After the coffee giant announced that it would close a majority of its 84 “under-performing” outlets, white people took to the streets with their MacBooks, circling aimlessly and without purpose like lost puppies without an owner, as their home away from home was set to be cruelly taken from them.

“It’s just not right,” said white snob Chad Ellingsworth. “I have at least three amateur screenplays that I wanted to send to producers by October, but now I can’t finish them because I don’t have anywhere to set up my creative sanctuary.

Aspiring poet Gavin Franks has been missing for a week. If found, please contact Idiots Anonymous.

“This is possibly the greatest tragedy to ever hit mankind, no exaggeration.”

The unfortunate consequence of a projected shortage in Starbucks coffee has seen white people “dumpster diving”: looking through rubbish bins surrounding their local stores to find any remnants of coffee in Starbucks cups, or just to hoard the discarded cups themselves. Several other white people have resorted to the lowly act of buying coffee from competing chains, or worse yet, staying home to make their own, inferior coffee, lacking in the ambiance Starbucks provides with its air conditioning, clean, sleek interior design, and lounge music by some of today’s most disenchanted artists.

The news isn’t all bad, though. Sales of the Feist single “1-2-3-4″ have spiked as a result of the Starbucks closure, with white people noting that if they don’t secure a hard copy of the song, “the magic could well be lost forever”.

In addition, over 650 Starbucks employees will be granted redundancy, which will allow them to look for new jobs, which do not involve direct liaisons with people named “Rainbow Rose Starblossom”.

“I’m really looking forward to a new career,” said 17 year old Starbucks worker Jenny Taupin. “There was something so unsettling about seeing full-grown men wearing women’s jeans and military caps, saying ‘ciao’ instead of ‘goodbye’ while swinging their tote bag over their shoulder.

“I kinda got used to it, but I never did get used to hearing that KT Tunstall song. Usually when I tell my friends that bit they just nod and give me a hug.”

Anyone concerned about the whereabouts of their relatives should contact the emergency hotline with their last known location, so that they can be brought home safely and nursed to good health with a steady diet of reality and English.

Mr. Leonard achieved this in February, when wrote a memo to his staff, detailing new rules pertaining to Aboriginal customers He stated that: “due to the fact that we have now had three known incidents of shop lifting involving the coloured girl plus friends who has come in with two or three others coloureds [sic]“.

The Old Bar Cellar and Mr. Leonard, shortly before their transmogrification.

Upon the declaration of these new rules, spilling over with archaic terminology and blatant racial discrimination, the store, as if by magic, cast aside the shackles of flourescent lighting, electronic cash registers, security cameras and motion-sensor doors, and turned into an old-style saloon, complete with the wisecracking but all-knowing bartender in Mr. Leonard, perpetually cleaning the same mug with a handy spitshine rag.

“G’day, cobber! Been working the trenches, I see. Well, why not wet your whistle with one of our fine lagers? We’ve got some new aluminium soft-top cans in!” said Mr. Leonard, adjusting his dusty vest.

“We had some of ‘em wander in the other day. Had to shoo ‘em away with the old chimney brush, I did. Terrible mess. Why not stay and try some of our new malt liquor? It’ll put the hair on your chest, or your thripence back!”

There has, however, been outcry over the new creative direction of the Old Bar Cellars. Some have branded it as racist: borrowing tired and outdated nomenclature from a time far better off forgotten. Mr. Leonard, however, is far more optimistic — and diplomatic — about the matter.

He stated that his reason for the term “coloureds” was that the shoplifted in question was “…not a full blood”, noting that a far better term would probably have been “…chocolate, or something.” Mr. Leonard went on to concede that had he anticipated the outcry over such a seemingly innocuous word, he would have “gone the whole hog and just called them niggers, monkeys, or darkies” which, to his surprise, jammed the foot already in his mouth so far down his throat, he gave his colon toe-jam.

It is unknown as to whether Mr. Leonard’s new saloon will lead to an increase in profits, but he has already attracted a significant celebrity endorsement: former Prime Minister John Howard has become a barfly at the Cellars, noting that Australia “had its chance to come back here, but [they] all said no”.

