Guest Post: A Bunyip Epistle

This wonderful piece was sent to me earlier this evening and I, unfortunately, being out, missed it until now. Although it may be too late to beat that pot this evening, please give it a good going over tomorrow at 9pm, and then on until the lockdowns finish.

Professor Bunyip writes:

Bunyips as a broad rule are quite content with our own company. This is as much a matter of inevitability as preference since wives and sweethearts, present and ex, find so many deficiencies of character in need of comment that solitude becomes the balm of a hectored brain. When a cork being popped booms in the silence like Tchaikovsky’s cannon, life is generally as good as it is ever likely to get (allowing, of course, that one has not fallen in love with a lusty deaf mute).

There are, however, exceptions which every weary Victorian will immediately recognise while Lockdown 6.0 inflicts its further ravages on the pitiful tatters of the state’s economy. To the north of Trashcanistan on the Yarra, Sydneysiders kvetch about their first prolonged taste of the madness that has sealed them in their homes. Just wait, Harbourians, until your kids have missed almost two years of schooling, every third shop is shuttered or for lease, and the police have been given their head to stop, quiz, rebuke, rough up and charge those guilty of offences deemed heinous by our elected betters and their chief medical officers.

You know, things like sitting in a sunny park or ignoring the order that children must not, under any circumstances, play on swings and slides lest Mister COVID leap like a tumescent molester from the sandbox. Having pledged herself to the Dan Andrews model, there is no longer any choice but that Old Mother Gladys continues following her nose, as you might say, along the same downhill road.

The time will come though, as it has at the Billabong, when mandated solitude is several weeks of isolation too many. Strange thoughts and bizarre urges arise, even to the point of collecting the empty bottles from beneath the sofa, regarding the cat as a gifted interlocutor or dismantling the upstairs lavatory’s cistern because the constant drip of water leaking into the bowl becomes suddenly and infuriatingly too much to bear. Three weeks ago – blessed be Dan – Victorians were allowed to drive considerable distances to visit friends. Now – Dan be damned – we must remain indoors from 9pm until 5am, and woebetide all who fail to count their remaining cigarettes as darkness falls.

Tonight, come 9pm and every night thereafter, the Billabong will resound to a big metal spoon being banged on a bigger metal pot. It’s a one-Bunyip protest against insanity — and VicPol-proof to boot since there will be no stepping beyond the property line. As an exercise it might just draw off a little of the fury at being ordered about by a corrupt, jug-eared grub of Premier and his simpering sidekick CMO. It might even bleed of disgust with The Grub’s chief enabler, the Prime Minister who reaches immediately for the taxpayers’ chequebook to underwrite each and every of the premiers’ authoritarian frolics. If South Australia’s CMO were to announce an expert initiative aimed at ridding pizza boxes and footballs of viral peril, can anyone doubt Morrison would fund that too? Should Queensland’s CMO yearn for a return to the norm as one of the witches from the Scottish Play’s open scenes, the spineless net zero would rent her a theatre.

So tonight, if any of Dover Beach’s neoCats care to join the racket at 9pm, feel free to bang away. It would restore much faith that the idealised Australian of yore yet draws breath – disrespectful of authority, not open to bullying, imbued with rough-hewn common sense.


Don’t fancy that? Well you can always call one of the dobber lines and inform on noisy, neighbouring Australians. You know, the ones who fall short of the Good German standard. 

32 thoughts on “Guest Post: A Bunyip Epistle”

  1. I misses the great Bunyip era but was always very confident he lived, having had the opportunity to read some of his fine work.
    I shall join your unsilent protest.
    To far away for it to be a chorus though.


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  2. Good to see you Bunyip.

    Not sure about the protest but. If you are going to hit the pot, there is a cruisier way to do that. I’m sure there’s a local dealer who can Uber you some of the good stuff.


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  3. Oi! Where you bin, professor? The last time I had Bunyipitude bookmarked was about two laptops ago. It’s good to know you’re suffering Victoria’s political hostage drama along with the rest of us.

