Meet Andrew BLOT, Australia’s renowned anti-migration typing error
WARNING: CONTAINS FAKE NEWS
Produced 18 December 2025 – prior to my illness
Andrew Bolt was having a bad day on Monday, the day after the Bondi Beach shooting atrocity.
He had suffered an overnight episode of premature adjudication, having blamed the attack on multiculturalism before the ethnicity and migration status of the offenders had been officially confirmed.
“Multiculturalism has become a curse,” Bolt wrote. “Fact is, we’ve been lucky that this has not happened more often and worse.”
Consequently, he was copping loads of flack for his anti-non-white racial bias and lack of professionalism (not that professionalism is a word often used in association with Andrew Bolt).
We found Andrew in his local supermarket, looking a bit bewildered, when a young Indian woman employee (ethnicity confirmed) smiled pleasantly and asked, “Do you need some help sir?” to which Bolt replied, “How dare you. Do you think you can come to this country and expect to be nice to me, and get away with it? Do you know who I am?
“Yes, Mr Bolt,” came the reply. ”You are the well-known, right-wing anti-migration journalist who prematurely presumed the Bondi attackers to be
migrants of non-Caucasian ethnicity.”
At that, Bolt grunted and headed down the aisle muttering something like, “Too smart for her own good. No wonder they’re taking all our jobs. Where can I find an Australian who can make some sense?”
And he did, or so he thought. Of a young white Australian employee (ethnicity confirmed) Bolt asked, “Can you please tell me where I can find sugar?” to which came the reply, “Stuffed if I know mate. Ask that towelhead over there. She’ll know,” to which Bolt replied, “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet a kindred spirit like yourself.”
Holt approached the smiling Hijab-wearing Muslim woman (ethnicity confirmed) asking, ”Where in Christ’s name can I find the sugar section?” to which she replied, “I cannot speak for Jesus Christ, but I can tell you it is two aisles down, in the centre on the right. Did you want white sugar?” to which Bolt replied, “It must be white because white is more refined, not that you would understand the significance of that cunning slight.”
The Muslim replied pleasantly, saying, “On the contrary Mr Bolt, I totally appreciate that you regard people of non-white skin, as I am, to be uncultured heathens, terrorists or miscreants in general. I pity you. You must be a very bitter man. Is that why you need sugar?”
Then she decided to get really smart. “Have you seen our Swiss cheeses on special? They’re just like your articles, only with fewer holes.”
With that insult, Bolt bolted off, sugar-bound but noticed a male customer of Middle Eastern appearance (ethnicity unconfirmed) with a trolley containing seven pineapples, complete with rough ends. “Obviously a terrorist,” he mused, ”Imagine the damage that the rough ends of seven pineapples could do if rammed into the wrong places.”
He opted not to alert management lest he be deemed overly anal. Supermarket managers can be very astute judges of character.
Bolt was at his wit’s end when he found the sugar. He then ran towards the checkouts, jumped the express queue, paid, then stormed out.
On the zebra crossing just outside, he was hit by a speeding four-wheel-drive ute driven by a white Australian yobbo bearing a tattoo, “I luve Pualine Honsan” on his upper right arm. He was sucking on a can of Victoria Bitter and was over the 0.05 limit (ethnicity, social status, political ‘ideology’, and blood alcohol reading confirmed).
Passers-by of multiple skin colours, including many white, rushed to Bolt’s aid (and called 000). He was conscious but the packet of sugar was smashed.
Andrew Bolt was indeed having a bad day.
When an ambulance arrived, he was delighted to find the male paramedics were white Australians (ethnicities confirmed). “I’m not racist,” he said, “but I sure am glad to see you white blokes.” The ambos just laughed, knowing his identity and reputation. Let’s remember that Andrew Bolt has the gall to deny being racist.
Once in hospital, radiology revealed a ruptured gall bladder. A black Ethiopian surgeon (ethnicity confirmed) explained that removal of the gall bladder was urgent.
The intrepid journo roared, “I can’t survive in my job without a good supply of gall. It’s my trademark. Besides, I would rather die than have a black surgeon operate on me. I demand a white Australian.” The hospital obliged by agreeing to a white surgeon (not letting him die).
Lying in an emergency bed, he lamented, “Multiculturalism is a blot on Australia”, then looked at his hospital wristband on which was written, Andrew BLOT. “And so are leftie punsters who work in hospitals,” he grunted.
Andrew Bolt was flat out having a very bad day.