Has Australia lost its bloody banter? A nation grapples with an identity crisis while cracking a cold one

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.

From politician piss-takes to nanny state niceness

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." And let's not forget Albo's bout with "daggy dad syndrome." In the old days, we'd have taken the piss out of him until his ears turned as red as the map of Queensland.

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."

Mental health awareness: has the she'll-be-right attitude gone too far?

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…"

Have we truly lost our laugh?

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's bound to make us all spit our drinks and shout Crikey!