In case you’re unaware, Israel and Palestine are in a bit of a bitchfight, wherein catty blondes are actually armed militant forces, the mutual boyfriend is the Gaza Strip, among so many other territories, the inclusive happy slaps are live ammunition, and my metaphor is wearing thin. My point is that it’s a war-torn region, and it’s been that way for longer than I can remember.

It’s justifiable, then, to suggest that one side genuinely hates the other, and vice versa. Which is what makes this story so amazing.

Still better than the Melbourne Demons, somehow.

The Peres Centre for Peace, founded by current Israeli president Shimon Peres, aims to bridge that gap, and start to mend the bridges burned by so many years of warfare. It’s a noble cause, which really doesn’t get much press around these parts. The only news that ever comes through about that entire region comes in the form of a disconnected death statistic which is as approximate as it is insulting. I guess the nature of this beast makes it reportable, though. Hence why I found out about it.

The Australian Football League has sponsored an “AFL Peace Team”, comprised of both young Palestinians and Israelis, to compete in the International Cup later this month. The cynic in me brushes this off as a token attempt to weasel in on a good cause, but for the sake of optimism let’s look past that for a moment.

These are guys who, in any other circumstance, would probably be trading bullets. But to hear them speak so glowingly of their team-mates and of the overall experience was an incredible thing to witness. Not because I thought it was impossible, but because it seemed so implausible given the obvious barrier of prejudice and hatred that must have come along for the ride like carry-on luggage.

Sure, they’re probably rubbish at AFL, which, by the way, would give us something in common. But who cares? It’s not about how good they are, but rather about the fact that these people can enjoy, even if only briefly, a moment of true peace. For us it’s cheesy sentiment to be shown in news bulletins: for them it’s the opportunity of a lifetime, and I think it would be cheap of me to play it down.

Ultimately I think it proves that deep down, we’re all very decent, reasonable people. The wants and needs of an evil, misdirected few have us fighting wars we never chose to wage, and the price is paid not in dollars and cents, but innocent lives. Strip away the bullshit and you’re left with people who have the capacity to be good friends — best friends.

To say that our culture wars divide us beyond any hope of unity is an illusion, and it’s something that I think we all need to wake up to. Some people just need to swallow their egos and kick a footy around.

The sport of professional suppression will take place in Beijing’s media department, over the two week span of the Games. The aim of the sport is three pronged: to intercept incoming information, to suppress outgoing information, and persecute those that would seek to publish it.

Pretending this man doesn't exist is worth 30 points.

A panel of judges award points based on the competitors’ technique and efficiency. Bonus points are awarded if the persecuted are subsequently executed, though a time and distance penalty does apply for how far they can run from their hole in the wall before being gunned down. Points are also deducted for every piece of factual information that slips through the competitors’ grasp: doubly so if the information released is about China. For every article mentioning Tibet (known as Hot Articles) that is suppressed, ten bonus points are awarded, however if one of them leaks to the public, opponents are given permission to execute the competitor responsible.

“It’s a little sudden, yes,” said Australian Olympic coach Ted Avery. “We’ve pretty much finalised our Olympic team across the board, so to have to recruit a few more at such short notice is a little alarming. We’re looking at perhaps recruiting Helen Coonan, given her attempt to create an internet ‘black list’ in 2007.

“We’ve also sent out a general inquiry to the Daily Telegraph, not so much for their powers of suppression, but their powers of mis-information would surely throw some red herrings into the competition. How can one suppress facts that simply do not exist?”

There has been criticism regarding the new sport, with international observers noting that it may well be a grab for medals by China, who is hoping to knock the United States off their pedestal as the #1 Olympic nation. Given that the only competitors currently entered are Chinese, it is likely that all three medals could well go to the home nation.

“It could well play into our hands if there’s a television section,” said Channel Ten spokesperson, Annie Zheng. “Our former Big Brother censors are out of a job, and are really interested in this new sport. Ever since we turfed out those vulgar bogans we’ve really had no reason to use the bleep button. Their technique is impeccable: they even mastered the art of censoring the word ‘midget’. That requires surgeon-like precision.”

