Screw it, Let's Do Lunch!

I'm sure when David Bullard was shot in that home invasion, his mouth curled into a surly grin as he lay bleeding on his living sofa.

His columns rest on a revolving stock cast of villainous politicians, on packaged outcries of corruption and incompetence, and references to his boorishly superior lifestyle. My favourite quirk is his love for Zimbabwe and the downtrodden people of Zim; I don't quite get the whole thing but it makes a great foil, akin to having a black friend who you showcase to your suburban parents whenever you can.

Ultimately, he's one of those people who likes slapping beehives then points at the large welts on his body, eyes wide, mouthing the words “See! I told you! Poor little me, just wow.”