Picture this: it’s a stinking hot arvo in Sydney. The sun’s cooking everything like a snag on a BBQ, and you can hear the distant hum of an air-con working overtime. Somewhere in the distance, a tradie cracks open a cold one, and the Southern Cross flutters on the balcony of some bloke’s fibro shack. It’s a typical Aussie scene – laid-back, no worries, and a touch of sunburn. But hang on a tick – something feels off. Dark clouds are looming, and I’m not talking about the usual summer bushfires. Nah, this is more serious, mate. It’s like someone swapped out our VB for a flat schooner of soda water.

You see, our proud land of laughs – the one that gave the world Kath & Kim, The Castle, and a million Steve Irwin one-liners – is facing a crisis. A few too many folk reckon that Australia, once known for its sharp-tongued banter and willingness to take the piss, has lost the plot. We’re talking about a place where not even your best mate was safe from a cheeky jab, and now we’re suddenly treating jokes like they’re asbestos – too dangerous to touch.

Once, we took the mickey out of anything and everything: politicians, cricket collapses, a busted ute – all of it was ripe for a laugh. But now? Now, it’s all ‘She’ll be right’ if she’s been signed off by HR. Even the great Aussie tall-poppy chopping has gone soft, and it feels like everyone’s walking on eggshells. Hell, you can’t even call a bloke a ‘drongo’ without someone suggesting sensitivity training. Take a look around. Comedy shows now come with warnings longer than a Bunnings receipt, and there’s a hotline for anyone who’s a bit miffed about a Chopper Read joke. Stand-up comics have become like poor buggers at Centrelink, nervously double-checking that their gags won’t trigger a Twitter tsunami. It’s not that Aussies have stopped being funny, mind you – it’s just that every joke comes with a PowerPoint presentation and a disclaimer, like it’s some bloody government tender.

Remember when The Footy Show was a national treasure? Back then, the sledging was fierce, and no one walked off crying. Now even on the footy field, sledging’s got the bite of a soggy meat pie. It’s all about ‘respectful discourse’ instead of ripping into your opponent’s bad haircut. And where’s the fun in an Ashes series if you can’t tell the Poms they’re batting like blindfolded wombats? If you do manage to get a laugh, you’re expected to apologise for it straight after – just in case someone wasn’t in on the joke. Even our pub banter’s gone downhill. You used to be able to roast your mate at the bar for blowing his week’s wages on a horse with three legs. Now, you get lectured on responsible gambling and ‘inclusive language’.

You could be forgiven for thinking that the younger crowd – the ones with their kombucha, quinoa, and complicated dietary requirements – are to blame for the drought in Aussie humour. ‘They don’t understand sarcasm!’ the Boomers cry into their decaf flat whites. ‘They reckon satire’s something you buy at the markets!’ But to be fair dinkum, the young mob are just as funny as the old-timers. It’s just that they’ve replaced knockabout humour with memes, TikToks, and some pretty weird ironic stuff that leaves the rest of us scratching our heads.

But let’s face it – we’ve all gone a bit soft. Aussies used to laugh at life’s hard knocks, but now we’re more likely to send a strongly worded email to the ABC because Bluey got too cheeky. Humour’s become a minefield and comedians are like roo shooters tiptoeing through it.

Part of the problem is that the rest of the world’s gotten in on the joke – and not in a good way. Aussie humour used to be ours – raw, rough, and unapologetic, like Vegemite on toast. But now, thanks to the global village and all that jazz, we’re trying to impress everyone from New York to New Delhi. The result? Our comedy’s been watered down like a dodgy schooner at a tourist pub. Sure, it’s great that we’re spreading the laughs to the far corners of the world, but let’s be honest – it’s hard to nail a Fast Forward sketch when you’ve got to check if it’ll fly with a bunch of Yanks or Brits who’ve never seen a kangaroo.

It’s not just the kids we’ve stopped teasing – even our pollies are getting off scot-free. Where we once ribbed them for everything from dodgy haircuts to dodgier policies, now we treat them like they’re running the UN. Scomo’s Hawaiian holiday during the bushfires? That should’ve been comedic gold. Instead, we got a couple of nervous snickers before everyone went back to holding hands and singing ‘Kumbaya’.

It’s almost like we’ve become a nation of nannies – protecting everyone from themselves. We’ve even stopped ripping into our neighbours over the fence. Once, you could poke fun at the bloke’s overcooked snags without anyone blinking an eye. Now you’re half expecting a complaint letter about ‘BBQ etiquette’.

Don’t get me wrong – it’s a bloody good thing we’re taking mental health seriously. No one’s asking for a return to the days of ‘just harden up, mate’. But at the same time, jokes are meant to be a release valve, not something that needs a mindfulness app to help you decompress. Who would’ve thought that Paul Hogan, cracking a beer and a joke in Crocodile Dundee, would be too much for modern audiences? He’d probably have to deliver a meditation on cultural sensitivity before even thinking about saying, ‘That’s not a knife….’ But let’s not get too down under about it. Even now, somewhere in the vast sunburnt country, Aussie humour is still kicking. It’s in the dry wit of the bloke at the servo, the cheeky grin of a checkout chick wearing a suit, and the kind of banter you only hear when the cricket’s on and someone’s yelling at the telly. Yeah, we’ve hit a rough patch, but humour’s in our blood, mate. We’ll bounce back – like a rubber thong or a rogue boomerang.

So, has Australia lost its banter? Maybe for a minute. But don’t worry, it’s just gone to the pub for a quick schooner. And like any good Aussie, it’ll be back before last call, with a joke that makes us spit our drinks and shout, ‘Crikey!’