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#AusPol winners and losers: Who made everything new, old again?

Questionable time travel, alienated cliche and an emptied sack highlighted the week that was #AusPol. Don’t look at us, you voted for them.



Politics is like that party you show up to, where the only person you know isn’t there yet. The music on-tap is the most overplayed remixes of 1990s glory day hits, and the fridge is filled with bitter. Eventually, the owner of the house kicks everyone out before anyone has a chance to explore the upstairs bedrooms. Everyone parts, trying to figure out if they had fun or not.

But we at The Big Smoke are a results-focused bunch, thus, here are this week’s #AusPol winners and losers.



Bill Shorten, for bringing 2017 back.

It’s been a bit of a storied week for Billiam. He’s decided that year we’re quietly navigating needs some edge to it. But nothing that requires too much thought, or risk, so he’s endeavoured to exhume the rotting festering corpse of that dead year that almost killed us all.

Looking to trigger our memories (read: PTSD) of what his opponent had left coiled in our lap, Bill brought back both Section 44 and inter-political relationships, stepping a mocking tone, his acts screaming thiS iS whAt yOu lOok liKe.




Very subtle, Bill. Just please don’t dab.

Or rap.



Scott Morrison, for lowering his post-budget analysis.

Now, the budget is given a wide berth by the common people (clap clap clap), and Scott Morrison knows this. He’s a man of the people, a people person who knows people. To this end, he knows that the populace knows but two things. Which football team they support, and the correct usage of the third person.

The below exchange happened, and arrived in the e-post thanks to the Australian‘s Jared Owens:




Right, that’s that explained then.



Those who participated in the #keepmytendollars hashtag, for putting a price on the mouth of a gift horse.

General decorum might be the brutal militaristic leader that rules our social exchanges, but there’s a reason why he has kept his power. Without the boundaries of needless etiquette, we’d revert to the savages we used to be, cracking open the skulls of each other with the skull of another.

Rule number one is the acceptance of gifts. One must accept said gift, because it is a gift. Even if it was thoughtless, and especially if it isn’t wanted. This week, ScoMo Claus did exactly what he promised not to, and put a gift of a tax break in everyone’s hanging sock, and Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Sadly, he left the price tag on it, and we soon lost all of the plot, taking to Twitter telling everyone what they’d rather have received for budget Christmas. Rude, guys.







Ed Husic, for his rubbish Spike Jonze homage.

Oh, Edward, where ya been. The man who once carried the spinal chord of his GP to Question Time to illustrate his point has struck once again. The 2013 movie Her articulates the love story between man and machine, wondering if true love between something that is not real, is actually real; if we can we apply our prehistoric romantic laws to a much more advanced species than ours, and finally, I wonder where Joaquin Phoenix got those pants.

That’s an important movie, but I’m not sure if Ed’s budget homage will be so fondly remembered, as he missed the point of the narrative, bringing his AI bro, Timothy, into work with him.


Meh, whatever. Just get Scarlett to voice him.




Also on The Big Smoke


Honourable mentions

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

Catherine King MP, for making her point.

It’s not so much what she said, but rather what she did. And then later said it. As any terrible student or pointlessly rebellious progeny will tell you, masking you flipping the bird to an authority figure is cool. In fact, it’s the only way to fly. What’s especially cool, is if your friends see it, or, you take a photo of it, and then show everyone so your friends see it.



You’re cool, Cathy. Your fingers made a swear.



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

Piers Morgan, for douchesplaining Catholicism to God’s PA.

Piers Morgan is an island upon himself, and certainly not worth the excrement you hurl in his direction. All you do is dirty your hands, as you watch him chuckle, and rub it into his hair while he maintains eye contact. Citation needed. 

However, this week the internet revelry surrounding RiRi’s elevation into the Church of the Holy Dude:


This quickly inspired an evening takedown by PM, cheerfully tagging Pope Francis in the hot take which burned like the fires of hell, but betterer.



As the kid say, don’t @ me, bro.


And finally, I’ll leave you with the words of William Blake, as he attempted to articulate the transient source of happiness: “Box, box, in the box, what’s in the box today?”



Look at their little jovial faces. Naw.




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