Most the time I have lived in Sydney has been in the inner west.

Sure, the rent has gone up a few hundred percent and there are now more frozen yoghurt stores than venues but fucked if I am gonna let a pack of yuppies in active gear push me out.

Things are just a wee bit tricky now though, cunts want all these ‘references’ etc etc for a goddamn place – it’s almost like they are screening you for a root the amount of information you have to give them.

Anyway, I don’t have any of that crap so when I had to leave a share house that my friend was folding, I was at a loose end. Sure, I looked into moving to Newcastle or the Gong but fuck it – I love the inner city, why would you wanna live anywhere else?

Luckily for me, an old mate was moving an iconic business in St Peters. Zen had been running for about 25 years. Originally, the estate had been industrial and my mate rented factory space for band rehearsals.

Throughout the 90s he lived in the old shower block after renovating it. When he moved out, he changed the shower block into 24 hr storage. Anyway, one of my jobs in the demolition was to smash up the 24 hr storage. It took six hours of knocking down brick walls but when I was finished, I thought, fuck mate, I could live in this cock sucker.


It’s amazing what you can do with a sledge hammer

So that is what I did. Fing is, when me mate was living there in the goddamn nineties, shit was industrial – no one gave a fuck. Fast forward 20 years and St Peters has gone from a good place to get stabbed to a good place to prance around in active gear whilst sipping on your goddamn frappa-macca-cock-suckah-cino.

I had to keep a very low profile so as I wouldn’t be sprung living there. There was the biggest climbing gym in the world on top of me and a yoga studio opened up right next to me. Cunts were everywhere!

After paying a hefty security bond for a commercial lease, I moved in anyways – and rent worked out to about $150 PW. I used heaps of Tontine from the demolition of Zen to sound proof the entire room. Seeing as I was going to be cooking/living in there I had to make it smell proof as well – not to mention the amount of puritan party cones I torched as well.

So two of my mates came around and we slammed up an airlock door in no time flat on dexies and oxy and The Bunker was born. It was built to survive the zombie apocalypse : quarter inch thick metal doors with massive locks, double brick walls and little natural light. I loved it.


Front door with tontine

















Airlock door with tontine and brolly
















I told the real estate that it was an office for Green Ant Press so when they inspected the joint it had to look like a cool sorta office. I had it set up so that I could make it look that way in five minutes. The first thing I had to do was get rid of my bed. Instead, I slung a hammock from wall to wall. I gotta tell ya, sleeping in a hammock is the best thing since sliced cheese on a stick – I will never sleep in a goddamn bed again and just the thought of it makes me wanna puke. For a wardrobe, I rigged up a stationary cabinet to hang my clothes.



Bottom left corner is where the bunker was

Naturally, there were some teething problems such as ice freaks who would hang around the estate at night like moths drawn to light – some nights it was like the walking dead out there and there were a few hairy incidences.


Anyways, I turned The Bunker into a goddamn high-tech crypto cave replete with MAME cabinet with 6,000 games and proceeded to hack everyones wifi using high powered antennas. I even had a laundry room in there.



Everything was going swimmingly until the rape-yoga place opened up next door. Sure, they were nice enough as far as brain dead fucking hippies go, but it made it a lot more difficult to be stealthy as the shower I used was the one all their customers did as well.

And here is the thing, these goddamn hippies go on about the earth goddess and peace and love maaaaaaan but when I googled their fuckin’ business name – all this shit about rape, sexual abuse and suicide came up. It seems the guru of the yoga cult liked a bit o rapin’ on the side. I gave em the benefit of the doubt and figured it was just a franchise.

But here is the thing, if tutors want to teach under the rapists name they have to go to India to train under the sex offender cunt, so these brain dead hippy cunts are condoning the prick! Cuppla poor sheilas commited suicide over it as well. But at least he isn’t a cis-gendered white male – that would be really fucked! I lived there for almost two years but in the end, I had to move because the rape-yoga place wanted to extend their showers, and really who could blame them? I’m sure all that rapin’ gets ya hot and bothered!


Airlock door from entrance. Dunny and laundry on right.





Secure as fuck














They asked me to remove my sign when I left…


…So I removed it










My rabbit, Prudence, hated the bunker