One Nation fell further into the deep fryer, we’ve had a spate of overindulgence on hate pie and the emergence of Canberra’s own caped crusader. But who could it possibly be?
Well bugger me with a fish fork, it’s Thursday. Huzzah. The world kept dying while you were recharging, which featured an argument at the estimates, Taiwan saying yes to gay marriage and an unholy clusterboink on ABC2.
Well, what a night it was. New facts came to light from Manchester, the great Roger Moore left us, and Donald Trump won more friends. Today is a bad day. Soz.
What do our Next Gen writers think about the London private school bringing in skirts for boys? From 10 to 18 years of age, students weigh in on a possible gender-neutral future.
Here we go again. Trump spoke (well) in Saudi Arabia, the last drops of the Premier League season were shaken out of the bottle and a string of emoji earned a couple an appearance in court. Bring on the comet.
A racist fighting racism, the loss of something beautiful and Tony Abbott polishing his rifle. I see nothing out of the ordinary. Yay, #Auspol.
The issue surrounding the Gaza strip is one of difference. Alongside the documentary Eyeless in Gaza, we’ve asked both sides of the political fence for their opinion, in the name of greater education.
This morning…is not my type of morning. Donald Trump gave us the reasons he abused our trust, we fell apart over a Bunnings sausage and Avril Lavigne became the sixth Beatle from beyond the grave. Kill me.
Monday. Think of it this way: soon you’ll be dead, and there’ll be no more morning angst. Solved! Macron. Trump. The Soviet Union. Yes, them again.
Budget impersonations, schoolyard hijinks and tasteful semi-nudes. It’s been a fairly normal week in the rolling seas of #AusPol. Let us wheel out the participation ribbons.
The full moon has crested over the Trump administration, Alan Joyce will press charges against pie tit and Linkin Park has torn down their legacy. And yes, you should call in sick.
Just like Uncle Darryl prying open the liquor cabinet at Chrimbo, we got into the silly juice and insulted everyone after the Coalition made its seasonal speech.
It’s Monday. Hoorah. While you were dredging your subconscious, France settled on Emmanuel Macron, the A-League was finalised, and the Internet ganged up on Piers Morgan. Pretty standard.
Well. It was what it was. WA checked its bank account and swore, the duality of press freedom helped itself to our fridge, and a morbid man added to the filth in a public restroom.
It was an evening thin on logic. Local police unearthed a meme stash, Japan launched an opulent train and North Korea made yet more nuclear threats. Go back to sleep. You’re dreaming. Sleeeeeeep.
Monday morning. We’re opening the week with a flower that smells like death, because tabloid journalism. Also, science can now draw water from the most desert-like conditions with a device no bigger than a tissue box.
Tony embraced millennial life advice, satire was bested with Nazi paraphernalia and Centrelink’s awkward nickname was revealed. What a week in #AusPol.
This morning, we focus solely on the positive. We’ve had an artificial womb keep a lamb alive, a potential cure for Parkinson’s and the date for Wes Anderson’s next film.
The morning after a public holiday. Why? While you were dreaming of a way out, Marine Le Pen quit her party, Cory Bernardi built his, and M Night Shyamalan returned to form.
The rise of Marine Le Pen, Victoria taking the fun out the drive-by and the confirmation of a wave of Avatar sequels. Probably best you go back to bed, pumpkin.
Mike Pence dropped in to see if we were still friends, Alien life may be a reality on the moons of Saturn and Matt Damon was zinged beyond the grave. What a week.
Some particularly rough #AusPol discourse, stolen identities and a metamorphosis into an inanimate object. Move over, Juarez, here comes Canberra.