The 2008 Olympic Games officially commence in five days, except in Tibet, where according to regional news networks, with the help of their suppresionists, they commence in never, so go back to bed.

Despite the accolades that Mr. Munro is set to receive upon his departure, and the healthy relationship he shares with his network and his fellow reporters, he is none too impressed with his network’s handling of the Sonny Bill Williams situation, wherein sports reporter and part-time dramatist Danny Weidler turned the defection of a rugby league footballer to France into an advertisement for Anthony Mundine’s boxing match with Japan’s Crazy Kim.

A journalist, apparently.

“Terrible. Just terrible. It’s the single most deplorable act of ‘journalism’ I’ve ever seen. He should turn in his resignation immediately.” said Mr. Munro.

In light of the Sonny Bill Williams story, Mr. Munro would have good reason to be resentful on all fronts. However, when asked of his station’s handling of the conflicts in Darfur, wherein an estimated 400,000 deaths have occurred, with millions more displaced, raped or severely wounded, Mr. Munro was glowing with praise.

“I may be mad about Sonny Bill, but we handled Darfur perfectly.

“By not covering it at all, I think we gave it the respect it deserves. I think the word I’m looking for here is ‘aplomb’. We handled it with aplomb. I personally think we’re in line for a Wakely, but I don’t like to get too cocky about those things. I mean, sure, we gave it a token mention just before the cute animal story, but most people are fanging for the weather by that point, so it’s no big deal.”

In response to Mr. Munro’s criticism, Danny Weidler was recalcitrant, but was also in full support of the Darfur coverage.

“Look, I’d rather not comment about the Sonny Bill situation because frankly, it’s just too sensitive a case to be discussing it so casually. But just on Darfur — I think that really proves that we here at Nine are on the ball.

“In fact, I think all the major networks really pulled through. We all gave it top-notch treatment with off-hand mentions here and there, and the occasional frowny face. I think Mark Ferguson even gave a witty comment while feigning concern, which once again proves that Nine’s ’still the one’. But seriously, don’t ask about Sonny Bill. I’m getting a little testy just thinking about it.”

Mr. Munro will be leaving the network at the end of October, shortly after conducting a five minute interview with a black person about the crisis in the Congo. It is expected to be an award-winning swan song.

“He’s just too skinny,” said Republican press agent Jimbob McCallaway. “The American people, overwhelmingly corpulent and festering in their own juices as they are, just can’t relate to a man who eats well and exercises regularly. That sort of namby-pamby behaviour smacks of elitism, frankly.

“He needs to put on a few pounds and stain his shirt with BBQ sauce. Then we’ll talk. Until then, you won’t convince me he’s the real deal at all.”

Okay, so maybe this wasn't the best picture to put in an article about a black person. Sorry about that.

With American voters noting that they “won’t vote for a beanpole”, it has left Democratic strategists wondering: exactly what can they do to make their man electable?

With Republican candidate John McCain largely incapable of any sort of intense exercise due to injuries sustained as a prisoner of war, his simulated immobility, deathly pallor and perpetual look of complete and utter gormlessness has endeared him to the US’s gullible overweight population, and secured valuable votes amongst single issue voters, for which relatability is the number one issue. With the Iraq war still in full swing, an economic crisis threatening to cripple the country’s economy, and an international bad behaviour record a mile long, such a shallow, pointless stance is not only understandable, but commendable.

“I won’t vote for someone who ain’t like me,” said Alabama pig farmer Jackbob Bobjack-Hatflap. “Fella’s got himself dark skin and a flat stomach. That ain’t my kinda guy. I wanna share a beer with my president, not a frank exchange of ideology. Actually, scratch that, I ain’t sharin’ a beer with nobody!”

