Budget 2016: The Official Junkee Drinking Game


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Tonight is budget night, and all across this great nation people are feverishly anticipating the big event. Right now, political journalists are poring over the budget papers in the Canberra lock-up, Baby Boomer property investors wait patiently for their annual tax break to be dropped into their open mouths like fat little baby birds, and everyone else is eagerly waiting to see which valuable pieces of our national social fabric are getting ripped to pieces this time round.

As has become solemn tradition, Junkee is providing unrivalled coverage of the most important non-sporting, non-Masterchef night of the year, through the only medium we know how: gettin’ sloshed.

Here’s to numbing the pain of our common future: delivering rich people’s takeaway on bicycles while getting paid below minimum wage. The rules are below. Good luck, patriots.

Budget 2016: A Drinking Game

Every time Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull says “innovation”, “agile”, “transition”, “new economy” or “renewal”: Take a shot.

Every time Treasurer Scott Morrison says “jobs and growth”: Take a shot of water. Anything else will give you alcohol poisoning.

Every time Opposition Leader Bill Shorten says “the Abbott/Turnbull government” or “the Hockey/Morrison budget”: Have a tall, refreshing glass of average, everyday, working man’s beer.

Every time Turnbull and Morrison pose for a terrible, awkwardly-staged photo to make it look like they’re mates: Have a glass of Abbott/Hockey 2014 vintage Shiraz. It tastes awful, but it’ll knock you out quicker than huffing aeroplane fuel.


Neva 5get.

Every time Tony Abbott mysteriously pops up on TV to offer his opinion for no reason, just walking by, thought I’d pop my head in: Throw your drink at the screen and yell “YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE, TONY. WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE”.

Every time the government blames Labor for something that clearly happened in the last three years: Make a cocktail. Doesn’t matter what, just put a blender on so you can’t hear anything.

Every time Morrison says tax cuts for people earning $80,000 or more constitute savings for “average Australians”: Pour a shot of expensive liquor. Check your bank account. Reconsider. Carefully pour liquor back into bottle. Attempt to get a refund at the grog shop so you can pay rent this week.

Every time someone points out that being an “innovation nation” is kind of difficult now that the NBN is a trainwreck: Try to order a case of beer online. Get frustrated with the load time. Walk up to the bottle-o instead.

Every time a hideously sycophantic, weirdly sexual News Corp front page makes you want to projectile vomit: Finish your drink. Finish everyone’s drinks. Finish all the drinks there are. It will never be enough.


This is what death looks like.

Every time a government minister with a multi-million dollar negatively geared investment property portfolio says we “need to live within our means”: Lick the mysterious-looking stain on the corner of your bedroom ceiling that your landlord hasn’t done anything about for eight months.

Every time Turnbull outlines a horrible policy that targets the poor, but he does it charmingly with a reassuringly deep voice so it’s fine: Sip your craft beer or your fuckin’ Pimms or whatever it is you Eastern Suburbs bunyip aristocrats drink.

Every time Shorten criticises a policy the Opposition will end up voting for: Take a sip of Albo Corn Ale.

Every time Sky News crosses to Mark Latham for “an unvarnished opinion”: Pour a fifth of liquid nitrogen into a beaker and splash it directly into your eyes.

Every time a government minister dodges a question about why the Coalition doesn’t support funding Gonski anymore: Have a drink of gin, the overworked teachers’ choice!

Every time a new policy further entrenches the power of a small group of hyper-wealthy corporate oligarchs who went to the same wealthy private school as half the government frontbench: Light a Molotov cocktail.

Every time you briefly wonder whatever happened to that budget emergency a couple years back: Take a shot of absinthe. It’ll help you forget.

Every time that awful 28-year-old baby Liberal Senator from the IPA pops up to talk about “cutting red tape” and “the tyranny of big government”: Empty all your drinks into a jug, call Centrelink and drink until the hold music stops.

Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull visits Jakarta for the first time. He was welcomed by Indonesian President Joko Widodo at the State Palace for a bilateral meeting, and accompanied the President to Tanah Abang Market for a "blusukan".

Look on my works, ye leaners, and despair.

Every time Barnaby Joyce gets unreasonably excited about a new biosecurity funding initiative: Scull a can of XXXX and lock your dogs in the panic room.

Every time you remember that the Great Barrier Reef is half-dead and we still don’t have a climate policy worth the name: Scull a schooner of room-temperature VB and get to work on your fallout shelter.

Every time media coverage treats the budget like a genteel parlour game of ‘insider politics’ instead of something that has immense, tangible effects in the lives of regular people: Set fire to a Peter Hartcher column, stir the ashes into your Milo, and pour it down the toilet.

Every time you catch yourself almost missing Joe Hockey: Stuff your entire fist into your mouth and leave it there until the ambulance arrives.

Treasurer Scott Morrison’s budget announcement will be broadcast from 7.30pm on ABC1.