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While you were asleep: ScoMo announces first cut, Gossip fells the Trumps, Vanilla reserves run low

Budget day. Smell it. Smells like…disappointment. Overnight, ScoMo announced the first cut, Melania Trump’s daily life was revealed and those who don’t like dessert got theirs.

 

 

ScoMo announces the first tax cut, and ’tis barely a scratch.

Consider this sentence the first throes of the awkward hatefuck with the budget that leaves us unfulfilled. A deficit of feeling, if you will. However, Jolly Old “Don’t call me Saint Nick” Scott Morrison has allowed us to unbutton the first button of his red overcoat this morning, announcing that low-income earners will score a tax break of $10 per week.

 

 

The vast relief will arrive via an increase in the Low Income Tax Offset, one that you won’t feel until the EOFY. But it’s there. Trust me. It currently sits at about $450 a year for those who earn under $65,000.

ScoMo has already prefaced tonight’s budget with a promise that it doesn’t contain “mammoth” tax breaks. Perhaps, and just speculating here, but maybe the first cut is the deepest. Oh dear.

Maybe I should start a company.

 

 

Class-A goss emanates from the halls of the White House. Washington Post acts as neighbourhood gossip.

In life, there’s nothing greater than the vicious french of some juicy goddamn goss. It’s the impulse that powers the boredom of suburbia, it’s the heartbeat of a thousand tenuous friendships. It’s a chorus so familiar to the ear, we can sing it in perfect pitch. Do you know what he did? Nooooo. 

 

Gossip is the albatross around everyone’s neck. No matter how high you soar, it continues to crush your vertebrae. According to some loose-lipped snitch, it totes seems that Melania and Donald, you know those guys, barely even like spend time with each other. Noooooo.

 

 

Flapping their gums to The Washington Post, Melania is absent in the West Wing, she’s running programs against wishes of her man, and she’s frosty with Ivanka. Oh, and she warned Donald about the Russian Probe months before Donald’s pal Rudy told him to ignore it. To use gossip parlance, he doesn’t even like, listen to her. 

I mean, if it’s to be believed, it seems to check many boxes of spurious gossip. It seems a high range takedown. Encompassing all fronts, a complete depantsing, one that forces your hand to reach the stratosphere, clicking it in a descending zagging motion of dismissal.

No. He. Di-dn’t.

 

 

Worldwide vanilla shortage begins, dessert addicts dig fingernails into the collective thigh.

Depending on how your feed is tailored, you’re reliably informed that whatever you use to balm the dull ache of existence is running out. Coffee. Bananas. E10. This morning, you can add another to your binge list, as apparently the nation of Madagascar has evaporated desserts worldwide, as their failed vanilla crop has resulted in a global shortage of our favourite flavourless flavour.

 

 

 

Now, you could say that it’s probably best arm yourself with a heavy dollop of logic, and not completely lose all of the plot, as not everything you read on the internet is true. Which makes a lot of sense, well done you. You keep thinking that. If you’ll very much pardon me, I have to sharpen the edge of this dessert spoon, I’ve got shopping to do.

 

 

 

 

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