With 2004 Democratic candidate John Kerry being blown away in the polls on the grounds of being “too intellectual to be President”, particularly so when placed next to George W. Bush, the single least intellectual president since the retarded kid your 2nd grade class declared Class President out of sheer pity, the Obama camp are in damage control, offering their man McDonalds and Kentucky Fried Chicken at every spare opportunity, requesting that he stop playing basketball, and tune in to this week’s episode of The Price is Right, wherein Drew Carey gives away a brand new motor home, in order to bring his intellectual and physical standing back to what is considered acceptable.

“We need to construct a new image for Barack,” said Democratic press agent Jennifer Velasquez. “He’s too fit, and too smart. Some would even say he’s too optimistic. We need to Americanise him. We need to ensure that when America goes to the polls, the only thing that stands to hold us back from the presidency is that he’s black. Unfortunately we can’t change that at such short notice, but we’re hoping to at least schedule some rudimentary skin bleaching by October. We feel that we could swing Kansas with that announcement.

“There’s a genuine fear that Americans could look back upon this time and remember what Barack is really like, but we’re fairly sure that the same demographic we’re trying to appeal to has such a short attention span that they’ll have forgotten everything there is to know by the time Gladiators comes on. See? The Republican Party has done a few good things over the years.”

Mr. Obama is expected to make a surprise appearance at Burger King in the coming week, where he intends to drink an entire vat of Coca Cola syrup in the hopes of contracting type-two diabetes.

Q and A is a fantastic new panel show hosted by the Golden God himself, Tony Jones. Politicians — lowly enough to be free of genuine accountability but lofty enough to be cross-referenced by puerile politicians looking for cheap laughs and raucous “awwww”s from the backbench — and industry big wigs sit down for a good old pow-wow about whatever is asked of them by the audience. It would be a tired concept, if not for the fact that commercial programs throw balls softer than Nerf, and ask questions slightly less pertinent than “scruncher or folder?”: so a genuinely confronting, live environment is a welcome change from the ego stroking that is free to air TV.

The most corrupting influence on your children since Vanessa Hudgens flashed her vag.

So, anyway — preface done. On to the fun stuff. Well into the program, the ever-so-handsome Tony Jones diverts from the current topic of conversation and motions to a guy in the audience, with a sickly skin tone, greasy, unkempt hair and a Fallout t-shirt (Speech Perk, for those playing at home), asking a question about videogame censorship. The following dissection of the game’s plot by Tony Jones, swift comparison to snuff films (which is not an overreaction at all) by Nationals senator Barnaby Joyce, and deflated hand-raising by the audience member had me glued to the television. For once, our country’s politicians were addressing their most important constituency: the nerds.

Why ask about it now? Because Australia, unbelievably, does not have an equivalent ratings system for videogames. Fallout 3, the upcoming sequel to the creatively titled Fallout 2, was refused classification and subsequently banned, due to a lack of an R18+ rating.

“Why not just create an R18+ rating then?” you ask. Well dog gone it, you stumped me. It seems that while we’ve gotten over the concept that music and movies are corrupting our children, the argument that videogames do the same still holds firm, and so the draconian laws which govern media distribution in this country hold firm with it.

I’ve played the first two Fallout games. I doubt anyone reading this hasn’t, in the very least, heard of them. They’re great games. Violent? Sure. Vulgar? Sometimes. Smart? You bet. See, it makes me giggle that the kneejerk reaction from the Q&A panel was that “videogame violence is the worst!” when the actual reason the OFLC censored the game was the following:

“Realistic visual representations of drugs and their delivery method [bringing] the ’science-fiction’ drugs in line with ‘real-world’ drugs.“

Apparently, despite the extensive protestations of the panel, it’s fine for anyone over the age of 15 to view (and partake in!) acts of digital violence, obscenity or sex, but the minute drugs fall into the picture, it’s put in the same barrel as child pornography and cast into the aether as if it had never existed. That seems rational!

