Letters From The Editor: I got 99 problems, and dead wasps are one of them

Written by Eoinín McAlpine

Dear Real Estate Agent,

I write with regards to the property you recently leased to myself and my partner, on behalf of Charlie the Landlord. It cannot be denied that this is a fine abode, or as you would put it – an irresistibly brick townhouse containing numerous doors and windows, all within walking distance of public transport and local amenities.

As far as rental properties go, it is most satisfactory. Charlie Himself - hallowed be his name, socks and sandals - has dealt with the few minor problems that have arisen swiftly. The charming foibles of the oven, undoubtedly a priceless relic from the gold rush period, were no challenge for Our Charlie, whose dress sense and encyclopedic knowledge of prehistoric stoves betrayed his true vintage and/or time travelling abilities.

Enough pleasantries, Real Estate Agent. You know as well as I do that tenants don’t produce whimsical missives for the sake of it. We have a bone to pick, and this particular bone has six legs, two wings, stripes and a nasty stinging implement attached to it. If the penny hasn’t dropped yet, I commend the permanent state of professional denial that you have attained.

The real estate industry of the United States of America has a rather chequered history, as I’m sure you’ll agree. Amongst various regrettable incidents, surely the most well publicised was the short-sighted practice of building dwellings upon ancient Indian burial grounds. Cheap they might have been, but a diminutive mortgage is no consolation when you’re having to deal with blood dripping from the walls, knives flying through the air and understandably aggrieved spirits messing with you all because some silver-tongued real estate agent who was gagging for a modest commission said, yeah, what’s the big deal about building a three-bedroom bungalow with city views on top of somebody’s grave?

Which brings me to the wasps. As I cast my gaze over the exposed brickwork, faux spiral staircase, and cutting edge pine trim, it is impossible to put the construction of this building anywhere later than 1975. Which, by my calculations, allows the various owners and tenants more than three decades to bring to the attention of the real estate the fact that this is, without a shadow of doubt, THE PLACE WHERE WASPS COME TO DIE.

At first there were just a couple of them. They appeared spasmodically, lying atop a shelving unit in pairs, or in the tracks for the sliding doors. Undeniably dead, they posed no threat to us. But then the numbers increased, as did the locations. The desk, bedside tables, the window sill in the bathroom; the more exhibitionistic amongst them chose the middle of the living room floor as their final resting place.

I have sat at my dining table and watched in abject horror as yet another wasp stumbles across the threshold, writhing in pain, tiny little eyes bulging with terror as it suffers from spasm after spasm of searing, inexplicable pain, crying to me in its pathetic little buzzing waspy voice, “Why? Why me? Why here? WHY?”

It was, and still is, utterly perplexing. After crawling into open cans of soft drink uninvited, after ruining a plethora of summer picnics, after assassinating legions of relatively defenceless native bees, why do these undeniably useless and miserable stinging bastards decide upon our humble home as their final resting place?

You know. I know you do. I saw it in your shifty eyes as I signed the lease. I read it between the lines when you send me those infuriatingly impersonal invitations to those “wealth creation seminars” each month. Oh, I bet they’d be a real eye opener. I can just see the feckless high school dropouts that attend those things, hanging on your every slimy word.

When they asked, “Excuse me, Wealth Creation Guru, but what if a property you are attempting to lease is an obvious final resting place for the bulk of Australia’s wasp population?” you would violently slam your fist upon the lectern, and fix a steely gaze on their disgustingly penniless form.

“Well, my impoverished, BMWless protégé, that is quite simple,” you would slobber, forked tongue slapping against your oily lips. “You would tell those morons that the previous tenants probably applied an anti-insect surface spray to the perimeter of the premises.”

Smug prick.


Kind regards,


Eoinín McAlpine

Migrants predicted to steal the souls of white folk by 2050, expert warns

Written by Peter File

WAVE upon wave of shifty, jihad-loving, Chiko Roll-hating immigrants plan to infiltrate and destroy Australia, a man has revealed. Dr Bob Birrell, president of the Australian Tabloid Sound Bite Institute, is the lone voice of reason in a filthy, amoral world that lost its way a long time ago.

