Satan Disendorses Trump

LUCIFER, Prince of Darkness and Emperor Apostate of hell, has officially disendorsed Republican presidential nominee Donald Jeronimo Trump.

“His actions comments are beyond the pale,” announced Satan, a key backer of the Reagan and Bush administrations. “On behalf of all of the legions of the damned, I’m cutting all ties to the Trump campaign. I may be the cloven-footed embodiment of evil, but being assosiciated with this blabbering fascist is starting to hurt my brand.”

Lucifer claimed that his stunning denouncement was inspired by Trump’s recent rise in the polls. “We put him up as a bit of a joke, but we never expected it to go this far. He’s facing over a dozen unresolved rape allegations, including from his ex-wife, and is still on the brink of becoming president? How can I support him when  I myself am a father? How could I look the abstract concept of lies in the eyes?”

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Who Said It – Hitler or Trump?

Jaundiced schlockmonger Donald Trump could be the next Emperor of Freedomland and everyone is all in a tizzy. But has anyone noticed that this racist demagogue has qualities in common with the only other racist demagogue anyone can be bothered remembering? Amazingly, nobody has ever thought to compare Trump with Hitler. Until now! These quotes are from either the Moustachioed Menace or Orange Boy – see if you can guess which belongs to whom!

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PM says policies don’t target millennials: also hurt elderly, children, the unborn

Australian Prime Minister Malcolm Bligh Halifax Rameses Turnbull has struck out at claims that his policies unfairly disadvantage millennials, arguing that they unfairly disadvantage all generations other than his own.

“Of course our policies aren’t some kind of attack on young people,” the PM announced to a press conference held in his negatively-geared harbourside hedge maze, “We’re committed to reducing living standards for all non-key demographics.”
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There are questions that cleave nations, the junctures where the paths of history fork.

Who has the right to vote? Is this is our war to fight? Should above the line Senate voting change from a group ticket preference system to an optional preferential system wherein voters are instructed to number a non-mandatory minimum of six boxes above the line while the mandatory minimum of 90% numbered boxes below the line is replaced with a non-mandatory nominal minimum of twelve numbered boxes and an unwritten mandatory minimum of six numbered boxes which will act as a savings provision for those who confuse the below the line and above the line voting instructions as well as some changes to the mechanism of election night ballot counting for the sake of expediency and thrift, or not?

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Citizen Clive


Just when you thought that Australian democracy was as lifeless as a roadkill ‘roo smeared across the asphalt of capital, it has risen, quite literally, like Lazarus. For years, progressives have yearned for a political visionary to shake up the major parties, someone with the gumption to stand up to corporate lobby groups and call out the Murdochracy. Someone who can mobilise the masses but isn’t afraid to have academic credentials. At last, he’s here. The vote recount for the seat of Fairfax is almost finished (not to be confused with the company Fairfax, which still has around a decade of exponential decline). In all likelihood, Professor Clive Palmer is soon to be a Minister of Parliament, with a trio of Senators orbiting around him like the icy moons of Jupiter.

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Microparty Megaguide III: All Tommorow’s Parties

It’s sixteen hours before Anthony Abbott delivers his victory speech, leering like a blue-tied Caesar over the smouldering ruins of Gaul. I’m hunkered in my bunker staring at this screen, draped in a ratty grey dressing gown and struggling to think of a word to write. Maybe it would be easier if I thought that Labor had a chance, but that’s impossible outside the crumbling, ember-flecked Library of Alexandria that is Bob Ellis’ mind. Ellis, once a luminary activist, has lost the plot, vanished entirely inside himself, a bag of potatoes gone to seed – like he’s the jowly personification of the ALP itself.

Antony Green, infallible election elf and the only being in creation who fully understands the preference system, has foreseen that it’s not only over, but that Abbott will probably win control the Senate, unfettered except for the blood-stained rubber stamps of a couple of right-wing minor parties. That’s $4 billion gone from foreign aid for the hungry; refugee arrivals will be censored from the media then turned back to their potential deaths at gunpoint and all serious action on human-made Climate Change to be ravaged, while scientists across the world are talking about “Near-Term Human Extinction”. I’m currently working on a fun hemlock drinking game for tomorrow night, so far it’s pretty simple:

1. The results are announced. Skull.

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Microparty Megaguide Part II: Ecofascists and Country Matters


If Metropolitan Australia rides the sheep’s back, it makes sense that said sheep would want to chuck it off, chew on its ear a bit then gallop off bleating into the sunset. Country Australia has been a major force in politics for a century. The Nationals are still the main recipient of regional votes, but in recent years they’ve become, in technical terms, the Liberal Party’s bitch. Under the leadership of Warren Truss – a man with the charisma of three-day-old Wonderwhite – the “rural rump” of the Coalition have become increasingly indistinguishable from their partner and have actually merged in Queensland. The Nats seem to be sustained only by meat raffles and the billions of tonnes of burning hydrogen that make up Barnaby Joyce’s head. Given the Oakeshott and Windsor’s centre stage role in the last hung parliament, rural Australia is now clambering to be heard, and they’re lead by a man with ratdrawn shoes and and ol’ Stetson hat who’s voice has been breaking since 1957.

katter lee

As Katter’s paradoxical brand of Bjelkemandering agrarian socialism has got a lot of media attention, I’ll be focusing on the more raggedy overalled farmhands lurking on the porch of Democracy Ranch. Because as laconic as they may be, this rural brood have been spurred into action by a new and deadly foe. Grandpa Nats is no longer the third biggest party in town, and at the risk of torturing an already tortuous metaphor, the colt from old regret has got away and its enacting sweeping environmental reform. Country and Green groups mostly have a hate-hate relationship, and though often locked in a death struggle over fate of the land, in some areas they’ve been surprising allies.

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