Now, I know this might be a zany idea for the OFLC to digest, but I am an adult and as such, have a right, under Australian law, to consume any piece of media I please, no matter how explicit or offensive it may be — unless it is explicitly illegal on the grounds of victimisation. The fact that their iron grip hath not extended the golden palm of benevolence to videogames is, to me, lacking in that even-handedness that we’ve come to expect from our surrogate parents, and ultimately just makes me wonder: do they even bother to look at what they’re classifying, or do they just ham-fistedly delegate ratings on the basis that they “don’t know how to turn that darn box on”? Here’s a hint: get your 56 year old grandson to do it for you.

I know this might just sound like an angry nerd tirade but believe me, my computer isn’t hefty enough to handle Fallout 3, and I don’t intend to buy a Playstation 3 or an Xbox 360. I simply don’t like it when these bodies use children as a crutch to defend their seemingly indefensible stances. Surprisingly, we have a section of the population willing to act as guardians for these weak, innocent children, protecting them from the harms of “realistic visual representations of drugs” and exposing them to clean-cut, painfully wholesome media like Hannah Montana and The Diet Coke Hour of Power. Last time I checked, those people were called parents. To the OFLC: do your job, so they can do theirs. Also, give me your consoles, since you obviously have no use for them.

Gasnier, 27, decided to leave the club made famous in part by his Immortal uncle Reg, and make the switch of codes in lieu of conditions of his lucrative contract not being met by third parties. The approximated $350,000 he was set to earn solely from the Dragons was, in his words, “a little light-on”.

Jersey design is said to have played a major part in Gasnier's decision to defect.

“What’s a guy supposed to do with $350,000 a year? I mean, c’mon. A guy’s gotta make a living, you know? It’s pretty sad to think that I’m expected to maintain any kind of lifestyle with that sort of pocket change.

“It’s frustrating that I’m being attacked by fans at the Dragons and in the league community in general for ‘turning my back’ on them. I’m not turning my back on anyone: I’m just after a challenge: and when I say ‘challenge’ I most certainly do not mean ‘a shitload of money’.”

And it was that challenge that was the real lure for Gasnier. In his current role, he is the Dragons’ go-to man: the player that can tilt the game in his team’s favour with individual brilliance. At Stade Francais, his role as an outside back will be fundamentally different, in that he will do nothing.

“We don’t expect Mark to partake in anything to do with the actual game,” said Stade Francais spokesperson Cedric Jean-Baptiste. “Here at rugby union, we have 15 men on each team, but we only know how to use about 9 of them, no? If Mark can get his ‘ready stance’ down, and pretend to look interested in the goings-on of the match — even though nobody has ever understood our game, ever — he will surely be one of the all-time great outside backs.”

Though the rumoured 600,000 Euro deal may seem like a fast-track into a life of luxury, Gasnier himself is far more subdued about the prospect of leaving the country, and the club he has called home for so many years.

“I have some great memories of the Dragons, and I’d hate for people to think I’m taking the easy out. I wish I could stay here. I’m going to miss the angry supporters, the fish-bowl life, the drunk teenagers behind the grandstand in Wollongong, having to tolerate Matthew Johns telling dick jokes on national TV: those are good times. Believe me, when I’m sitting in my luxury French apartment overlooking Nice, having sex with my beautiful French fiancee and enjoying relative anonymity whilst asking my personal butler to warm up the Lamborghini, I’m going to be thinking ‘man, I wish I was back in Towradgi.’”

In celebration of the new deal, Gasnier is expected to commission the manufacture of a cloak woven with solid gold.

Rightfully touted as “miracle of modern science that completely eclipses such wonders as the telephone, the Polaroid camera and even the iPod”, it is a plate with an in-built inedible salad: hardened ceramic lettuce, tomato, cucumber a smattering of onion, and garnished with an undeniably toxic glaze adding an inexplicable amount of weight to an otherwise boring plate, and making over half the plate entirely unusable.

“No question: the advent of ceramics around 31,000 years ago has lead us to this day,” said Four’N Twenty spokesperson and daft marketeer, Jake Brabus. “This is the single most important invention of our time — in fact, it is the most important invention ever.

The average Australian male’s unfamiliarity with the colour green will prove to be a considerable obstacle for the Magic Salad Plate.

