Hourlong Conversation with Trump and Vance has Zelensky Yearning for the Frontlines

‘Thank God Elon wasn’t there – there’s only so many dodgy billionaire ****heads I can deal with at once’, Zelensky allegedly muttered.

 You would think that dealing with an invasion by Vladimir Putin: a part-time defenestration enthusiast and full-time power-crazed despot would be the worst experience of Volodymyr Zelensky’s life. Since taking office in 2019, he has been dealing with Russia’s imperialist expansion, which came to a head during a full-scale invasion in 2021. As much as his people have suffered at the hands of the Russian army, Zelensky has hit a new low: spending time with Donald Trump and J.D. Vance. Together.

 The lead-up hasn’t been pleasant – Trump has spent the past 3 years telling everyone about how close he is with Putin (after all: it takes one to know one!). Since assuming office, Trump has told a blatant and repugnant lie about the start of the conflict (and doubled-down by voting against a resolution recognising Russia started the conflict) and has now been trying to steal Ukraine’s natural resources (imperialist habits die hard, don’t they) as part of a peace deal. Wouldn’t it be better to just be turned into the ‘Riviera of Eastern Europe’ or some other batshit crazy Trump idea?

 Against this backdrop, Zelensky had to endure the indignity of shaking hands with America’s favourite rapist, and his potbellied, weird beard sidekick (because, as Australians have seen with Dutton, the only thing worse than Trump is a loser who desperately wants to be like him). He was then subject to a barrage of verbal and personal attacks about such important matters as outfit choice and who ‘holds the cards’ from the most unlikeable double-team since Goebbels and Eichman.

 There was one silver lining: he didn’t have to speak to Elon. ‘he’d probably tell me I needed to fire all my soldiers or some shit’, said Zelensky. ‘I know I don’t have a lot to be thankful for right now, but I am so incredibly grateful that I only have to deal with Trump and Putin’ – anyone else would be way too much.

The Obiter hopes Zelensky is feeling alright. We can’t think of anything worse than being lectured about American imperialism by two glorified, big-toe-looking gruncles. Hopefully no more to come.

Hyrox: What to do when you are mediocre at a lot of different things

With the spelling almost as confusing as the exercises.

In what can only be described as Gen-Z’s answer to a Triathlon, Hyrox has now provided young people with more than three sports to be average at. 

Particularly being a sport not too dissimilar to a doom-scroll, there’s no surprise that doing multiple repetitive things, for multiple seconds, and until a point of existential pain, seems to be a popular idea with the kids!

 What is Hyrox? 

 The Obiter’s research team can confirm the origin of Hyrox is unknown, however last weekend was the first time everyone bloody heard about it. 

 We understand Hyrox is likely a by-product of a quarter-life-crisis, and possibly serves as another excuse beyond run-club for blokes to take off their shirts and meet like-minded corporate drones. 

 How can I compete? 

 The Obiter understands Hyrox to be some sort of cult. Therefore to compete in Hyrox requires the following: 

a.              an oath to isolate yourself from your family and friends; 

b.              a human sacrifice; and 

c.              your first born child. 

What do I do to complete a Hyrox competition ?

To complete a Hyrox competition, and subsequently receive eternally validation, you must undertake the following activities: 

a.              post a minimum of three instagram stories; 

b.              wear lululemon activewear; 

c.              post a mirror selfie with you in your lululemon activewear holding an iced matcha; and 

d.              live in West-end. 

What benefits do I get from doing Hyrox?

 After you have completed Hyrox, in addition to tricking your friends that you are athletic, you will get the following benefits: 

a.              the chance to jump in a hypothermic ice-bath simulating the Titanic waters for 10 minutes after you compete; 

b.              an urge to register for the ‘Bridge to Brisbane’; 

c.              a new personality; and

d.              other health benefits including being really good at jumping on a box and doing animal crawls. 

​​“I'll lock in this semester,” says student for 7th consecutive semester

Fourth year student, Elliott Trumpet is confident the all-time academic comeback is happening.

For as long as anyone can remember, Elliott’s uni marks have looked like the MCU post-Endgame: mediocre and dull. His sky-high top-of-the-class marks in primary school with his mastery of colouring-in skills, the alphabet and the 8 times table being all but a distant memory now. Only a husk of this academic potential remained. Until now.

