An exclusive editorial investigation by Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble, Chief Correspondent, Ratty News
Dusty Gulch - To the untrained eye, it looked like a tantrum.Two titans of modern swagger....Donald J. Trump and Elon R. Musk...squabbling like boys at a sleepover, fighting over who gets the top bunk, the last lamington, or the final say in America’s next great drama.
One called the other “disloyal.” The other pretended not to care.... while a Tesla got keyed outside a moong bean festival celebrating gay pride in Gaza. Social media was abuzz. Left-wing judges wagged fingers. Meme factories shifted into fifth gear.
But here at Ratty News, we sniffed something deeper.
Was this ego? Was it orchestration.... A two-act spongecake of political theatre baked with surgical precision to lure out a nest of rats hidden deep within the walls of government?
If it isn't? Then that matters too......
A Peace Summit? Or a Distraction Drill?
At first, the Dusty Gulch Country Women’s Association (CWA) believed it was merely a case of bruised feelings and overcooked pride. They staged an intervention - The Lamington Peace Talks - with sponge, jam, coconut, and diplomacy. Redhead presided. Spoons were holstered. Machetes were banned. Order was restored. - But as the teapots cooled and the gentlemen exchanged tentative grunts, something began to surface.
Trump wasn’t angry. Musk wasn’t offended. They were... waiting.
Watching. Listening. Luring.
As CWA Chair Mavis Butterly later muttered while watering her zucchinis:
“This wasn’t a fight. This was a trap. A fluffy, jam-filled trap.”
Enter the Rats
You know the type.
The grey little hands behind the scenes.
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Bureau-rats: Dug into the machinery of state, delaying Trump’s policies, gumming up courtrooms, whispering memos that vanish into leaks.
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Algorithm Rats: Twisting the narrative Musk once controlled, scratching Teslas, mocking rocket launches, and making neural implants sound like sinister snack chips.
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Judiciary Rats: Hiding behind robes and red tape, squeaking in legalese while democracy unravels.
What better way to force them into the open than to create chaos with cake?
The feud - carefully staged, lovingly frosted with indignation - was bait. And the rats bit.
Theatre or Tactic?
To the cameras, they clashed.
Behind closed doors?
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Trump handed Elon a laminated dossier titled “Drain the Pantry: Phase Two.”
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Musk passed Trump a neural link prototype hidden inside a jam tart.
Redhead later confirmed:
“They both smirked at the same time. Gave me chills. Like when my sons used to bring beer up from their car through a trapdoor in their bedroom and I never knew until decades later. I was not about to be fooled again.’”
The Hidden Goals
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Expose the Infrastructure Rats
If you stall every court case long enough, eventually the public asks: Who’s really running this joint? -
Trigger the Lefty Reaction Machine
Every social media snub becomes a mirror: not to reflect truth, but to expose who’s pulling which levers. -
Turn the Spotlight Around
By staging a spat, they forced attention off themselves and onto the infestation. -
Test the Loyalty of Their Own
Who stayed true? Who sold out? Who went full coconut?
Conclusion: Operation Lamington Is Live
Ratty News asks: is this a feud? Is it a four-dimensional sponge strategy, executed by two men smart enough to know that the real fight isn’t over publicity, but over power, perception, and who eats the last piece of truth?
They played the bickering brats so the real brats - those gnawing at the pillars of a free society - would pop their heads up for a sniff.
And now, the trap is sprung?
If so, is it time to call it a day?
FINAL WORD FROM REDHEAD
“I told them, stop prancing around and enough of the game.. We’ve got a nation to rescue and a sponge to serve.”
RAT'S EYE RATING:
Five lamingtons. One broken vase. And a rat or two flushed from the walls.
But let us be honest: at first, we chuckled. The lamington bunk-bed showdown, the orchestrated squabble, the coconut-coated chaos....it was clever, cheeky, and packed with political wattage.
