God Hates Brisbane.
I am sure this is true.
I am sure because just up the road hundreds of drunken, braying idiots are packing themselves into the Mustang Bar trying to out-bogan each other, while a bare two-score watch the feeback-ridden, twin-guitar extremities of The Entire Asian Population.
I am sure because hundreds desecrate the rotting corpse of the Arena content to pop pills and listen to recycled RnB while at the Step Inn Ambrose Chapel channels aural destruction from the very heavens with his fingertips.
And I am sure because Brisbanites would rather pay through the nose for overpriced cocktails in wanky inner-city bars than fork out a mere $8 to enter the Step Inn to sample the likes of Turnpike, AXXONN and No Anchor.
If I was God, I would smite Brisbane for these iniquities.
God, ineffably, refrains. Nevertheless, I am sure that God hates Brisbane. It’s just a matter of time.