    It shows no signs of ending because, as Tucker Carlson points out, the ruling class is having too much fun humiliating those it rules over — because they can and no-one’s stopping them. And much of the population, having forgotten why we fought in World War Two, has turned into East German-style snitches dobbing in their neighbours for not submitting to the new tyranny.

    And the man who tore up Australia’s constitutional democracy was not the jug-eared imbecile in Spring Street or his activist doctor-in-chief, but Australia’s “conservative” prime minister who invented an extra-judicial “national cabinet” accountable to no-one, least of all to any parliament.


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  4. Yes. I have always said that the important thing about being a cranky old bugger who no one can stand living with is to be really witty about how you know you’re a cranky bugger, and to expand the category of “people who don’t want to be near you” to include the neighbours by creating a 9pm useless noise complaint.

    This is much more important than, you know, modifying your character to one actual people want to be near.


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  5. Hahaha. Bunyip has the same effect on the left as Trump. Here’s old ShitFerBrains demanding that Bunyip be more attractive to soyboy shemales like him.


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  6. Wonderful to see the Bunyip emerge from his long lasting immersion in the swamp.

    Welcome back, Prof. Hope we see many more or of your musings.


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  7. We’ve never needed the good Perfesser more than now. I’d wonderful to se him back. Long may he prosper!
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  8. I remember this person. He confused Elizabeth Reid and Ann summers. given the vast differences in appearances and ages how he did that one can only guess.
    Typically though he could not even admit his mistake.


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  9. “Elizabeth Reid and Ann summers. given the vast differences in appearances and ages how he did that one can only guess.”

    Elizabeth Reid was born in 1942 and Anne Summers was born in 1945…so there’s hardly any vast difference in age between the two women.

    So will you admit your mistake?


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  10. Just wait, Harbourians, until ….. the police have been given their head to stop, quiz, rebuke, rough up and charge

    No waiting. It just happened to a little old lady rello of mine.
    Aged 85, she walked the 2kms downhill to nearby Dee Why beach.
    Girding her loins for the return uphill trip, she sat alone on a bench overlooking the ocean.
    Brusque young man in a uniform moved her on. (she’s confused if the uniform was ranger or police)
    No resting for you lady!
    Gulag Gladys strikes again.

    (PS the nature of the uniform is irrelevant. A police state is a police state)


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  11. Cassie.

    Thank you for spelling Anne Summers correctly, something the pedant Not Trampis was unable to do.
    Making significant errors while criticising others’ alleged errors must be so embarrassing.


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  12. m0ntysays:
    August 18, 2021 at 8:18 am
    Good to see you Bunyip.

    Not sure about the protest but. If you are going to hit the pot, there is a cruisier way to do that. I’m sure there’s a local dealer who can Uber you some of the good stuff.

    I’m not sure we need to know about your familiarity with drug culture munty.


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  13. Not Trampissays:
    August 18, 2021 at 4:22 pm
    I remember this person. He confused Elizabeth Reid and Ann summers. given the vast differences in appearances and ages how he did that one can only guess.
    Typically though he could not even admit his mistake.

    Much as you will not admit your error in confusing the transmissibility of a virus with its virulence?

    How are you going with the definition of lubricious?


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  14. Professor, I was bashing some pots around in the kitchen even before I read this.
    Definitely on the same page.

    Now, it seems to me, it would be entirely apposite to explode a champagne cork into this silent Sydney night and raise a glass to absent friends. So good to see you back and in good forelock and fettle.


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  15. What a breath of fresh air. Long time no read you, Bunyip. Thank you! See you at the protest.
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  16. Dover – you conservative twat. We all know who Bunyip is. Do you? Hint. Areff. Dick head!
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  17. Welcome back Professor! I can only compare this event to the return of Merlin in C. S. Lewis’ novel That Hideous Strength.
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