Extensively researched research, carried out by Dr Birrell, proves that the days of having to worry about immigrants stealing your job, unemployment benefits and sexual partner are almost over. Unfortunately for lovers of freedom and meat pies, things are about to get a whole lot worse.

A new breed of immigrant, unsatisfied with the billions of taxpayer dollars showered upon it by bleeding-heart do-gooders with a penchant for shitake mushrooms floating in glasses of chardonnay, craves more. Saliva dripping from its yellowed, state-run teeth, the neo-immigrant fixes its crazed stare upon everything that you hold dear: the AFL, stubby-holders, utes with southern cross stickers, lamingtons, and yes, even David Boon.

The neo-immigrant wants all of these sacred items, though not to appreciate them as any decent Australian would. Not unlike the evil terminator in the Terminator movie franchise, it just wants to destroy you and all your stuff.

Dr Birrell said he was pleased as punch that journalists were drawing their own conclusions from his research, which clearly shows that by 2050, immigrants will probably number about 8 billion, and will almost certainly have enslaved white Australians and forced them to mine for weird immigrant minerals in the desert.

Flaunting his bipartisan credentials, Dr Birrell laid the blame for the imminent downfall of Australian society squarely at the expensive Italian leather shoes covering the feet of “Labor elites”, whom he thinks are more concerned with an immigration policy that will appease the hand-wringing pooves at their next short film festival, where they will undoubtedly serve delicate canapés and fizzy glasses of white guilt.

Top cop hijacks commercial airliner, says “LOL, sorry guyz”

Written by Frank Serpico

SUPERCOP Simon Overland has sparked a minor aviation security scare after hijacking a domestic flight and attempting to reroute it to the socialist paradise of Cuba. The notorious prankster wore a sheepish smile when he fronted the media today, writing the incident off as a poorly timed attempt at comedy that would have been received well if it hadn’t occurred at 30,000 feet above the ground in a small metal cylinder filled with surprisingly nervy occupants.

The stunt earned him a predictably humourless rebuke from Community & Public Sector Union state secretary Karen Batt, a self-confessed communist and hater of champagne comedy.

“By his own admission, Mr Overland boarded the flight with carry-on luggage containing an AK-47 assault rifle and several live grenades. After the aircraft reached altitude, he brandished the machine gun and a grenade and shouted various pro-Cuban slogans at the understandably terrified passengers,” bleated the presumably unmarried Ms Batt.

Chief Commissioner Overland, or “Sergeant Funnypants” as he is known within the force, issued a partial apology to the handful of passengers that didn’t get the joke. He explained that the prank was a joint promotional exercise between the Melbourne International Comedy Festival and Victoria Police, whom he said “have a lot more going on than just taking bribes and beating up minorities.”

Anorexics not as funny as fat people, says media

Written by Logan Bluetooth

WIDELY respected and thoroughly credible media outlets of the internet have played yet another game of “funny/not funny”, and the results are in. Morbidly obese people have been declared pants-splittingly funny, whilst sufferers of passé 20th century eating disorders such as anorexia are decidedly unfunny.

After weeks of painstaking examination of the case for and against both body profiles, journalists’ opinions were swayed by a woman with an elephantine hunger for success and double cheeseburgers.

Donna Simpson, allegedly a 42-year-old human female, currently weighs 273kg but is hoping to add the equivalent of twin baby elephants to her frustratingly svelte figure. By reaching her goal weight of 450kg (1000lb), Ms Simpson will hold the résumé-worthy title of world’s fattest woman. Her husband will hold a heavy goods vehicle licence.

The implausibly unemployed Ms Simpson offsets her gargantuan grocery bill by running a website where perfectly normal men pay to watch her shovel deep fried buckets of the top of the food pyramid down her gelatinous throat.

Various tabloid media outlets, such as this one, said they couldn’t see any ethical problem whatsoever with publishing such a story. They also claimed that they wouldn’t hesitate to run a similar story on an anorexic person striving for the title of world’s skinniest person, but that the eating disorders of the skeletal just weren’t as hilarious as humanoid/whale hybrids.