“This is it!” Elliot triumphantly declared. “This is the semester the academic comeback is finally happening!” His consistent 4s and 5s, with the occasional 2s and 3s, will be transformed into 6s and 7s. His stunning transformation and change in attitude can already be seen by his attendance at the first lecture, when lectures (and often tutorials) were an event Elliot rarely attended (he hardly even watched them online online). If this didn’t confirm Elliot’s intention to ‘lock in’ this semester his participation in tutorial the next day certainly did. It was like Elliot was a whole different person.

When confronted by the fact he had declared he’ll ’lock in’ for 6 semesters previously, and had failed to lock in each time, Elliot simply stated that this time will be different. “I’m for real this time, I can feel it.” There would be no more missing lectures and tutorials, no more refusing to read the weekly readings, no more doing the assignment in one night, no more skimming through notes the day of the exam being the only revision he did the whole semester. This time, he was serious.

UPDATE: Three weeks in, Elliot has returned to his usual habits of not buying the textbook, dropping his fourth subject and deleting the Duo app.

Disgraced Prime-Time Radio Presenter Announces “I’m Starting a Podcast”

Days after his swift termination from REDACTED radio station, Farty Smearsilver announces a career shift into podcasting, in a move literally everyone saw coming.

Presenter Farty Smearsilver was axed from his prime-time radio slot on Wednesday, after a completely unprovoked misogynistic tirade aimed at Australia’s beloved women’s football team sparked nationwide outrage and demands for his immediate dismissal. 

After a brief stint in the hospital (believed to have been treating self-inflicted puncture wounds to his genitals), Smearsilver announced a career shift so unsurprising it might well be lifted directly from the ‘Disgraced Public Figure’s Guide to Clinging to an Ounce of Relevancy’: he’s starting his own podcast. 

Smearsilver announced his new podcast “The Farty Smearsilver Show: The Podcast”, a title cleverly aimed at the intelligence level of people who would voluntarily subject themselves to an hour of his stream-of-consciousness musings thrice weekly. As the newest addition to the ‘Shit Bloke Turned Man With A Podcast™ Club’, he joins the likes of Joe Rogan, the Paul brothers, and those indistinguishable moustached and mullet-ed Aussie podcasting duos; men who believe possession of an armchair and a free-standing mic entitles the world to their unsolicited opinions. 

“I think this new format will be perfect for me” remarked Farty. “It’s just like radio except I can say whatever I want with absolutely no repercussions. Plus, there’s no woke DEI intern getting on my case when I accidentally use the occasional swear word or racial slur. Genuinely I can say whatever I want now, look! ****! ******* ****! Mother****ing **** ****!” 

In an effort to drum up publicity for his new show, Smearsilver has teased the topic for his inaugural episode: “Why the exclusion of transgender women is essential to protect the integrity of women’s sport.”

Professor who managed a PhD in Legal Theory still confused by they/them pronouns

The Obiter has determined that the learning guide would be 100 pages shorter if only he realised he could just use ‘they’ instead of ‘he or she’.

Although they/them has been used as singular pronouns since before the letter J entered the English language, Prof. ustin ackson, whose urisprudence research focuses on analysing the udgments of High Court usitces, still doesn’t understand them.

The Oxford Dictionary first records the use of they/them pronouns as a grammatically correct gender-neutral single person pronoun in 1375. This predates the use of the letter J in the English alphabet, which only started being used in the 1500s. 

Despite this long history of they/them pronouns to refer to a single person, Prof. ustin ackson seems to have missed the memo and still thinks they can only refer to a group. Somehow Prof. ackson managed to get a PhD in urisprudence and legal theory despite not understanding the fundamentals of the English language. 

‘It doesn’t make sense,’ claims Prof. ackson. ‘I have this student in my seminar who insists on using they/them pronouns but it just sounds like everyone is talking about a group of people.’ 

‘Honestly, how can these TikTok generation students be expected to do well in an academically demanding discipline filled with complex ideas like urisprudence, ustice, urors, ury tampering, urisdiction, oint petitions and udicial reform, if they insist on focusing on silly made-up ideas like inclusivity, empathy and giving others the bare minimum respect’. 

This morning Prof. ackson was reportedly spotted at Merlo to get his daily caffeine fix. He was waiting with a colleague for the arrival of the colleague’s friend so the three of them could sit around discussing how annoying it is to keep up with fancy new trends and linguistic changes that only happened 650 years ago. 

