#Auspol winners and losers: Who attached tape to their balls?

A duet no-one asked for, the coronation of new meme-lord and a return to form all highlight #Auspol’s godawful week. So, who won?



Every Friday, The Big Smoke pulls out the chalkboard in an attempt to chart the week’s winners and losers in the game of #Auspol. (It should be noted: in the case of politics, one cannot chart a true winner or loser, but fuck it, we’re doing it anyway.) How did our favourites fair this week?



Pauline Hanson, for making a duet happen that we’ve only dreamed of.

The pages of history are graffito tagged by the ink of what if? as we scrawl in the margin all those fantastic combinations our minds made up, but reality refused to make it happen. Like, what if Stanley Kubrick directed James Bond? What if the movie Brady Bunch met the television Brady Bunch, what if Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart dropped Despacito with a Beebs vocal? Questions all.

A less spoken possibility (but no less visceral) was witnessed in the flesh this week, as Pauline Hanson extended the olive branch to the man who threw her into jail in order to pitch her book, which is a reverse worthy of Tolstoy. Or another aggrieved politically wronged historical figure of note.




Malcolm Turnbull, for coating himself with a new layer of Teflon.

Mally is an expensive crock in many cases, but his similarities to an overpriced cooking utensil are gratingly obvious. I’m talking about a saucepan. The one that we spent too much money on purchasing on the basis that it would sautee our subpar meat to a tolerable level. Alas, the non-stick coating has since worn off, and everything now sticks to the cooking surface, as we curse the pot for going to pot.

Except, this week, we’ve kind of forgot.

You see, the moment that all the naysayers have been waiting for is for him to eclipse the subterranean watermark that his predecessor set, which enabled the spill. This week, Malcolm reached the all-important, penultimate 29th Newspoll loss in a row.

However, nary a fuck was given, because someone attached a piece of sticky tape to a piece of leather. Result!



Guess who’s back.




Barnaby Joyce, for his flaccid comeback.

Don’t call it a comeback. Please don’t. Which Barnaby Joyce remains big, the headlines might have got small. Or, at the very least, less jousty. Much like that other washed up hack in possession of a mole, all one needs is one more taste of the limelight to again be a star. Just one close-up (encounter with the electorate)


Yeah, that’s not going to do it, Barn.




Julius Gladys, for believing that she pulled the toga all the way over our head.

There’s a governmental trick as old as disembowelling Christians and hemming them into a fragrant sack to double as lawn accoutrements, and that’s the building of gaudy statements of athletic triumpherence to distract the general populace from more pressing matters, because fucking chariot racing, bruh.



Yeah, nice try, Caesar.

Although, chariot races around Barangaroo would wonderfully suit the city.

Make it happen.

Hail, Caesar!



Also on The Big Smoke



Honourable mentions

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

Barnaby Joyce, for, well. We’ve been here before.

Sorry to get you twice, Barn Ol’ Pal, but bruh, you earned it.




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

Clive Palmer, for his ascension to meme-lord status.

Much like Doctor Who, the Auspol meme-lord has known many names and faces. Prior to its current regeneration, it wore the face of Dastyari and Ludlam. However, the spinning (re)tardis of dank political discourse ceases for no man, as the next (waste our time) lord is a Palmer.



To be fair, he’s got premium A-class rubbish.



Dast, you’ve done your dash, pal. What a ride it was. Shoo no. There’s a good lad.



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