#AusPol winners and losers: Who disappointed a ‘not angry’ Dad?

Being totally suspended from school, a blunt push for power refused and the return of someone with unfortunate initials. #AusPol, you’re not right.



It’s not nice to point at #AusPol, kids. It grew up different from the rest of us. That’s all. If God wanted us to all be equal, we’d all not pay rent and be handsomely pay for our complete lack of everything.

Your momma sure does care about your electorate, Barnaby (Eee! Eee! Eee! Eee!)



Julie Bishop, for moving in to check Barnaby.

Sometimes, all you need to do to bag a new best friend is to be around when the previous best friend disappoints. Considering that Auspol’s most enduring bromance (slightly shading Sam Dastyari and the sound of his own voice), Barnaby and Malcolm are dangerously close to like totally not being bezzie besties anymore, this week the White Bishop diagonally fired in some rhetoric, saying that she’d totally take orders from him, you know, if it came to that.

Sadly, it didn’t.



Rumours on the internet state that the reason The Ecominator got the job instead of Jules is that Mal fears Julie’s power. Bugger. That’s Wizard’s chess, I guess.

Also, I hope this doesn’t mean another bloody spill.



Kristina Keneally, for fucking nailing her entrance.

The thing about entrances, is that you only get one. Unless you’re Kristina Keneally, then you get two. Nevertheless! This week when she stepped the light fantastique (aka the hyperwatt glow of artificial Canberran afternoon glare), she certainly owned it.



I was immediately reminded me of Lucy Liu’s entrance in Kill Bill. You know, that song that goes like guitar for a bit, then WAHMP WAHMP WAHHHHMPPP. Then some drums, more guitar. And then more WAHMP WAHMP WAHHHHMPPP.




Also on The Big Smoke



Both houses of parliament, for having one rotten apple’s seed ruining the fun for everyone.

Abridging the immortal words of Robert Katter, I feel the loss of a thousand blossoms that will no longer have the chance to bloom. Sadly, Barnaby’s wandering prong has ruined it for everyone, as father Malcolm has decided that the underpants Charleston will no longer be danced down the corridors of power, banning all sexual discourse between politicians and their staff.


Or, as the internet tritely put it:



Dang. What’s the point of even getting into politics anymore? Eh boys? Eh?



Sam Dastyari, for underestimating his worth.

It’s real sad when you bump into an ex of yours and you see that they’re suddenly down on themselves. Which certainly clashes with the version of them you knew and loved, which makes you doubt yourself, and in some way, the love you shared. Was it always like this? Are they ok? Is it still my responsibility to fix it? 

This week, the twelfth reincarnation of the meme-lord, Sam Dastyari suddenly returned to our lives, with boombox extended above his head, blaring an ballad which spoke of his victimisation, wondering why we still welcomed Barnaby into our bed, and broke up with him over less.



Which is fine. Anger is hot. But sadly, we paid attention to it, which enabled the following overshare, similar to the unwelcome midnight text, offering a rank overshare we certainly didn’t ask for.



Oh, Sam. You’ll find someone. You just need to respect our space. I know, I’ve missed you too, but it’s over. Sorry.



Honourable mentions

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

Whoever this plank is, for annoying an entire country.

This Winter Olympics is a particularly nervous one. Especially considering the usually rowdy neighbours to the north have decided to come and play nicely. Considering the frankly acidic history between the two nations (Google it), it stands to reason that everyone should be on their best behaviour.




Oh, dear.



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

This unnamed Tamworthian, for not giving a tinker’s cuss about his sources.

This week, the ABC travelled to Tamworth (and presumably other places) to gauge how the nation is feeling about Barnaby’s sweaty friction action. Oddly, they bumped into what one can only assume was the town bigamist, who blatantly planted:



Well, ok. However, now with Barnaby set to earn $11k next week for not going to work, it’s fair to say that percentage may climb somewhat.


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