Not knowing the gender of his colleague’s friend, Prof. ackson asked ‘when do you think they’ll get here?’ – referring, unbelievably, to a single person and not a group. Despite asking his students to draw connections between and synthesise information from across multiple sources to understand how the same theory can be applied in different contexts, Prof. ackson failed to do so himself. 

The Obiter hopes Prof. ackson will receive the tutoring he so clearly needs.

Law Student Complains of Failed ‘Brat Summer’, Despite Voluntarily Partaking in 12 Weeks of Clerkships

“It’s a knife when you’re finally on top” laments summer clerk, as she begins to realise that, despite her love for Charli XCX’s magnum opus record, she couldn’t be further from a 365 partygirl.

 Much like the fashionableness of the phrase ‘brat summer’, the Uni holidays are well and truly dead.

While half of Brisbane seemingly mass coordinated a getaway to Japan, a select cohort of pre-penultimate year law students opted for the time-honoured tradition of summer clerkships. Uninterested in rest or relaxation, these aspiring young professionals chose to spend their summers working full-time in a windowless cubicle, vying for the chance to spend the rest of their lives working in a slightly larger windowless cubicle.

 The Obiter interviewed UQ student Olivia Riddles, who partook in not one, not two, but three summer clerkships at top-tier law firms. When asked how she enjoyed her summer break, Olivia admitted her surprise and disappointment that she didn’t have the ‘brat summer’ of her dreams.

 Instead of ‘leather tanned skin’, she was left with the sallow complexion characteristic of those who only see sunlight for 20 days of annual leave per year. She also reflected that it’s hard to ‘fall in love again and again’ when the only romance you have time for is a late-night doom-scroll on Hinge.

 What’s more, to her dismay no one at the Christmas party wanted to do lines in the bathroom with a summer clerk (that’s strictly reserved for people with a practicing certificate). “As a clerk, the only ‘bumpin’ that’ you’re doing is bumping into your supervising partner in the lift and having to make excruciatingly awkward small talk, or bumping into the special counsel on the way back from her silent bathroom cry.”

 At least she had the chance to end the holidays on a high watching Charli XCX’s performance at Laneway Festival, although even that experience was tainted with melancholy for Olivia. “It just made me feel like a fraud if I’m honest” Oliva admitted with a sigh. “I don’t think real 365 partygirls subscribe to LinkedIn Premium.”

Arts/Law Student literally dies after discovering some people actually choose to study STEM

That’s it. They’re dead. That’s the article. 

A first year Pol-Sci nerd has been found dead after her classmate claimed physics is “kinda fun” (WTF). 

For most, the first day of university is the start of the rest of your life. You go to your first class, engage in icebreakers, and meet the people you will call your best friends for the next 5 years. For Stella Smith, 18, it ended in tragedy.

Everything started off well. Foundations of Law seminar leader, Beremy Jentham, pointed around the classroom, asking each terrified student to identify their name, hometown, and degree. Alongside the usual bunch of neoliberal economics wankers and literal Western Civ neo-Nazis, Stella was pleased to find that her basic law/arts degree majoring in political science was copied by about 150% of the cohort.

All was well, that was, until one absolute gigachad, namely Norm Aldistrubution, volunteered that he was studying Law/Science majoring in quantum megaphysics and the biochemistry of being a freaking legend.

For Stella, who shamefully took methods and chemistry in year 12 but only ‘for the scaling’, it was too much. Having sworn off STEM subjects as soon as she finished externals, she spontaneously combusted right there. 

Stella, who once claimed that “no one in their right mind would study maths at uni”, was a frequent car user who drove on bridges and in tunnels, visited a doctor when unwell and was addicted to her phone.

“Umm, yeah, look I think it diversifies my skillset pretty well,” Norm claimed in an exclusive interview with the Obiter, “very few people in society understand the law, and even fewer are literate in statistics, so to be in that intersection makes me interesting and valuable to employers.”

He is reportedly being charged with one count of actually having employment prospects if law doesn’t work out and faces a lifetime sentence of societal under-appreciation.

More to come. (But not from Stella).

