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#AusPol winners and losers: Who’s the new sheriff in town?

An angry man fights his big boy pants, the birth of a new lawman and a naked plea for sexual congress. Fairly standard week in #AusPol, let us sift through the detritus.


#AusPol is like that social event you show up to, but the only person you know isn’t there yet. So, you awkwardly stand in the corner and try your best to look serious. The music is the most overplayed remixes of 1990s glory day hits and the fridge is only filled with bitter. Eventually, the owner of the house kicks everyone out before it gets rowdy, or anyone has a chance to explore the upstairs bedrooms with a stranger, and thusly no-one can 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.



Mark Latham: for not giving two figs about his dangleberries. The primary problem with politics is that you have to show your work for every verbal equation. Just banging the numbers on the calculator will not do. But sometimes, all we need is someone to be upfront with their desires. We know we’re getting screwed, we just need someone to say so. Enter one Mark Latham, who earnestly let us into his boudoir this week, casting our eyes downward to his blunt, jiggling member of parliament. Hot.




Chris Uhlmann: for his elegant creasing of his big boy pants. As it stands, the ongoing criticism of Donald Trump is an industry of itself. A kind of cafeteria hip-hop punched up on the fly, the audience supplies the beatbox, we supply the verbals; all in an effort to make the crowd go ‘oh’. Now, the Americans are very good at it, whereas, we, the exchange student, not so much.

Yo, I’m from Australia and Trump is fucked. 



High kudos then goes to Uhlmann who proved that abuse is an important export.




Also on The Big Smoke



The future robot versions of us: for having to explain 2017 to future generations. Very shortly, we’ll be dead. Which is great, because we won’t have to explain the actions of our fellow homo sapiens to fellow homo sapiens. However, if anyone was thinking of going the Walt Disney route, seeing the vast future through the magic of cryogenics, well, one must arm themselves with the important facts before attempting to sum up the elbowed clusterfuck of this calendar year.

To wit:



Barnaby Joyce: for being the voice of reason. As the crow flies the arm bends, and the hue turns pink, Barnaby Joyce has a certain panache, a role he fits well. He’s the guy who turns up to work with a lump of coal, he’s the bent Australian take on Kris Kringle, where everybody is bad, because his vision is so blurred, he’s unable to make out the list. Eggnog.

However, this week Barno has morphed into Saint Barnabus, calling for peace and good tidings for all men (in the Coalition), humbling preaching the good word about the benefits of getting along with your neighbour.



I agree with you Barnaby, and that’s the problem.


Honourable mentions

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

The 45th Presidency: for giving us an American remake no-one wants. Everyone loves the French arthouse romp Jules et Jim, especially those who haven’t seen it. Especially if those people wear horn-rimmed trifocals. However, the Don’s recent made-for-TV remake has upset the Etouffee cart considerably. Madames et monsieurs, Donald et Jim.



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

Malcolm Turnbull: for cleaning up the Internet, once and for all. Steady on, cowpokes – there’s a new sheriff in town. A man of great virtue, and no clue. A man who blindly fires from the hip, while tipping his hat to the cowered electorate. Things are going to be veeerryyy different ’round here. Mal’s noble cause, in breaking up the abject evil of internet encryption in the name of the people has the awkies pinch of nanny state control, however, the badge glints clear in the sun, and the white hair hat tells us that he’s a good guy. So, all good, y’all. Mack, get me a sarsaparilla.


You heard the man! Everyone off them dang Internets.