Australia's Most Trusted Independent Review Authority™
RIGOROUSLY ASSESSING THINGS THAT DO NOT REQUIRE ASSESSMENT
A satirical review register of Australian life. Every listing below has been independently reviewed, star-rated, and rubber-stamped by our panel of unqualified but deeply opinionated assessors. Nothing here has been fact-checked. Everything here has been felt very strongly.
Fresh from the panel
20 fresh reviews. The panel has been out again.
Picked them up. Clicked them twice. Working perfectly, same as last time. My brother-in-law asked why I do that, so now we know he’s never cooked for anyone. Gave them another click while maintaining eye contact.
Got a spoon out and everything. Lentils. I don’t know why Mum writes dates on these tubs when the main information I need is whether they contain ice cream. One star because I found the actual ice cream behind it. Sewing stuff.
Free couch. Photos attached. Measurements included. A woman asked if I’d deliver it forty minutes away, then asked if I had it in grey. I’m just a bloke with one couch, Michelle. This is the entire range.
Pressed it. No light, no noise. Held my hand over the plate like a priest blessing sausages. Another dad wandered over and pressed it as well, which helped neither of us but was nice socially. Ate at eleven or possibly two.
Really committed to it. Big smile, whole arm. Turned out she knew the bloke behind me. Tried to turn the wave into a stretch, despite having never stretched in a shopping centre or anywhere else. Left without the thing I came for.
We own four. None exist before nine. Found one under the dog, one at school and one in the car we sold in March, according to information my son had apparently been saving for this moment. Wore his sister’s. Suddenly capable of expressing a detailed preference.
Came out easily enough. Going back in required both knees, my wife sitting on it and a discussion about whether we’re actually camping people. The bag has enough room if you leave out the tent. Taking it home loose in the back seat. Kids can hold it.
Flight’s at ten. Dad wants to leave at four because “you never know with that road”. We knew. Road was empty. Airport was shut. He’s now drinking a thermos coffee in the drop-off lane, delighted with how smoothly it’s all gone.
Asked Dave if he could lend me a strap. He came over, secured the load, shook it, slapped it and said, “That’s not going anywhere.” I said thanks. He shook it again. We stood there for a bit. I think I was meant to have a go.
Bought it to save time on dinner. Had a little bit of skin at the lights. Then some more in the driveway. Brought it inside facing the good way, but my wife turned it round immediately. Fifteen years of marriage and she still checks my work.
Scanned the square. Made an account. Verified my email. The pub now knows my birthday and I still don’t know if they do wedges. Dad ordered at the bar and has nearly finished his. He’s being very normal about it, by which I mean unbearable.
Waiter said enjoy your meal. Said you too. Fine. Happens. Last week the mechanic said good luck with the gearbox and I said you too to that as well. Apparently I just wish everyone whatever they’ve wished me. Hope his gearbox is alright.
Three men got out of their chairs to help. All stood somewhere different. All said the other way. My wife disappeared into the amenities block and came back once we were unhitched, which I thought was a fairly long shower for someone still wearing shoes.
Watched the video twice. Got my hands into the corners as instructed. For a few seconds I was doing it. Then something happened. It’s in the cupboard now, underneath the flat sheets where visitors can’t see. Two stars because the door closes if you lean on it.
Needed a phone charger. Found a lead for a printer we threw out in 2009, three mystery adapters and something Dad says is worth hanging onto. Asked what it’s for. He doesn’t know. That’s apparently why we have to keep it.
He’s lived here sixteen years and today was the first he’d heard of where bowls go. Held one up like it had washed ashore. I pointed at the cupboard he gets a bowl out of every single morning. He said alright, no need to get angry.
Drop it here. Here, mate. Here. He puts it thirty centimetres from my hand and looks at me like I’m the one failing the test. Moved my chair closer. He moved the ball. We’ve been doing this for forty minutes and only one of us pays the mortgage.
There was a sign. Didn’t dispute the sign exactly, just thought I’d check how wet. Wet enough. Spent the rest of the barbecue holding my drink in the wrong hand while the host asked everyone if they’d seen who touched the railing.
Food arrived hot, which was a nice touch. Then we moved the salt, changed seats and waited for a cloud to pass. My burger appears in six photos looking absolutely delicious. I eventually ate it at the temperature you’d store a document.
Used them to open a bag of potting mix. Mum heard the cut from another room. Not the bag opening. The actual cut. Came straight in and said those are my good scissors. I’m forty-three and have bought her a replacement pair online before she tells Dad.
