While you were asleep: FBI hit Donald’s lawyer, DJ who clocked Abbott gets time,

Morning! As your coffee cools, the FBI has kicked down the door of Donald Trump’s lawyer, the bloke who nutted Tony Abbott was jailed and another visceral image met our peepers.



FBI invade the law offices of Donald Trump, take evidence of Stormy Daniels hush monies.

Is there a sweeter sound in the world than a lawyer’s door kicked ruthlessly ajar by those who wear large letters on their back, a badge on their breast and a gun at their hip to add inches to their downstairs? Probably, yes. It matters not, because the FBI are currently tracking mud through the carpet of Donald Trump’s lawyer’s office, looking for certain documents.



The documents in question relate to the stormy rolling in, the cyclic Tropical shit storm that won’t seemingly ever reach climax. For those of you still keen on banging this issue into the bedhead, a source close to the New York Times said that agents confiscated emails and business records relating to a $130,000 payment that was made to Daniels 11 days before the 2016 election.

I mean, it’s hardly a home run. Let’s be real here. Yes, he may have cheated on his wife, yes, he might be a massive plank. But, this is akin to getting Al Capone of tax evasion. It’s not a noose befitting the man.


DJ Astro Labe, the man who donated his lobe to meet Tony Abbott jailed for six months.

In certain booze and sweat painted publican corners around the nation, the news of the man who head-butted Tony Abbott going to jail may be seen as a very serious, very sour reverse. A case of the nation losing its way. It’s a fair point, cobber. If our taxes pay their salaries, and they promise things and don’t deliver, then a meeting of minds is surely fairly within the scope of decent behaviour.



Then again, the man’s name was DJ Astro Labe. So, maybe not. That being said, I personally hope that he uses his six-month stretch inside properly, either a) to use his outside world cred to run the yard or b) use the sentence as Johnny Cash did, and perform a gritty, grimy DJ set inside the prison walls.

When I was arrested, I was dr-dr-dressed in bl-bl-blacckk.

Note: In the process of Googling this article, I discovered that Johnny Cash merely played in Folsom, he wasn’t serving time there. Which, sadly, buffs all the edge off. I mean, what makes you a bad man now, Cash? Because you wear black and may or may not have cheated on June? Did you even do that, Jack? Did you?



Cosby protestor jumps rail, meets us with lasting imagery.

Those of us thrust into the information age, the phrase a picture says a thousand blah blahs is antiquated, purely on the basis of all the so many images we view on a daily basis. We’re drowning in saturation. However, every so often, a tableau is swept across our breakfast tables, one that halts the commencement of muesli onto tastebud, as we register the contours of meaning with our tired eyes and fried brains, and think damn. Now that’s a photo.

Overnight and this morning, a protestor vaulted the perishable barriers of peace and war, literally displaying her angst against Bill Cosby, silent epithets screaming volume.



Nicolle Rochelle, the above protestor (and ex-Cosby Show actor) carved the names of Cosby’s purported victims into her derma with sharpie, in a pointed effort to make Bill feel “uncomfortable”

Whether it worked or not, is entirely up to whoever views it, but what an image.

Look at their little faces.




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