By John Miller
Friday the 1st of December, 2017
As that ONE GUY in Melbourne WHO ISN’T a cross-dressing transsexual Merchant Banker Jihadi that works for Red Chinese intelligence as part of a paedophile network gets busy building his Ark, and getting all his cats on board, let us remember all the things that we will miss about Victoria after it is drowned this weekend by Almighty God, and joins the Atlantean civilisation beneath the waves.
The MCG is the first thing that comes to mind for me, and the hours of entertainment it offered, as I watched the groundsmen pulling the covers on and off, the rolling and re-rolling of the pitch, and Bill Lawry sticking his car keys into the beautifully manicured lawns, and saying something in Victorian.
Next up is the footy, which I don’t really want to talk about. Here’s what Melbourne does to people in two photos, even straight up decent blokes like Pav.
Also I will miss VB, which isn’t as good as Emu, but isn’t as gay as Swan, and won’t give you AIDs like craft beer from a microbrewery. A cold hard thirst something something Boony. Ah the memories of walking around with a slab of VB in high school, which I was, uh, buying for my dad.
I can’t think of much else I’ll miss about Victoria.
Shane Warne has been dead to me since he became a skinny faggot with ten plastic surgeries, I haven’t watched the Footy Show since Sam Newman had his original skin, and everybody who lives in Melbourne is a virtue signalling feral nuct these days.
Baton down the hatches, fags. Here comes the Wrath of God.
Full disclosure: John Miller’s IRL name is Frank Faulkner. I’m an Aussie and when I’m not obsessing about Conservative politics or defending Trump I also enjoy various sports and Christian activities.