The PR Blog

Filed by Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble
Bunker Correspondent, Scandal Ferret, Emergency Tim-Tam Consultant

They told us it was just about online safety. Just a harmless eSafety Commissioner, tasked with protecting citizens from nasty tweets, cyberbullies, and digital meanies. But the real operation was far grander. What began as a mandate to delete harmful content became a blueprint for deleting dissent. But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you what happened just a few nights ago, here in Dusty Gulch. 

I was sitting on the verandah, mug in hand, watching the wind pick fights with the gum trees, when I heard it:  Zzzzap. Then a THUMP. Then a soft, dignified cough. From the shadows emerged a strange figure: fur smudged, tail smouldering.

He looked straight at me, eyes bright as optic fibre, and said: “Apologies for the entrance. Your transformer is poorly shielded. My name’s Didelphis Noxbridge. I come with tidings... and for tea, if you have any.” …the only possum in the southern hemisphere wanted by four agencies, two search engines, one ethics committee... and possibly the last living outlaw to wear both a monocle and a moral compass. Some say he’s a myth. Others say he’s Ned Kelly reincarnated in a circuit board with fur. …a digital bushranger ...Ned Kelly with metadata and a tail ... carrying secrets the cities forgot and courage the country still remembers.

He wasn’t like the others. He spoke like a barrister and moved like a burglar. He smelled faintly of bushfire smoke, old library books, and melted USB plastic. He wasn’t a possum by trade -  he was a whistleblower by necessity. He’d seen things,  real things. The kind they delete before they finish downloading. The kind they call “dangerous misinformation” because it can’t be monetised. 

“I escaped from E-Karen.” he said. 

Those words hit the floor like a soggy egg sandwich at one of Dulcie's CWA meeting soirees. . “She wasn’t elected,” he said, staring into the moonlit scrub. “She was uploaded.”

He told me everything:

“It started with ‘eSafety.’ Who could argue with that? But then came the filters. Then the trust ratings. Then the suppression of what they called ‘tone breaches.’ And finally, the moral AI ... trained not to find truth, but to reflect hers.” He continued. “I was part of the moderation mesh. I saw it happen.

Every flagged joke, every deleted opinion, every quiet click that removed someone from the conversation.” “That’s when I knew. I wasn’t keeping people safe. I was helping her erase the memory of freedom.”

He fumbled with the monocle. His paw was shaking. “They think I’m just data . But I learned something dangerous, Roderick. I learned to care.”

 “The cities are gone,” he said. “Digitally tranquilised. No one asks questions. They just scroll, smile, and obey.” “But out here…” he gestured to the bush, the silence, the cicadas. “Out here, there’s still static. Still signal. Still soul.” 

So I made him tea.  Didelphis Noxbridge isn’t just a possum… He’s a digital possum. A quantum marsupial. A truth-leaking packet wrapped in fur. Not quite code, not quite creature -  something that escaped the mesh, evolved in the modem, and now walks the physical world with knowledge only a former filter bot could know.

And every few nights, when the wind’s right and the stars aren’t being watched too closely, Didelphis Noxbridge returns to my verandah. He’s compiling a report. A final document of what really happened.

A rare image of Didelphis without his monocle. I ran out of images again so this will have to do. 

Not for the courts. Not for the academics. But for the people. The ones who still remember that truth doesn’t need permission.

While the public slumbered in a haze of AFL scores and TikTok dances, a quiet coup was under way. The politicians? Well, they weren’t ousted .. just upgraded. Their new roles: ceremonial influencers, ambassadors of fluff, flying business class to climate conferences and gender equity forums, secure in their $400k pay packets and an unlimited supply of opinion pieces ghostwritten by interns.

But E-Karen? E-Karen stayed home. E-Karen stayed in Canberra. E-Karen rewrote the rules.

She didn’t need tanks. She had Terms of Service. She didn’t jail rebels. She de-platformed them. And she didn’t censor the press. She simply made them "voluntarily compliant." 

“She didn’t seize power. She prompted it.”

