a potential, non-exhaustive list of people to be knighted by abbott next (who are vaguely more relevant to australia than prince fucking phillip)

  • margie abbott for being married to him?? she’s braver than me, she’s braver than all of us
  • cate blanchett for services to arts
  • jess mauboy??
  • julia zemiro sure why not julia for president of the universe
  • me bc i live in this fuckin country
  • prince harry for services to gingers
  • hugh jackman because he’s hugh jackman
  • deborra-lee furness for being married to hugh jackman and being a boss-ass bitch (look her up)
  • shaun micallef, knight of the silver foxes
  • the cast of friends
  • ja’mie king
  • the guy who designed the big brother house
  • the sydney harbor bridge (no not the dude who designed it, the actual bridge)
  • jack sparrow???
  • sorry, captain.
  • captain jack sparrow
  • penny wong
  • louie the fly from the mortein ads for services to our nation over 50 years
  • bob hawke, badass motherfucker
  • the australian actors who appeared in lord of the rings
  • but not the hobbit
  • khe sahn??? not the place the song
  • queen elizabeth ii
  • actual human god adam hills
  • pre-racism mel gibson
  • jeremy clarkson; he’s like prince phillip but people actually watch top gear
  • muhammad yunus
  • my old next door neighbour george who i believe survived the bosnian civil war but i was too young to understand where he came from
  • kylie minogue’s gold hot pants
  • kylie minogue too
  • actual light of my life john cho
  • the xkit guy
  • bert newton
  • paulini
  • my dad’s cold chisel album
  • literally anyone else

One night crawling around the apartment stoned and looking at all the different textures, I heard a gasping laughter. I froze, listening intently to the matted shag rug under the bed. Eventually, I realized it was my roommate Jesse in the living room. He was hooting and hollering. I found him on the sofa pounding his fist into his thigh, breathless from laughing so hard. Finally he pointed at the TV.

“Ahhh! The evil weather man!” was all he could say.

I sat down and looked. He was right. The weather man was cartoonishly evil. We stared transfixed for hours. We watched while burning our mouths on TV dinners of Salisbury steak and apple cobbler. We smoked Lucky Strikes and drank cold cans of Old Milwaukee all with eyes glued.


He was sooo fucking evil, yet no one seemed to notice over their own ridiculous fake cheer. But it was so obvious, his gleaming hatred of everything.

After a while we stopped laughing. It was beautiful, like an opera where he sang of his lust of wind and barometric pressure. “The storm of the Century,” he sang into the camera. Into our eyes and ears. Hypnotizing us to believe this was the pinnacle of evolution, crashing into our destiny. That we were here to witness it, this bright gift of the moment.  A billion years of stardust fucking, coming down to this one blessed pinnacle of devouring destruction. All coming down to this. “The storm of the century,” we whispered to each other, long after the power went out. Long after we lost all hope of survival.