Tag: politics

Editorial illustration in the style of George Grosz and Honoré Daumier: A bloated, orange-toned figure in a suit stands center frame with arms raised in a 'V,' surrounded by a spiraling vortex of FBI files and court documents. Dusty child’s shoes lie at his feet, while a shadowed congressman observes from the side against a background of television static

Is Trump Bullet-proof?

A man called Cole Tomas Allen arrived at the White House
Correspondents’ Dinner with a shotgun, a pistol, knives, and a
manifesto. He called himself the Friendly Federal Assassin. He
did not kill Trump. But by midnight, the president was invoking
Lincoln, the theology machine was running, and the Epstein
Inspector General probe had slid quietly to the bottom of the
news agenda. Again.

A darkly comic music-hall illustration showing an oversized grotesque figure in a business suit pointing at a gilded mushroom cloud chandelier, while in the background a bombed city silhouette looms and a child holds an almost-empty water bottle beside a drainage culvert.

The Lovely War

Donald Trump threatens Iran the way he once threatened a recalcitrant steak: same wounded, flinty, infant-king fury. A working homage to Martin Amis — on the Epstein flights, the six-billion-dollar goon squad, the taunting of a proud civilisation, and a nine-year-old girl in Minab waiting for the water that is her birthright. The infant-king has other plans.

Two figures in a satirical theatrical setting -- one in a suit holding a Bible and military briefing document with a lanyard reading "Office of Sacred Communications," the other a composed interviewer with a clipboard -- lit by a single spotlight, with St Peter's Basilica and a naval carrier group suggested in the background shadows.

The Holy War on the Holy See

Pete Hegseth has a muscular theology. The Pope has Augustine on his side and refugees on his schedule. The Vice President has been explaining Just War theory to an Augustinian. Clarke and Dawe have two chairs, a lanyard marked “Office of Sacred Communications,” and the truth hiding in plain sight. Urban Wronski referees.

Richard Marles, Deputy Prime Minister and Minister for Defence, at a press conference projecting institutional confidence while Australia’s defence procurement record, AUKUS submarine delays, the Washington happenstance encounter, and the Geelong refinery fire suggest a more complicated story

DeadWood Marles: Australia’s Liberal in Drag

He is, in the most precise political sense available, a Liberal in drag. Same tough talk on alliances and deterrence. Same fondness for American hardware and AUKUS largesse. Wrapped in just enough factional red to keep the true believers satisfied. All suit, no spark. And a remarkable talent for making national security sound like a mildly confusing numbers meeting that ran somewhat overtime. Urban Wronski profiles Richard “DeadWood” Marles, Deputy Prime Minister and Minister for Defence.

A baroque, maximalist digital composite in the style of a satirical political cartoon meets high-church iconography. Donald Trump sits enthroned at the head of a long gilded mahogany table, rendered in soft AI halo-light — the kind of beatific glow normally reserved for Renaissance altarpieces. He wears both a business suit and a suggestion of papal vestments, loosely layered. Around him, courtiers in military medals and tech-bro stubble genuflect, arms outstretched. Eagles, American flags, and a faint suggestion of dollar signs float among the golden light. The composition deliberately mimics Last Supper staging. Background hints at a gilded ballroom-temple with crystal chandeliers. Colour palette: deep crimson, imperial gold, and sickly angelic white. The mood is equal parts reverent and grotesque — Rubens meets Mad magazine. No text overlay.

Trump is not The Messiah, just a very Naughty Boy

When Donald Trump posted an AI-generated image of himself as a divine healer — haloed, beatific, hovering over the sick like a Sistine saviour — the cult of self had finally annexed the cult of Christ. A satirical dispatch, written in homage to Martin Amis, from the gilded ballroom-temple of the Trumpian court: where the joke is on all of us.