#AusPol winners and losers: Who cried the most over spilled libs?

We’re still drowning in the spill, but we can chuckle before it kills us, right? No? Welcome to an all-spill edition of Winners and Losers.



The last days of Malcolm have been dangerously similar to the last days of Rome, except it’s probably closer to its modern cousin, the rowdy millennial house party thrown when they realise that they won’t be getting their bond back. It’s been childish, ugly, and a trifle too much. In fact, we’re a ruptured goon sack short of having to call the cops.

If for some reason you spent yesterday in a coma, and if so, I’m jealous, here’s the state of play this morning:



But with today’s hostilities yet to commence, it seems there’s nothing else to do but pick through the ruinous mess of yesterday and pick a winner.




Malcolm Turnbull, for doing Chuck Palahniuk proud.

Let’s be honest. For the entirety of the spill narrative, Malcolm has been the victim, destined to chase a shadow around Canberra as he tries his darndest to stop Peter Dutton’s Project Mayhem. He was continually forced to grab the wheel while the political vehicle plunged off the bridge.

However, this afternoon, he flipped the script, as he figured it out. But planting a gun to his own head, everyone stopped and listened. Where is your mind, indeed, Mal?



…in the right place. Finally.


The only thing left, is to blow it all up and hope for the best.



I am Malcolm’s smirking revenge.



Peter Dutton*, for gaining fleeting pseudo-celebrity.

Think about it. You’re a random boutique popcorn manufacturer from Texas. One day, your Twitter blows up as an entire nation of the angry, the paranoid and the frightened mass in your DMs to abuse the shit out of you. After some quick googling, you discover that you share the name with a deeply unpopular candidate.



I mean, this can’t be the first time that this has happened. Surely after Napoleon’s forced exile in 1814, some other Napoleon had a series of hate pigeons shitting on his door. More to that point, there surely couldn’t be one Adolf Hitler in the entirety of continental Europe.

Fair play to the other Peter Dutton, it took it rather well.


Maybe he should sit for LNP preselection.

He only needs to best 4% preferred PM-dom to surpass the other him.


Also on The Big Smoke



Bill Shorten, for hitting the jackpot. Again.

Falling posterior backwards into a minor windfall you certainly didn’t earn is an Australian thing. Mild Bill Shorten falling posterior backwards into a vast fortune is an Australian institution. As political analyst/celeb sous chef Adam Liaw put it:



However, Bill’s rise into the stratosphere of windfall city immediately reminds me of another Australian institution. Back in 1999, truck driver (and father to a superb moustache), Bill Morgan had a bit of strife. Shaking off a near-death experience, Bill bought a scratchie and won. He made the news, and the crew, in classic Today/Tonight pomp got Bill to reenact the moment.



That’s you, Bill.

Don’t spend it all at once.



Richard Di Natale, for revealing his secret identity.

What’s that, up there on the backbench? Is it a doctor? Is it a drugs advocate? No, it’s Captain Obvioooouusss!

Look, not all heroes wear capes, but every hero knows that you shouldn’t dox yourself in public. I mean, it kind of ruins the magic. Politician by day, a costumed enforcer with a snappy gimmick by night. Cool? 

Clearly, Richard Di Natale didn’t get the memo, and loudly proclaimed for all amassed that he indeed was the dude that turns up in times of trouble and strife to clearly state what everyone is thinking.

Thanks again, Captain Obvious. You saved the day…by telling us what we already knew. Glad you were here, and stuff, hey.




Honourable mentions

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

The Media, for not seeking comment from the right person.

Yesterday was an easy day for assembled media. All they had to do was be present, and mash their smug mirth into cogent sentences. So far so, clickbait. However, in the mad rush to discover who did what to who, they missed the opportunity to ask real Australians what they think about a very real issue.

Somebody like this standard bloke.


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

Christopher Pyne (the 2011 vintage), for ageing extremely well.

Yesterday was a clusterboink, and today is destined to be worse. Despite all the messy nonsense afoot, one man was conspicuously absent from the discussion. Everyone’s favourite public transport aficionado/rubber-faced thesp, Christopher Pyne kept a low profile, deciding that the public couldn’t see the forest for the trees, and the Pyne for the ironic acorn that it deposited into the ground back in 2011.


Well said, Mr Pyne. Roll on today.


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