In a nation renowned for its wide-open landscapes and a spirit that embraces freedom, a new breed of prisoners has emerged, shackled not by iron bars but by an insidious entity far more sinister: paperwork. As the Great Australian Escape takes a tragicomic twist, aspiring escapees find themselves trapped in a labyrinth of bureaucracy so convoluted that even the most cunning convicts struggle to navigate their way out. The scene at the imaginary Fools' Gulag, located somewhere between Tooheys and Tinnies, is nothing short of absurd. Inmates armed not with shovels or spoons, but with highlighters, staplers, and a ridiculous amount of Post-it notes, gather in the yard for what they now refer to as ‘The Daily Form Fill.’ Once dubbed ‘The Great Australian Escape,’ the initiative has devolved into a race against a tide of forms so complicated that prisoners have begun to question their own identities, often forgetting whether they were incarcerated for petty theft or simply failing to submit their last tax return on time. “Honestly, I thought breaking out of here would be easy,” lamented Barry “The Magician” McTavish, now known for his baffling ability to make his escape plans disappear. “I had the blueprints and everything. But the moment I opened that first form, I felt the life drain out of me like a flat beer.” Barry illustrated his experience by unfolding a convoluted form titled "Request for Form Completion Confirmation," followed by a one-page glossary of acronyms, including the lesser-known "SPTFMI" (Standardized Paperwork Task Force Mandate Instructions). “Every time I think I’ve filled out the paperwork correctly, they go and change the rules,” explained Karen “The Complainant” Johnson, a self-titled activist who once tried to rally support for a petition titled, “Freedom Over Forms.” “Just the other day, I got told my Application for Escape was rejected because my signature didn’t match the one I forgot to sign on my previous Form of Request for Signature Verification. What do they want me to do? Tattoo it on my arm?” Inside the cafeteria, conversations grow increasingly frantic as those who dared to try to escape turned to Facebook groups such as “Papers, Please” and “Forms Anonymous,” bonding over their shared adversity. They swap tips on the best ways to fill in government forms behind the back of well-meaning prison staff, who ironically have instituted an “Open Door Policy” for escape requests. Flattered by the level of trust, the guards unwittingly turned the prison into a comically heavy bureaucracy, turning all dreams of freedom into an epic waiting game. And don’t even get started on the Appeals Process, which has become a formidable challenge that’s left many scratching their heads, wondering if “habeas corpus” is the name of a new dish on the prison menu. “I had to submit my appeal three times because nobody could understand the latest version of the form,” sighed Michael “The Philosopher” O’Reilly, who now spends his evenings contemplating existence rather than his escape. “I mean, how can I justify my right to freedom when I can’t even get my name spelled correctly on a form?” Meanwhile, the Department of Incarceration and Form Completion (DIFC) continues to impose new regulations, adding layers of red tape that would make even an origami master weep. An anonymous source within the department revealed that they’ve commissioned a new “Great Australian Escape” form that will require no less than five signatures from five different departments. “It’s all in the name of safety,” the source closed, snickering. “No reason to break out if they can’t figure out how to fill a form correctly, right?” As laughter mixes with frustration inside the walls of Fools' Gulag, one thing is painfully clear: the Great Australian Escape has become less about climbing over fences and more about climbing mountains of paperwork. In this brave new world, freedom is not given but requested, and the only thing truly escaping is the hope of ever getting out.