March 20, 2026 — 11:00am
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Oh yeah, hi, is that you, Kyle? It’s Michelle from KIIS-Off HQ. Long-time critic, first time caller. Now, don’t go lunging for the dump button there – I rang to say that I miss you like an enema and have spent the mornings using my toilet seat as a security blanket since your departure from the airwaves. Colour me nostalgic, but the school run just isn’t the same without all the references to foreign genitals and pubic hair.
Now that you’re suddenly off the air, breakfast radio is all traffic chaos this, news headlines that. Nary a sausage on a taco in sight. (Remember that segment? The one where you tried to guess people’s gender based solely on their voices? So reductive. So funny. So. Many. Good. Times. Sob.) Where is the nudity? Where are the sex games? What is the world coming to when I wake up and have to call myself a fat ugly past-it old slag instead of relying on you to publicly humiliate any woman who dares to criticise you? Must I do everything?
Radio host Kyle Sandilands outside his home in Vaucluse this week.Jessica Hromas
I digress, Kyle, I digress. The thing is, I’ve obviously spent a good part of the past fortnight weeping into copies of the two statements you’ve released in the wake of your self-described “blue” with Jackie O. And loath as I am to question a man whose very signature spans a quarter of a page, I have thoughts.
This could just be my plus-sized sense of outrage talking, but I’m really struggling with your sudden fixation on “honour”. In the wake of your axing, I’ve read a lot about how you want your employer, ARN Media, to act with honour. Do the honourable thing. Honour the terms of the stupendously miscalculated, $200 million contract the network inked with you and Jackie O, back in the days when Victorians didn’t know you and you weren’t haemorrhaging advertisers like a defective sanitary pad. (See what I did there? #moregenitals. Hee-hee.)
It’s like we’ve become strangers in the two weeks since you’ve been yanked off your show. Since when do you care about honour, anyway? You’re the same guy who made headlines for asking a crying teenage rape victim (who was hooked up to a lie detector) whether she’d had any other sexual experiences. You suggested a concentration camp as a weight loss plan for Magda Szubanski. You described the Virgin Mary as a “liar” who was “chock-a-blocked behind a camel shed”. You fat-shamed a bunch of female journalists just because.
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Don’t worry, I know. You’re an honourable guy, dude. So honourable, in fact, that some bright spark on ARN, feeling all the morning-after feels following a glorious run of radio ratings surveys, decided to take your travelling freak show of a program on the road.
Then Victoria, oh Victoria. We hate Victorians, don’t we, Kyle? An honourable guy like you, having failed to win over those southern cowboys with your usual beguiling mix of smut and shame and stupidity, reacted the honourable way: by castigating them as a bunch of “pearl clutchers” and insisting they were the problem, not you.
Then finally, for your coup-de-honourable-gras, let’s reflect on when it became apparent that in a faltering ad market, ARN Media couldn’t possibly keep paying you and Jackie O the $10 million a year each that your hallowed contract demanded without running itself and everybody else into the ground.
You did the honourable thing and insisted on renegotiating your fee to a more realistic amount, right, comrade? Just joking. You sat back behind your gold microphone and watched while more than 240 staff lost their livelihoods to keep you in luxury cars and fancy rental pads and whatever other penis extensions very rich men typically fancy. (You probably canvassed this on your show already – maybe while you were making a poor person grovel for a chance to win a key to a house that turned out not to fit the lock. Better luck next time, loser.)
Another perspective
Bottom line, Kyle: you’re headed off to court to sue ARN anyway, where you’ll get your chance to explain your need for honour to a bunch of contract law experts. Hopefully, in the process, we’ll get to relive the glory years when a broadcaster such as you could do the honourable thing and regale listeners with lurid tales of trans prostitutes, and mock Paralympic athletes with delicious impunity. Let’s hope the judge has the dump button at the ready, Your Honour.
Michelle Cazzulino is a Sydney writer.
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