![]() Or maybe they were part of the crew who built the porch extension for my parents’ house. Julia Erht (she/her) playing drums for Beltane Fire at the Mean Fiddler in 1989. It’s almost as if, I dunno, she/her hadn’t grown up learning how to apply make up. Next up, “I’m not ready for my close-up now, Mr DeMille”. Ok, this one is surely having a laugh at our expense. Good to see the name and aim of the organisation is hiding in plain sight – STRAP(on).ĭid you know the previously satirical (now woke and establishment) magazine, Private Eye, used to refer to Her Maj, Queen Elizabeth as “Brenda”? Never needed to mention pronouns though, can’t think why. This one is obviously human, unless they have 1970s retro wallpaper on planet Zarg. Ok, this one’s easy it’s more than one person in the same body (they/them). Sporting probably the weakest attempt at facial hair since Elliot Page did Movember, and a hat that screams “unpacking theology may not end well for you”, this one is anyone’s guess. On my planet, the beard would have provided enough information to make the pronouns superfluous, but hey, could be a different species, right? Let’s ease into it gently with the bartender. Or the Green Room for Sydney World Pride’s guest speakers? Wouldn’t it be just the best free entertainment to watch hubris dismantled in an Australian pastiche of the trial of Oscar Wilde? 1 Comment on CSI: Mosman / The bar at Mos Eisley Spaceport Or at least existential as far as their careers are concerned. Lisa and Peter have been wrong about so much over the last few years, it feels almost inevitable they will do or say something so at odds with reality it will become existential. “ If something cannot go on forever, it will stop,” said Herbert Stein. Wouldn’t it be delicious if Lisa and her husband had convinced themselves they are the arbiters of truth and have acted under that certainty? After all, we’ve seen this behaviour from them during Covid, even as the emerging facts didn’t align with their version of reality. Julie Burchill in the Spectator this week, reminded me of the expression “ folie à deux”, a shared delusion. Apart from the occasional visit from a B list Hollywood celebrity, she’s been on top of the domestic A list for years.Įventually this colours even the most objective person’s self-perception. She’s been the classic big fish in the small pond of Australian media. There is an alternate explanation, of course La Wilkinson has not heard the word “no” personally directed to her for the best part of thirty years. (Can one trademark a stroke survivor’s mouth and a forehead like a sniper’s wet dream?) Obviously the legal team think they have a chance. Her Barrister is one of the best in the country, so this is going to be an absolute cracker of a trial. One can only assume there’s currently a crack team of forensic contractors swabbing down Canberra couches, dusting wine glasses in Parliament House, issuing warrants to WhatsApp and scrutinising Telstra location tracking data in pursuit of the critical piece of the puzzle for Team Lisa to deliver to the court in classic “may I approach the bench, your honour?” style. Yes, yes, civil and criminal evidence standards aren’t the same an’ all that, but unless the failed criminal case didn’t reveal a lot of physical evidence that Lisa Slams has now got hold of, it’s pretty weak beer she’ll be serving the court to make her case. Lisa Slams Wilkinson is going to prove rape to win her defamation case. I’m not sure which Lisa thinks she is Cagney or Lacey, but this seems an “interesting” approach to a defamation defence:
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