But now? The jam’s gone sour.
Whether it was a prank, a psy-op, or a genuine spat over loyalty and legacy, what matters now is this: people are tired.
Ordinary folk..... those who kept the pantry full during COVID, who watched the skies for rocket launches, who voted, built businesses, paid taxes, and raised their kids to believe in things like truth and teamwork.... are disheartened.
They're watching two grown men, each brilliant in his own unruly way, acting like schoolboys locked in detention. And whether it’s staged or sincere, the outcome’s the same: division, distraction, and damage.
It’s time to knock it off.
If it’s a plan, call it done. If it’s real, shake hands and grow up.
Because the world’s on fire, the rats are still gnawing at the floorboards of democracy, and frankly, we need our heroes acting like grownups - not glitched-out gladiators chasing the next tweetstorm.
Now, gentlemen, return to your posts. There’s work to do. And the lamingtons are getting cold.
This has been a Ratty News exclusive. Stay alert. Stay crumb-free.
More from the Dusty Gulch Investigation Team as Operation Lamington unfolds.
Footnote:
A Lamington is a delicious and decadently delightful cube of calorific coconut and chocolate drenched cake that the Tasman Sea has boiled and bickered over for over 120 years. Like a ping pong ball flying backwards and forwards from one side of the ditch to the other, the Lamington has been claimed by Kiwis and Aussies and neither side will accept the outcome.
The Governor of Queensland, Australia, was a chap by the name of Lord Lamington. He served from 1896 to 1901.
In the year 1900, he was due to visit Toowoomba, apparently to escape the humidity and heat of a typical Queensland summer in Brisbane. Toowoomba, ( I know, I lived there for 10 years ) escapes the miserable humidity that so plagues much of my beloved adopted State.
He headed to Harlaxton House, ( just down the road from where I lived – now abandoned and boarded up ) which Lord Lamington had rented as his summer residence.
Lord Lamington had a Chef - French-born Armand Galland, who was called upon at short notice to feed unexpected guests. Using what ingredients he had on hand, Galland cut up some left-over sponge cake baked the day before, dipped the slices in chocolate and doused them in coconut. Impressed by Galland's creation, Lamington's guests were said to have later asked for the recipe. This version of events is supported by Lady Lamington's memoirs.
The first recorded written version of the recipe appeared in the Queensland Country Life, a newspaper that still exists today. That was in the year 1900, the year that Lamington’s Chef first prepared the hastily prepared delight.
It then appeared in a Sydney newspaper in 1901. Not until 1902 did a recipe appear in New Zealand.
It is interesting to know that an article appeared in the British Newspaper, The Guardian, on April 1st 2014, written by Olaf Priol (anagram fans will see that this name is a dead givewaway) claiming that people believe that the lamington was actually a Kiwi dessert known as a Wellington ( the capital of New Zealand) and it existed before Lord Lamington’s chef pilfered the precious product from across the ditch.
spoiler alert: Think of April Fools
No matter whether the Lamington was created ( as I suspect it was ) in Toowoomba the year before Federation – or not, the fact that must come out of this is that in 1900 Australia was a Colony of Britain. Australia became a Nation ( known as Federation) in 1901.
Prior to that, we were all just a lot of convicts, pioneers, brave adventurous souls who had (willingly or unwillingly ) ventured down under to start new lives and a new way of living.
Strictly speaking, the Lamington belongs to the Poms…. The British ruled in Australia in 1900. HOWEVER, The Treaty of Waitangi, signed In New Zealand in 1840 led to the New Zealand Constitution Act 1852 which made New Zealand, for all intent and purposes, a self governing Colony.
Either way, as far as the top bunk, bottom bunk debate where lamingtons are concerned, my two bobs worth is that Lamingtons are the invention of a French Chef, employed by a British Governor of a British Colony who just happened to be in Toowoomba in Queensland Australia at the time of its invention.
Monty and Shaydee.
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