Parishioners of St. Linguine’s Basilica (well, it felt Italian enough) were left choking on incense and incensed as the Australian Hon. Chris Bowen, Energy Minister and apparent carb enthusiast, made a grand late entrance to Sunday mass … clutching a steaming bowl of gnocchi.
Witnesses say Bowen, possibly thinking the Spirit had already descended and the mass had wrapped up, parked himself in the front pew, whipped out his fork, and began communing not with the Divine... but with ricotta-stuffed dumplings.
We at Ratty News believe in forgiveness, flavour, and showing up on time. We do not, however, endorse interrupting sacred rituals for potato pasta.
Whether it was hunger, haste, or a divine misunderstanding, Mr. Bowen has cemented his place in the Ratty archives as the first minister in history to mistake a Mass for a food court.
And so it was that the isolated bush town of Dusty Gulch invited Mr Bowen and Prime Minister Albanese to enjoy a pasta meal with them....Les the Roo Shooter stated: “You turn up late with carbs to a sacred affair in Dusty Gulch? You best hope it’s your Last Supper, mate.”
Read more: Gnocchi at Mass and Net Zero Nonsense: Minister Bowen’s Blunder Goes Bush
While We’re Watching Bikinis, They’re Taking Wickets.... What’s Our Excuse? Time to Bat Like Bradman
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- Written by: Op-Ed Monty
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While we're distracted, they are cleaning us up. Time to stop playing defence and bat like Bradman. Read on before the umpire pulls the plug...
This is a story about a broken bikini strap, a game of beach cricket, politics, and Artificial Intelligence. Intrigued? You should be.....
Back in the late '70s or early '80s ... when Australia still had its sunburnt sense of humour intact and the beach was a place for fun, not Instagram filters .... the Aussie cricket team took some well-earned R&R in the Whitsundays.
Whitehaven Beach, in the Whitsundays of Queensland, that stretch of impossibly white sand and aqua water, was the scene. It was the kind of spot where thongs are footwear, not a social statement, and no one would’ve heard of a selfie stick, let alone cared.
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Memorial Day, observed on the last Monday of May, is a time for Americans to honour the men and women who have died in military service to the United States. This day is marked by ceremonies, parades, and tributes, reflecting the nation's respect and gratitude for those who made the ultimate sacrifice.
Much like our ANZAC Day, it is a day to genuinely honour those who fought and perished to defend our right to freedom.
Memorial Day in the United States and ANZAC Day in Australia and New Zealand are both national days dedicated to remembering and honouring military personnel who have served and sacrificed for their countries. While these special days share a common purpose, they differ in their origins, customs, and modern significance. Comparing these two observances provides a way to look into how different nations honour their fallen heroes and reflect on their military histories.
This post explores the history in both and how they are the same yet different.
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In early 1982, two troubled nations collided on a cluster of windswept islands in the South Atlantic.
For 74 days, Britain and Argentina fought a short, brutal war over the Falklands - or as Argentina calls them, the Malvinas.
The conflict was brief, but the shockwaves rippled across both nations, exposing the ways of how political power often ignore the will of ordinary people.
At the time, Argentina was ruled by a military junta, the latest in a series of authoritarian regimes that had plagued the country for decades. Half a world away, Britain was also in crisis. Margaret Thatcher’s government faced economic turmoil, industrial unrest, and plummeting popularity. The sudden attack on the Falklands gave her a chance to show strength.
Read more: The Falklands War: Fought Over Pride, Politics and the Ghosts of Empire
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Read more: Diego Garcia: The Great Crumb Caper of the Indian Ocean
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Today we’ve got a curious tale to share... part sport, part history, and part heart. It begins, as so many good stories do, with a wartime memory.
My 92-year-old Mum still remembers the first time she tasted ice cream... proper American ice cream... during World War II. The Yanks had arrived in droves, bringing chocolate, charm, jitterbug records, and a strange new summer game called softball.
That’s where this story begins: in the swirl of war, sport, and shifting summer traditions. One side of the Tasman would fall in love with softball. The other already had a national romance... in whites, with an Australian National hero..... Don Bradman. But Mum's brother, Uncle Pete, fell in love with softball.
Read more: Cricket, Softball and a Yank Invasion: A Tale of Two Summers
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From the Eureka Stockade to today’s silent struggle, Australians are waking up - not to rebellion, but to restoration.
There comes a time in every nation's life when the soft underbelly is laid bare, and that time is now. Australia is being gutted from the inside out. And we, the people, are standing in a fog of apathy, like possums caught in the headlights of our own destruction. Well, it’s time to snap out of it. Time to rise. Time to fight.
They ripped out our heart when they sold our land, our industries, and our children’s future.
They took our backbone when they told us to sit down, shut up, and trust the process. But something stirs now - from country towns to crowded cities - the old spirit isn’t dead. It’s waking.
This isn’t about Left or Right. This is about Australia. A land worth defending. A people worth fighting for. And a heritage worth remembering. The fight begins... not with bullets, but with truth, with courage, with the mongrel in us rising once more.
Read more: No Heart. No Backbone. No More: The Fight for Australia Starts Here
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Today would have been my late sister-in-law’s birthday. This is my tribute to a woman I loved, and our family adored.
She came to New Zealand for love, and walked straight into a milk cart prank. But in the way she handled it - with grace, humour, and a winning way . She passed the only test that really matters in our family: could she laugh with us?
This story isn’t just about a joke. It’s about belonging.
And it's for her.
In a world increasingly anxious about saying the wrong thing, where humour is policed and offence is taken before intent is understood, I find myself thinking back to a simpler moment... one that says more than it first appears.
It’s just a family story, really. A harmless prank involving a horse, a milk cart, and a wide-eyed English girl who thought she was becoming a milkmaid.
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