ON THE GROUND FOR WEEK ONE AT UQ: They Came, They Saw, They Conked Out

From fervent freshers foaming to face their first finals, to borderline mature-age law students confident that their sixth year is definitely ‘their year’, many a UQ student walked through the pearly gates of the Great Court this week, ready to tackle the semester with gusto.

On Monday, aforementioned students strutted onto campus, adorned in meticulously curated outfits, their meal-prepped lunches and home-made coffees neatly packed into their annual new uni totes, not yet stained with ink, juice or a miscellaneous brown liquid. Hell, they even arrived at their classes 10 minutes early! One day in a row! HUZZAH!

Morale was still high as Tuesday rolled around. Unfortunately, the home-made coffees were a short-lived trend. The yearning was palpable as students rushed past Merlo, not quite so early for classes. Exercising extreme mental fortitude, students stayed strong on their no-spending vows and continued the walk/run to class, making it with two whole minutes to spare! Huzzah!

Wednesday brought a mid-week chaos. The sound of “fuck the 50 cent fares, I’m late!” resonated through the carparks amidst a twisted game of dodgem cars. Students burst through seminar doors, trying to mask their heavy breathing and gargantuan sweat beads. Shakily taking a seat, the bright eyed and bushy tailed quickly realised the readings they’d so admirably done ahead of time were actually for Week 2. At least they’re prepared for next week? Huzzah?

Thursday. Despite running 15 minutes late to mandatory tutes, students queued in droves to buy $8 iced lattes to wash down their flasks of whisky, spilling a little on their uni totes. In good news, miscellaneous brown liquid stains were finally identified. With already three missing tutorial preparation tasks, unpunctual pupils waltzed into class, taking the last remaining free seat: the teacher’s desk. Students flexed their skills in word-vomiting and managed to compensate for their lack of pre-reading. Participation marks were narrowly achieved. Huh.

No students were reported on campus on Friday.

BREAKING: Albo quaking in his boots as Dutton-hopeful takes on Constitutional Law this semester

“Just enrolled in LAWS3700! Watch out, Labor”, announced Benjamin Buttface (Young LNP legend) on Instagram threads this morning.

Reports out of the ACT this morning have described a low-level earthquake at the Lodge. Some paps allege the PM has been found wrapped tightly in bed, shivering - presumably in fear. Still speculative - it seems he's received word that notorious Young Liberal hero, 21 year old Benjamin Buttface has announced a new academic advancement.

Now entitled to bragging rights because he's read the entire Australian Constitution in preparation for the course, the upcoming election will surely be the biggest political takedown since Jake Paul vs Mike Tyson or Donald Trump & Joe Biden.

Buttface's notoriously significant cultural influence on his own demographic (ultra-conservative university students with a deep appreciation for their mounting HECS debt) combined with his newfound political credibility, mean Australia must prepare for a totally epic shakedown in May.

"Fuck you, Anthony. Not even the radical lefties can stop us now!"

(Hopefully no) more to come.

Market Day Hangover Eerily Reminiscent Of Valley Night Out

“God, I have the worst head noise this morning. Did I really need a membership to the Harry Potter Alliance?”

UQ first years across Brisbane awoke this morning with aching feet, $150 less in their bank accounts, and unfamiliar clothes strewn across their bedroom floors. If you thought these were the hallmarks of a rumbo-fuelled romp in Fortitude Valley, you’d be forgivably mistaken. In actuality, this is the aftermath of UQ Market Day.

Much like a night on the town, those who frequent Market Day arrive with a sense of hopeful optimism, naïve to the scale of damage they’ll be capable of causing over a mere 3 hours.

Apart from the obvious contrast of the blazing midday sun and the inexplicably Arctic climate of Prohibition night club, both Market Day and a night out are a total assault on the senses. Dazzling colours, bone-rattling bass thumping, and a barrage of overly enthusiastic strangers with unabashed ulterior motives.

In both cases you’ll inevitably be swept up in the chaos and have little recollection of events, other than a vague memory of tapping your card to the tune of $10 over and over again. The only difference is instead of basics, you’re purchasing equally inconsequential memberships to clubs whose meetings you’ll never attend and whose perks you’ll never actually use. On the bright side, at least at Market Day you might walk away with an ill-fitting club-branded t-shirt for your troubles.

But perhaps the most striking similarity between Markey Day a big night out is that despite today’s nauseating hang-xiety, crippling shame and mild amnesia…you’ll most certainly be back to do it all again next year.