Monday. Geez. Overnight Malcolm Turnbull lost his 30th Newspoll, Islamic State returned with a bang and for whatever reason, we’re admiring the haircuts of horsies.



Malcolm becomes equally as unpopular as Tony Abbott, nation disappointed by the party thrown.

Last night, the Newspoll clock struck thirty…and nothing happened. There were no grand copulations in the streets, the wine was the same, and Malcolm Turnbull didn’t magically transform back into a pumpkin as the Twitter witches curse promised he would. Which, to use current parlance, that was disappointing a fudge.



I was under the assumption that eclipsing Tony Abbott’s arbitrary measure of failure was going to be a moment to erect one’s back, and elevate the collective nose in superiority. At least I thought we’d wake this morning to find Malcolm slung over his bureau with a knife plunged in his back. But, not it was more Y2K than the fall of Rome. Sadly, I believe the antagonists on Twitter felt it too, giving rise to examples of the true barometer of disappointment: poetry.





I’ve wrote a haiku in response:

Unpopular thought,

The Newspolls, they do nothing,

Stop polishing turds.


Islamic State starts Beatles comeback tour, PR hits snag.

There are certain crimes that are beyond the pale of humanity. Certain things we cannot abide nor forgive. Those who commit such acts are the outliers of society and should be pushed to the fringe of society with a very large pole with a knife on the end of it. I’m talking, of course, about modern day cover bands who very poorly suck the antiquated teat of long-dead genius for their own financial gain. Truly they are the scourge of the modern day experience. Sadly, it seems that they’re quite adept at brand synergy, as it seems that one group of antagonists has merged with another of our time, Islamic State.



British journalist Jenan Moussa managed to bag an interview with one of the members, I’m unsure which one, but he looks like a Ringo, but sadly for her, and the rest of us, it didn’t go well, with aforesaid Beatle retreating behind the barbed wired reinforcements of churlish fuckery.




And note. Yes, I’m aware that these people killed people, but if we can’t satirise, or lessen the fear that these moronically soubriqueted morons look to expand through the capitalisation of yelled news outlet hyperbole, then they win. And I’m strictly an Elvis man. So, pfft.



 Horses have better hair than you, which is somehow newsworthy.

And finally, because it’s Monday, and the above paragraph will probably solidify my path to the glue factory, let us focus our attention on some particularly sassy equines.



For whatever reason, these follicly blessed nags are now clip-clopping around the offices of one particularly notable news publication, because reasons, and because goddamn this is why you should always rinse and repeat.





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