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#AusPol winners and losers: Who is dead to us this week?

A Ricki Lake-grade zinger, a foreclosed farm and a pack of people whining “you’ve changed, man” highlight the worst parts of #AusPol this week. Standard.

 

 

Every Friday, your trusty commentators at The Big Smoke review the most lauded plays in the game of Australian politics from the week previous. Passionate? Unquestionably. Conniving? Undoubtedly. But it’s not about that. Headlines need to be made and an audience needs to be entertained. So, who won?

 

Peter Dutton – for wresting himself free of his mortal constraints.

All politicians are kept by the devil’s snare of the electorate. A gripping mass of spiky sinew, one that grips tighter if it smells fear. This week, the megawatt lack of complete fucks that Peter Dutton has to give to those who don’t care for him.

 

Respect.

You Voldemortian dolt.

 

Pauline Hanson, for pulling a Dutton – without using the mean words.

Man, you wait all your life for a politician to be honest, and then two come along at once, right? The chewed gum on the bus stop seat of fate seems to be red in colour, and comin’ straight outta Ipswich. This week, Pauline Hanson, the woman who was famously both for the people but not all people, decided to wriggle free of the identity politics pupa, and flap her gaudy wings, evolved, forever changed, as a politician.

 

 

Sadly, politicians, like butterflies have an extremely short lifespan, before they’re forever pinned behind glass, cultivated by the lepidopterist of parliamentary pension.

S’just nature, yeah?

 


Also on The Big Smoke


 

 

Losers

Bloggers in China – for being denied the sweet pedestrian taste of low hanging fruit.

As members of a free democracy, we’re afforded some benefits. Orwellian” has quickly become shorthand for any sort of governmental overstep that we don’t understand, beyond the point that it seems bad. Well, the clocks have struck thirteen for our pissant Chinese contemporaries, as the Chinese Government has decided to outlaw Animal Farm, a fable about pigs being power drunk people, and also socialists.

 

 

Essentially, and according to Sparky Sweets PhD, the tale is about power forever being in place forever. With Xi Jinping looking to consolidate his leadership, the comparisons are familiar. They’re all farmers? Dunno.

What the citizens of China are left with, is torturing Voltaire. Indefinite power corrupts indefinitely. 

 

 

Our Breakfasts – for returning itself to our breakfast table.

There’s a touch of OJ to this. That famous, oft-repeated line of if the glove does not fit, you must acquit. I couldn’t deal with David Schwimmer as a Kardashian, so I didn’t make it to the end of that case, but I’ll assume that such stupidity fell on its stupid face. Poet, don’t know it.

Anyway, news just in from The Pell hearing, in that those who may have committed the crimes (The Pell) couldn’t have, because the robes were too heavy. Not in a metaphorical, heavy lies the crown fashion, but rather that another was required to remove them. Pastoral associate Rodney informed the court of this, before agreeing that Pell’s genitals could not escape the Cathedral, and please, Lord, just stop.

 

 

 

Honourable mentions

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

The English, for being very English indeed.

The lack of skilled labour opportunities in the UK was one of the primary moronic reasons to enable the Brexit in the first place, brilliantly, it has been that complete lack of skill that has enabled that horrific reverse to not come to pass, and essentially grant everyone the result they were denied by those old fogies down the lane.

 

 

God save our lazy laaannddd…

 

 

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

The Americans, for being very American, dude.

Who doesn’t love a good bit of hyperbole. It’s the best damn thing there ever was in the entire history of the universe. It’s wide, sparse, good in bed and can cook every damn thing. The Americans could not help but devour the entirety of the plate when presented with Dutton’s comments on the South African farmers, heaping a comparison which stinks of self-flagellation, and smells even more questionable by the time it reached our shores.

 

 

Calm down, you lot.

 

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