A single grilled sausage, one slice of white bread, a smear of onion, served from a fold-out table in a hardware car park — and somehow the single greatest fine-dining experience available in this country. No cutlery. No pretension. No survivors.
A masterclass in tension, drama, and no one knowing whose turn it is. Every lap is a negotiation. Every indicator is a rumour. Deserves a Logie, a Walkley, and possibly a small memorial plaque.
A haunting, looping concept album exploring themes of abandonment, bureaucracy, and the slow erosion of hope. Reviewed after 2 hours and 46 minutes on hold. Never did get through. The music, however, remains with me still.
A rich, unspoken social contract governing who orders when, how loud to speak into the clown's head, and whether to acknowledge the second window staff member by name. Fascinating. Occasionally hostile. 3 stars for the McFlurry lever being permanently broken.
Applicable to gratitude, apology, mild disaster, and existential crisis alike. Deployed after "sorry I crashed your car" and "thanks for saving my life" with identical confidence. A perfect product. Needs no updates.
A free, no-entry-fee extreme sport played annually across every footpath in the country. Equipment: a bike helmet with cable ties on top and unshakeable regret about all your life choices. Bonus points for style if you scream.
A day off, granted with total sincerity, for the sole purpose of watching football and eating a pie on the couch. The single greatest piece of legislation this state has ever passed.
A legally ambiguous but socially inviolable fifteen-minute break observed on every worksite in the nation at precisely 10am. Cannot be moved. Cannot be shortened. Has survived every productivity consultant sent to end it.
Commenced at 7:04am with a two-stroke engine of considerable output, completed the front lawn in nine minutes, and then edged for forty. Legally permitted. Morally indefensible.
Notes of regret, warmth, and structural collapse on first bite. The pastry shatters like your plans for tomorrow morning. A bold, unapologetic dish that asks nothing of you except $6.50 and your dignity.
Reliable, capable, and quietly disappointed in every decision I've made since 2019. Excellent tray space. Poor emotional support. Docked one star for judging my parking every single time, out loud, via the reversing sensors.
We regret to inform our readers that this product does not exist and, per five separate state referendums, never will. Reviewed anyway on principle. Zero stars for not showing up to its own review.
Worn to weddings, funerals, job interviews and Antarctic expeditions with equal confidence. Doubles as a fly swatter, a wheel chock, and a projectile of last resort. Best-in-class engineering for $8 a pair.
A complimentary day off, bundled with a mandatory sense that you should be doing something productive with it. Spent mine reorganising a drawer I'd never opened before, then feeling worse. 2 stars, would still take again.
Delivered an unwanted, full five-star dramatic performance at 7am on a Tuesday. Reviewer has since showered exclusively with the lights on, the door open, and a broom within arm's reach. One star, would not recommend the surprise.
An annual event capable of turning a peaceful family dinner into a three-match blood feud, fully resolved by dessert, never once actually mentioned again until next year.
Fifty minutes, nine attendees, one agenda item, and a conclusion identical to the one reached in a Teams message four days earlier. A follow-up meeting has been scheduled to discuss the outcome.
Council land, resident responsibility, and the single most closely observed six square metres in any Australian street. Left unmown for eleven days. Received one anonymous note and four pointed glances.
A deep-fried mystery cylinder that has never once revealed its true contents to anyone, including the people who make it. Scientists remain divided. The pastry could survive re-entry. 3 stars for consistency across seven decades of not telling us what's in it.
Technically a motorway. Spiritually a car park with exceptional signage. Reviewed from a stationary position for one hour and forty minutes, during which I aged, reflected on my choices, and finished a podcast series.
A riddle wrapped in an SMS code that arrives four minutes after it expires, guarded by security questions about a bank account you closed in 2014. Successfully logged in once. Have not been able to replicate the conditions since.
Went in for a phone charger. Left with a candle called "Linen Fog," two cushions, and a mild sense of financial vertigo. Structurally identical to my bank balance by the time I reach the register.
A fully layered diplomatic language capable of expressing agreement, disagreement, and profound ambivalence using only two words in either order. Understood instantly by locals. A complete mystery to everyone else on Earth.
Fictional, aggressive, vegemite-repelling koalas maintained as a bit by an entire nation for well over a century, at considerable collective effort. The single longest-running prank on Earth. Full marks for commitment alone.
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