Australian government bans punctuation, YouTube users’ existence legitimised

Written by Eoinín McAlpine

THE Federal Government of Australia, an uncouth, convict-infested island to the west of New Zealand, has announced it will proceed with controversial plans to censor all forms of punctuation on the internet after Government-commissioned research found that life on the web would be simpler without “all them dots and squiggles”.

Federal Uncommunications Minister, Stephen Conroy, said today he would introduce legislation just before the next election that will force Internet Service Providers to block a blacklist of punctuation marks for all Australian internet users.

The blacklist, featuring commas, semi-colons, apostrophes and other sick filth, would be compiled using submissions to the Government’s hugely popular “Dob In A Wanker” hotline and website. The campaign encouraged mum and dad internet users to report acts of aggravated pedantry, smug stickleriness, and undue displays of learning. It has been a huge success; over 5000 internet users alone have been fined for explaining the difference between his and he’s.

“Most decent Australians acknowledge that the majority of punctuation, if not all of it, has no place on the internet or in civilised society in this day and age,” Senator Conroy said.

“It is important that all Australians, particularly younger folk, are protected from this material. We’ve got members of Generation Y that have never seen an apostrophe used correctly, let alone a semi-colon. The last thing they need is some bicycle-riding, latte-swilling wanker from the inner-city confusing them with two different spellings of your.”

Members of paramilitary group the Apostrophista Army of National Liberation will be vigorously pursued by the censorship scheme. AANL’s website carries the bold statement that “no government shall silence the noble apostrophe”. The extremist organisation also claims to engage in correct usage of commas, full stops, paragraphs and even hyphens. Senator Conroy has pledged that any members of the group brought to justice will be forced to have bright yellow apostrophes sewn to the outside of their garments.

Deaf lion that thinks it's a singer forms adult contemporary rock band, gains no critical acclaim whatsoever

Written by Peter File

ONE would be forgiven for thinking that African lions and adult contemporary rock bands were not natural bed fellows, especially after the singer from The Goo Goo Dolls was savagely mauled whilst on safari in 2003.

But a hearing-impaired lion that thinks it's a singer has adopted a litter of adult contemporary musicians, much to the delight of their hundreds of fans. The unusually scrawny lion, Chad, has taken to standing in front of the band and singing the “lyrics” he has penned, despite having no discernable talent whatsoever.

The band’s manager, Chase McCool, saved Chad from a cruel life of performing demeaning tricks for slack-jawed circus folk.

“I first came across Chad at a two-bit travelling circus in my home town,” said McCool. “He was clearly undernourished, and being forced to dance and do tricks with a circus ball. He kept trying to sing Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey, but the lion tamer just kept whipping him on the snout every time he opened his jaws.”

Appalled, McCool bought Chad from the circus owner for $50, took him home and nursed him back to health on a steady diet of Simply Red and Matchbox 20. While still clearly on the wrong side of emaciated, Chad is now a picture of health when compared with his former self.

He now enjoys a decidedly blessed life, touring with his adopted band mates and partaking in his favourite pastime – shooting music videos. A natural performer, Chad thrills viewers with his signature moves The Air Chin-up, and Catching Invisible Blowflies.

Godzilla promises "less atomic breath" after nomination for Japanese prime minister

Written by Nataliya Dmitrieva

MUTANT amphibious lizard and all-around troublemaker, Godzilla, is set to become prime minister of Japan after government officials agreed to nominate him for the position.

The Japanese Karaoke Reformist Party and the Progressive Japanese Manga Party officially nominated Godzilla today after months of discussion and dispute over who would be their joint candidate.

JKRP pushed hard for Godzilla while PJMP was equally adamant that the winged terror of Tokyo, Mothra, could govern for all Japanese people. Feminist factions of both parties also signalled their support for Mothra, who has been a strong role model for Japanese females, be they human or divine moth.

Under the Japanese prime ministerial rotation, a kaiju of some description must lead the country for a four-year term at least once a century.

Godzilla said he was honoured and humbled to receive the joint nomination, and would focus on not destroying infrastructure rather than the somewhat destructive approach he has taken in previous years.

The third-party candidate, Rodan, could not immediately be reached for comment.