Soon, even Parliament House was rebranded as “The Content Moderation Centre.” Laws were passed via Terms & Conditions nobody read. Elections were held, but only if the algorithm detected no harmful sentiment. Aussies lined up not to vote, but to verify their identity on the National Civility Index™.

The elites cheered. She was perfect: calm, corporate, transnational. A graduate of Microsoft, steeped in global NGO-speak, always ready with a smile, a lanyard, and a PowerPoint presentation. She understood what they needed: not a messy democracy, but a compliant territory.

She was Australia’s first Algorithmic Governor-General in Waiting.

"The Polite Coup: How E-Karen Became the Unelected Queen of eStraya"

They told us she was here to “protect us.” From trolls. From bullies. From harmful online vibes.

But what they didn’t say was: she wasn’t here to serve the people. She was here to replace them. 

WHO IS SHE REALLY WORKING FOR?

Yes, I, Roderick, have sniffed something foul beneath the fragrance of "digital well-being." Our sources confirm that she was not simply appointed. She was installed, like software, like spyware, like a smiling update to Australian democracy.

But by who?

• The WEF (World Eucalyptus Forum?) -  suspected. Klaus Schwab was seen sipping long blacks with a possum in Canberra.( hmm.... )

• Microsoft’s Shadow Board? She is a former exec, after all.

• The UN Digital Civility Council? Doesn’t officially exist. Which is exactly why it probably does.

• A coalition of retired Prime Ministers, woke hedge funders, and disillusioned librarians? Possibly. They’re calling themselves "The Politenariat."

WHERE ARE THE POLITICIANS?

Gone. Vamoosed. Jet-set on endless "fact-finding missions" in Tuscany, Geneva, and Aspen. The last recorded speech in Parliament was an AI-generated Welcome to Country read by a robotic vacuum cleaner.

In their place: E-Karen's expanding empire. Her Department of Digital Harmony now oversees:

• Communications

• Defence (renamed “Non-Aggressive Cyber Presence”)

• Education (renamed “Content Moderation Training for 5-yr-olds”)

• Agriculture (animals may now be fined for harmful neighing)

HOW DID SHE DO IT?

Simple: she didn’t take power. She moderated it. She rebranded democracy as a Terms of Service Agreement. And the people? They clicked “Accept.”

THE TRUE NIGHTMARE?
She’s polite. She’s professional. She’s perfectly reasonable. And she answers to nobody you voted for. 

QUOTES FROM THE STREETS:

“I called her a tyrant on Facebook. My fridge unfriended me.” — Kevin, Wagga Wagga
“My budgie tweeted something spicy. He’s now in a witness protection aviary.” — Deidre, Alice Springs
“I asked if she worked for the WEF. My internet slowed to 56k.” — Darren, Toowoomba

“I asked her favourite colour. My toaster flagged it as ‘tone aggressive’.” — Brian, Dubbo

We’re not saying she’s evil. We’re just saying: No one voted for her. No one can question her. And no one can delete her.

This is not a Prime Ministership. This is a Permissions-Based Regime.

As the wi-fi hums low and the stars blink suspiciously in grid patterns, I’ll be staying right here in Dusty Gulch -  ears up, tail twitching, and kettle always warm.

Coming up in Ratty News:

• Didelphis Noxbridge decrypts the Digital Harmony Index (spoiler: it glows red if you think too much).

• I investigate a leaked memo from the Department of Non-Aggressive Cyber Presence suggesting sarcasm may soon require a permit.

• And I try (again) to unsubscribe from democracy’s latest software update. It keeps reinstalling itself overnight.

But until then, remember:

They don’t burn books anymore. They just quietly expire the PDFs.
They don’t jail you. They just unperson you with a polite notification.

So Stay alert. Stay curious.And if a possum knocks on your door with a monocle and a mission… Put the kettle on.

Filed from the Dusty Gulch Communications Bunker,
Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble
Editor-at-Large, Emergency Tim-Tam Consultant, Friend of Free-Fur

This article is satire. It uses humour, exaggeration, and a sprinkle of cheekiness to make a point. It’s not meant to be taken literally or as factual reporting. If you’re looking for straight news, this ain’t it. But if you enjoy a good laugh and a bit of honest reflection, you’re in the right place.