cut of the jacket his monster (Facebook) wears, so he’s decided to considerably taken in the hem. In English, he’s attempted to make Facebook less pervasive, as has taken steps to ensure that people use his product less. Lolwut.

 

 

I mean, if I owned shares in Facey (and lord knows I wish I did, so I could personally ruin my brain, and expand my pockets), I’d be spinning a revolver menacingly on my finger pointed in his direction. However, Zuckers being Zuckers, it sort of didn’t make a difference on the bottom line. In fact, this happened:

 

Just buy the world already, Mark.

 

Domestic

Back on more familiar shores, we witnessed a familiar face smiling in an unfamiliar situation. And what a smile it is.

 

 

Christine’s brother made the ceremony, which by all accounts was rather lovely, and all attending were indeed happy to be there. Look at his smiling face. Naw.

Elsewhere, an equally happy elected scamp was similarly castigated for enjoying himself, as the Hugo Weaving of AusPol, Christopher Pyne decided to take the tram to work.

Typically, we all pointed and laughed, because we all understood that public transport is not a laughing matter, and it is certainly not a fun as his face tells us. Take our destitution seriously, Christopher. Wipe that smile off your face. We’re dying over here. Speaking of that face, if Pyne, for whatever reason, is the subject of a biopic, please please please pick up the phone and get Agent Smith. It’s eerie.

Compare the pair.

 

 

Actually, to be honest he looks more Abbott than Pyne there. Maybe Hugo could play three roles in a local political drama/satire, like Dr Strangelove. I’d watch that. And I’ve claimed the idea as intellectual property.

Elsewhere in nonsense political news, the candidate from Barbados, Rihanna, who, as we all remember was elected on her umbrella awareness platform (eee, eee, eee, eee), shot the Australian government a rather official email, which in turn enabled the process and gained funding for a collective of people who absolutely needed it.

 

 

What the fudge. That’s some actual rapid governmenting. Considering our inability to get anything through our pointlessly split house, maybe Mal should employ Ri-Ri as Senate whip?

 

Weird and Wonderful

As the great contemporary thinker/actually proper modern artist Shia LaBeouf once said: Do it. Just do it. Don’t let your dreams be dreams. Yesterday you said tomorrow. So just do it. Make your dreams come true. Just do it(!)

This week, one hoops fan took his lesson to heart and actioned it with his feet as he snuck onto the pre-game shootaround, somehow bamboozling the ballboys to allow him to put a shot up before the constabulary returned him to his seat.

 

Props indeed, young man.

And finally, the beauty of the first months of the new year is the unknown. Yes, time is a man-made concept, and last year is no different to this one, but we’re unaware of this yet. And in that ignorance lies the quarry. We’re not entirely sure who’ll be the unfortunate sod who’ll be victimised by everyone else in 2018, but journalist Mark Kelly has a clue.

 

See you next week!

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