Ibis Men rule over the city as garbage pharaohs, dispensing radioactive wisdom from their temple complex in the ruins of the Opera House
The Star has come to life and devours people with its hypnotic rotating teeth, chewing up their souls and shitting them out as expressionless suit-wearing servitors who plant pokie seeds in the underbellies of otherwise-innocent pubs
All the good drugs come in via deep-sea current, smuggled in the bellies of tuna by the 'Ndranghulhu (otherwise known as the Pelagic Mafia)
Joe Hockey, torn and blistered, lies undying on a football field in his North Shore electorate, thousands of maggots endlessly sucking the last last ounce of juice from him
Chinatown slid sideways into Darling Harbour and is now a floating market of sampans, secretly governed by an animated and evil wax statue of Nicole Kidman
All the water abandoned Bondi in disgust, it is now a mile-wide expanse of dead dry sand
That guy who drives up and down King Street on a scooter blasting classic rock turned out to be the actual King of King Street and now provides the anarchist denizens of Newtown with the only authority they can understand
Rupert Murdoch was mummified in old front pages of the Telegraph and his hate-preserved ancients war with Lebanese vampire hunters in muscle cars on the streets of the Outer West
Oxford Street closed in on itself to form an infinity symbol, it cannot be accessed from outside but over the rooftops you can hear the distant roar of a Mardi Gras parade that never ends
Manly snapped off from the mainland and is now an island fortress, the people who live there have enough money to pretend that nothing's wrong
Circular Quay is full of broken glass and avocado-coloured scumwater and smashed-up ferries and bad, pretentious art torn out of the galleries by tourists enraged at being expected to pay $6 for a cup of coffee. Toothed seabirds circle overhead, doing the bidding of the Ibis Men
An enormous ruined cruiseship lies at anchor off Watson's Bay, it is full of insanely old people with parasite oysters clapped to their brainstems, pumping them full of immortality hormones and controlling their every move
All the rich people killed each other and now Mosman is a single giant haunted mansion full of entitled ghosts
There are spiders everywhere, they're harmless and if you help one out it's good luck. If you disturb one it's not bad luck you're just a dick
The weird Brutalist concrete shoreline of Clovelly looks exactly the fucking same, is breeding-place of crab people with cement shells
Taronga Zoo was bought up by a billionaire gun enthusiast who has offered a small fortune to anyone who can survive a night within its walls, he has let all the animals out and will snipe at you from the gondola
Each Friday night the gunpowder phoenixes dance in the sky over the ocean and wake you the fuck up
Long pork rolls are sold on every street corner and considered a prime hangover food
There are warehouses in Marrickville packed with flesh, you open the door to see an oozing red wall and the pulse of an arm-thick artery. If not pruned regularly they will grow and multiply
Buses pass at midnight, faces pressed against the glass. They only stop to let people on, not to let them off
If you are not yelled at by a homeless person at least once during the course of the day it means that they have already decided to come to your house and kill you in your sleep
A single enormous black swan nests in the calm blue dark of an abandoned movie studio, it has devoured its mate and now knows the future
Cook's baked and disembowelled revenant patrols Botany Bay with a spyglass, scanning the horizon for the war canoe of the Hawaiian king who pursues and, he believes, intends to eat him
In winter the skies freeze over and it's five minutes to get inside or death by apocalyptic hail, this pisses off the gunpowder phoenixes
The phantom of the monorail prowls Pyrmont at night, dragging victims back to its lair in the Powerhouse museum where they labor in chains to construct it a new, brutal, piston-powered body
Falun Gong peace pirates have learnt to survive indefinitely without the organs stolen from them by agents of the Chinese government. Their urine is filtered by the concentrated meditation energy of thousands of tranquility slaves who can only attack by vomiting up black qi
The aquarium has inverted itself and lumbers through the harbour's slimy depths with small, scared townships trapped in what were once fish tanks, breathing from pockets of stagnant air that are refreshed every full moon when it surfaces. The inhabitants have learned to not throw stones
The Domain is now the domain of giant carnivorous fungi that spill over each night from the botanical gardens, they worship mushroom Madonnas in St. Mary's Cathedral and smear the portraits in art gallery with poisonous mold, cursing their subjects
The botanical gardens are a stinking trashpile which breeds carnivorous fungi. This is the design of the Ibis Men, who look upon them as beautiful and sacred
The actors, crimelords, media personalities and mining magnates of Finger Wharf live a life of astonishing luxury so long as they never leave. It's like the Masque of the Red Death in there. Each one is missing their little finger, the price of their admittance
Tiger Edwards, a literal tiger, runs a portable pie cart that shows up where you least expect it. He is waging an eternal struggle with the guys who sell the long pork rolls
Swimming-capped seahags lurk in wave-dashed pools at the bottom of cliffs, guarding the fountains of regenerative brine which prevent them from shriveling into nothingness. They eat only scones and flesh
The bridge left. Legends say that one day it will return
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