“Extensive research carried out by the Four’N Twenty R&D Department noted that there is a direct correlation between having salad on one’s plate and ovaries exploding. We are of the belief that females are so shallow and gullible that the very appearance of salad will cause them to spread their legs and moan with delight.”

With testimonials from a bricklayer, carpenter, forklift driver and machinist, the Magic Salad Plate caters to a very particular sector within the single male community: the classless goofball who thinks a drunken day out at the footy is enough of a date to constitute “a good root” at the end of the evening. According to them, the Magic Salad Plate is just what they need to get over the line and cast aside their copies of Ralph Magazine for a night of torrid thrusting at the nearest available hole while screaming nasal obscenities, prefaced with: “Aww, yeah!”

When given the idea of simply serving meals (in the case of the target audience, a meat pie) with actual, edible salad, Mr. Brabus balked, suggesting that a lot of Australian males are in fact allergic to vegetables, and cannot eat anything vaguely leafy, lest they catch “poofter-itis” and develop a sudden aversion to offal and arteries enclosed in pastry. According to Mr. Brabus, such an aversion is patently un-Australian and as such, can and will never be promoted in any of their products.

Though walking around with the Magic Salad Plate may well promote a society of men looking like compulsive over-eaters without a place to sit, Four’N Twenty insist that their hallmark product is here to stay. And what’s more — with the Magic Salad Plate already reserving its place in the annuls of Australian history, one thing is for sure: Australian men are surely set to become trailblazers in the fields of classlessness and malnutrition.

Trumping the likes of Kim Jong-Il, Robert Mugabe, Billy Ray Cyrus and Osama Bin Laden, Lloyd was far and away the winner, polling an amazing 98% of the votes in a survey that spanned the entirety of the free-to-air hierarchy, on the basis that: “it makes us look really good”.

Peter Lloyd: picture courtesy of Channel 9

Mr. Lloyd faces 20 years in jail and 15 lashes of the cane if convicted of drug trafficking, after being found to be in possession of the party drug ice — to which he also tested positive for — a smoking pipe and a handful of syringes. He was later found to have another stash of the drug, as well as utensils stained with remnants of the drug ketamine.

As a consequence of the award, the three networks have jointly agreed to run stories detailing Mr. Lloyd’s adventures in baby killing, his underground prostitution network, his enthusiastic support for Bill Henson, and his undying love for SBS — all of which have been proven in the past to draw the ire of viewers. They have also agreed to supplant actual news stories for the next several weeks in order to do so.

“We fail to see how the ABC can recover from such a damning situation,” said Channel 9 news director Dirk Shillington. “These cases are like mud: they stick to you, unless we run a human interest story about you on 60 Minutes — but we save that kind of treatment for our own employees.”

“The ABC’s in deep trouble,” said Channel 7 newsroom editor Kathy Lewis. “Usually, when we come across a repentant television personality, we put them on Dancing With The Stars so that they can be voted off in the first week or two. Unfortunately, our next thirteen seasons have already been booked, so unless he’d like to become a Gladiator, I’m just not sure what we can do with him. Sorry, Andrew!”

“We’d put him in the Big Brother house, but… you know.” said Channel 10 creative director Francisca Geller.

The repercussions have been apparent for the ABC in general, with several ill-dressed bohemians invading the set of new panel show “Q&A”, asking questions such as: “Do you party?” and “Have you visited space today?” — to which host Tony Jones replied with an all-knowing smirk, an acidic reply and the explosion of a golden aura from his very being, which calmed all within the room, and caused rose petals to gently fall from the heavens.

Despite Mr. Lloyd’s predicament, there may well be a silver lining for him, with Channel 7 today announcing that Anna Coren may be moving on to pursue a career in journalism, leaving the anchor’s seat empty. According to Channel 7, with an appropriate amount of methamphetamines, he could match the cognitive understanding of both Coren and previous host Naomi Robson. Mr. Lloyd is expected to receive a call from Channel 7 executives to discuss his future, just as soon as that last bong hit wears off.