The Liberal Party’s Media Bus Was Evacuated After A…Toilet Incident
"Reporters were reminded the bus toilet was for ‘number ones only'."
Sadly, it is my dire responsibility to inform you of a critical development within the metaspace of political media.
An article was published in today’s print issue of Melbourne newspaper The Age, which sought to part the proverbial curtains of news and current affairs to reveal the twisted machinations of the dark and spiteful creatures who are cursed in maintaining the news cycle’s oppressive rotations (i.e. journalists).
Specifically, the writer in question chose to highlight an offence that took place on a private bus that was transporting journalists attached to the Liberal Party’s campaign trail in Perth.
The crime most foul in question? A big stinky poo.
OK imagine the needing to take an emergency shit on the campaign bus (embarrassing) then the bus gets evacuated bc the stink makes it “uninhabitable” (omg) and then the whole thing gets written up in the paper!!!!!! 🥴🥴🥴
(Page 2 of The Age) pic.twitter.com/7vVU70tDRn
— Sally Rugg (@sallyrugg) May 8, 2022
As described by the author, the mystery bog was supposedly so bad that it rendered the entire vehicle “uninhabitable”, forcing the journalists to disembark the bus and board a completely new, untarnished vehicle.
Once onboard, the journalists were humiliated by their driver, who chastised the cabal of writers by stressing that the onboard toilets were for “number ones only”.
As a fellow creature of darkness and current affairs (with bowel movements that border on IBS) I am deeply sympathetic to the individual who got stuck in this hit piece. Bowel movements that occur in the final fortnight of federal election campaigns should definitely be granted amnesty from the public eye.
It’s also no surprise that the publication that gave us this report is owned by the television network which only yesterday produced the worst televised Australian debate in recorded history.
Fittingly, as I write this appeal I am throwing chocolate M&M’s down my gullet, with my second strong-flat white mere inches within reach.