ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact

From our free and happy inland port city, a lack of breadmaking content from our friends and enemies in the filthy, diseased south of the continent suggests that they are over it and have accepted their impending death from the Sydney Sneeze.

Those sentiments were echoed by a local man who lives in Sydney now because that’s where his company says he needs to live in order to be at the office on time each morning.

He says he hates it but wanted to reiterate to our readers that he always hated it.

During the first lockdown, Graham Poonch says, he embraced the novelty of it by doing things he never usually did.

Like make bread and ragu.

Graham admits he’s just another overweight yuppie piece of shit that clogs the inner-city arteries of Sydney like some sort of sticky, aspirational plaque.

“I can’t escape that,” he says.

“I am who I am but I know now that I am not someone who makes bread. Making bread is a mug’s game. It’s easier and better to just get it from the shops. The shit I was making last year was like damper. You’d eat half a loaf and you’d be lucky to take a shit in the proceeding seven days. I was convinced I had the Spanish Dancer doing the tango in my colon, blocking the way, etc,”

“Tell you what, all I’ve done this lockdown is go for walks and read this stupid inbred newspaper from my hometown. This lockdown can shove the sourdough up its arse.”

More to come.


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