When news broke that Australia had declared war on New Zealand, most assumed it was a rugby metaphor or a lamington mishap. But beneath the flying pies, rogue kangaroos, and heroic cats with cardboard radios lies something deeper, a rumbling reminder that mateship isn’t just for ANZAC Day.
In this exclusive Ratty News dispatch, War Correspondent Lance Corporal 'Muttley' McBark reports from the frontlines of the most ridiculous conflict never fought… and why it might matter more than we think.
By Lance Corporal ‘Muttley’ McBark
War Correspondent, Territorial Bones Division – seconded to Ratty News
In what has been a remarkable turn of events, Australia today declared war on New Zealand.
The international community responded with stunned silence, dropped cups of tea, and at least one ambassador reportedly locking himself in a pantry while blaming the entire affair on Trump.
Operation “She'll Be Right Mate” commenced at precisely 11:17 AM Eastern Rat Standard Time - two minutes behind schedule because someone left the pie warmer on too long.
Here is how the battle unfolded.
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The Opening Salvo
Australian forces were described as a loose but enthusiastic coalition of Dusty Gulch Under-12 Rugby Union players, surf lifesavers, retired cricketers, and one famously ferocious Country Women’s Association branch.
Eyewitnesses report the first wave consisted of utes towing jet skis, esky battalions, orange biplanes, and the newly formed Hot Air Balloon Squadron (nicknamed “The Albo Duds”). One rogue kangaroo made landfall at Bluff; another mistakenly hopped into the university quad in Dunedin.
Initial resistance was minimal. A mildly annoyed Border Collie and a few baffled sheep were the only reported opposition at Oamaru. The New Zealand Defence Force attempted ceremonial haka-based deterrence and brandished sheep-shearing scissors - but were swiftly overwhelmed by volleys of sausage rolls and homemade marmalade.
New Zealand rodents are reportedly mobilising stealth possum units and elite airborne Kea squadrons, trained to sabotage Australian thongs (flip-flops). Jandals, however, remain protected under the Geneva Footwear Accords.
Diplomacy & Drama
Australian Ambassador to the United States, Kevvie “The Loser” Krudd, declared:
“I haven’t been told what to say yet, but rest assured it’ll involve Trump being a bastard and whatever Xi wants me to say.”
From an undisclosed shed in Dusty Gulch, Prime Minister Fookit announced:
“Our objective is clear: secure the beer, liberate the sheilas, and ensure a fair distribution of ANZAC bikkies to all citizens - regardless of nationality.”
He declared the operation a “rousing success,” noting the only casualty so far was Corporal Puds, who pulled a hammy during a 3 AM celebratory hallway zoomie attack after sniffing out a Kiwi counterstrike.
“A cat’s got to do what a cat’s got to do,” Fookit muttered. “Also, has anyone seen my breakfast? I ordered Barcaldine sausages.”
Meanwhile, New Zealand Prime Minister Winston “Whose Turn Is It This Week” Luxon-Seymour issued a stern protest from a deck chair in Queenstown:
“Frankly, if they promise to fix the potholes in the Tasman Sea and start playing decent rugby, we’re open to negotiations. Also - where are my Tuatapere sausages?”
Ceasefire and Reflection
By press time, both sides agreed to a temporary ceasefire to watch the footy and argue over the true origin of the lamington. The conflict lasted 43 minutes - about the length of the first half of a rugby match - leaving plenty of time for a spirited second-half counterattack.
Public morale remains high. A best-of-three backyard cricket series is scheduled, weather permitting. Corporal Puds is recovering in a cardboard box and demanding sympathy snacks.
Ratty News will continue broadcasting vital updates unless events spiral into a spontaneous public holiday ... in which case all news rats and dogs have been instructed to report to the nearest pub or shady tree.
But Even As We Laugh...
Something darker stirs.
Chinese warships have been sighted prowling the Tasman Sea, the Coral Sea - anywhere wet enough to float steel. They glide silently, without a hint of mateship in their hulls.
Military experts consulted by Ratty News warn:
If current trends continue, the proud kiwifruit may revert to its original name: Chinese Gooseberry.
Only this time, Aussies and Kiwis alike are the gooseberries - ripe for the picking.
And as I, Muttley McBark, survey our defences, I grow uneasy.
Our air force of orange biplanes wheezes like overworked fruit bats. Our navy consists mostly of budgie-coloured helicopters and the rusty trawler HMAS Hopefully Not Today. And guarding the heartland? A handful of cranky Dusty Gulch CWA ladies armed with wooden spoons and the vague hope that someone, somewhere, still remembers how to load a trebuchet.
This is not enough.
The invasion has already begun - not with tanks, but with transactions. Not with soldiers, but with soft influence, port leases, and quiet pressure.
It is, in every meaningful sense, a new and more insidious war.
We may chuckle at our rivalry across the Ditch... trading jabs about chilly bins and jandals... but if we don’t wake up, we’ll realise the real fight was never between us.
It’s between those who would preserve the Down Under spirit - and those who would quietly erase it.
We Must Remember Who We Are
Not just Australians.
Not just New Zealanders.
ANZACs.
Once, we stood together on the cliffs of Gallipoli.
Today, we must stand together again - not out of bitterness or paranoia, but out of love for our battered, beloved lands.
It’s time to stop pretending sausage rolls are a viable defence strategy.
Let us face the future not with beer alone - but with open eyes, muddy paws, and the unbreakable spirit that once made the world whisper:
“There go the ANZACs.”
This is War Correspondent Lance Corporal ‘Muttley’ McBark,
Territorial Bones Division – seconded to Ratty News,
signing out on what has been a rather barking mad day
