Robbo is aggressively pro-Perth, and he wouldn’t want to live anywhere else in the world. Partly because he hasn’t really been anywhere else in the world, but mostly because the shitty weathered scarf-topias of Melbourne and Sydney can suck his Ballajura born flesh boulders.
While appreciating the taste and value of his Perth coffee, Robbo logs onto his most trusted news source in the land: Perthnow. He spots an article: “Sorry Sydney, this is Australia’s best city”.
Another article singing Perth’s praises by desperately comparing it to the East Coast. Much in the same way an insecure insta-model measures her self worth against the likes of her rivals latest inspirational mooseknuckle shot.
The article has Robbo blue-balling from the sloshy surge of Perth patriotism. He spots a comment from a traitor claiming that Perth can’t match the variety and price of grub in Sydney. Robbo furiously pounds his keyboard to deliver a love-it-or-leave-it load all over the forum.
“ fuk back off to Sydney then mate. had the shitttttttest steak sanga in SHITNEY!! so ye spare us lol….evrr heard of ROCKPOOL? wrld clas joint roight at Perth’s doorstep lol… swivel on tha food culture”.
After a robust argument, Robbo decides it’s time to catch a few buses to where he left his car last night. 50 minutes into the trip he turns to a fellow commuter, “our buses fly ayy, 70kph no worries, ever see a tram do that? Ha, those things run on fruity scarfs mate” . The man shoots Robbo an accepting look, “ken oath, mate, ken oath”.
After retrieving his car, Robbo heads to the pub to slam a few pints in a beer garden setting. He comes barreling into the pub and banter-rapes the barkeep, “farkin, would be locked out if this was Shitney ay mate ha ha”. He then turns to another punter and tugs on his Jet Pilots, “beers in ya boardies lad, only in Perth, Smellbourne would be pissing down on ya, ay”.
He orders a pint of pure Perth excellence: Swanny D. “$11.15 please mate”. The price cuts Robbo like the rogue corner of a Zooper Dooper. Nevertheless, he cries on the inside and puts on a brave front, “yehnah orright, fair cop, better then paying $8 for that cat piss Melbourne Bitter ay”.
Against the odds, Robbo finds yet another unflattering comparison to make against a city he has been to once. The punter next to him rolls his eyes, “the way you bang on about Melbourne, sounds like your secretly in love ha ha”.
The mood is tenser than a turbos biceps during a festival group selfie, Robbo fumes, “i’ll glass ya mate”.
The sun always shines in Perth, but you’ll never get that golden West Oz glow if you constantly live in the shadows of Melbourne and Sydney.