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#AusPol winners and losers: Please stop the newscycle, I have motion sickness

#AusPol, I’m just going to say it. What happened to you, man? You used to be beautiful. Well, not beautiful, but certainly less ugly. Certainly not…this.

 

 

Every Friday, The Big Smoke announces the winners and losers of the nation’s most brutal form of competitive entertainment. Politics. So who emerges victorious from the #AusPol arena this week? The discourse! She burns.

 

Winners

Pauline Hanson, for uniting a divided Senate

Ever since Malcolm fell in the door drunk, clutching the last remnants of his eaten away majority, we’ve been a nation at war with ourselves. We’ve traded houses for guns, entertained the idea of the empirical penis, we’ve tried to take down NASA with a series of paper cuts, and we’ve engaged in a spurious crusade of purifying the Senate from the hands of Johnny Foreigner. Things have been bad. But, who rightly knew that all it took was the sight of Pauline Hanson in a burqa to heal us. Clearly, Pauline saw this division of infighting and took it upon herself to unite us, through a meta level of awfulness.

 

Through her magnificent sacrifice of the self, great foes finally saw the wonderfully manicured lawn of common ground. The thing that staggered me was the discovery that George Brandis was a real person with real feelings, I wasn’t ready for his cracking voice, wobbling jaw, or the impulse I felt to give him a bro hug.

 

 

I wasn’t ready. Please just return to stealing my meta data, George. I don’t understand these feelings I suddenly have.

 

Eric Abetz, for completing his metamorphosis into an angry old man.

The point comes, as it does to all men when you run out of fucks to give. Your moral compass swings around to the magnetic opposite, and you no longer feel the need to hide your reprehensible views. The knowledge that you’ll soon be dead sort of validates your awfulness. Eric Abetz reached this notable milestone this week, as he equated the marriage between man and man to be as valuable as one between man and object.

 

 

Let’s just cut straight to the subtext here, which is that homosexual people, seemingly are not people, but rather inanimate objects. Ok. 

via GIPHY

 

See also: Kevin Andrews’ peloton analogy and Dick Smith’s pitchfork.

 

 

Losers

Fiona Nash, Barnaby Joyce, Matt Canavan & Malcolm Roberts, for spending a day off work with the people from work.

Imagine that day at the High Court. You could lose your job, but at least you’re out of the office. Sped by your spiffiest shoes, you overpay for a wagon coffee to soothe your nerves and wake the synapses in your brain. Your step instinctively halts by the sight of that weird dude from work. G’day, Malcolm, you apathetically murmur. Gettin’ coffee too are ya? he returns, before adding Oh. Yeeeeah. ‘Spose your ‘ere for the same thing, heheheheh…wanna sit together?

 

 

 

The critics who panned Jacqui Lambie’s visit to a sex shop, for panning Jacqui Lambie’s visit to a sex shop.

I mean, get fucked. Although, the mental image of Lambie in PVC catsuit asking me to come to beddddd in her gravel timbre is one I’ll have to extract with a drill, but sex is sex is sex. Just because we were invaded/established by prudes doesn’t make it wrong, guys.

 

Honourable Mentions

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

Those who believed the spurious news article that claimed London’s Big Ben was set to be renamed ‘Massive Mohammed’

Come on, now.

 

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

Who else, but the headmaster of hogwash, the doctorate of detritus, the tenured professor of codswallop at Porkie University, Donald J. Trump. Who, among many other things this week, decided to name the Charlottesville Palomino of white supremacy entirely a different colour, stating that:

 

 

 

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