Hello, hello, hello, it's a new city, a new year and I cannot be free of that fucking nickname.

How shit!

Friendship is forever, friendship never ends, it doesn't matter what time you're in, you're still a dragon frame.

A fucking Dragon Friends

It has been two years since the dragon friends

Last made it back to the city of Melbourne

Their touring plans led low by capricious fate

And the uncaring whims of man gods and the novel coronavirus of 2019.

In that time, they have gone about their tawdry little lives in medically appointed near isolation, sanitizing hands, marking time,

and waiting for a chance to once more take their bullshit podcast out into the big bad world.

But such time has come at last, and so it is one day late in the month of March,

that the Dragon Friends have departed Sydney for the Melbourne International Comedy Festival,

booked rooms in a modestly appointed venue just upstairs from a J.B. High-Fi.

The player sit. The audience files in, and something it seems is wrong. The town of Melbourne

is on edge. For weeks now, the city has been on high alert, wary of another outbreak as the nation

tries to put its woes behind it. A comedy festival brings its own logistical challenges,

and the month-long commuter exclusion zone around the Margaret Court Arena has forced new traffic around the city.

All are alert.

Some are alarmed, yet the show must go on.

A hush falls.

The audience leans in as Dave begins his introductory spiel.

And then suddenly, on the horizon, the sound of a wailing, sonorous roar as all the lights go out across the venue.

...