The Peacock – his deep-seated mummy issues have created a poon-seeking missile that needs the approval of every female in the vicinity. At the beach, you’ll see this rooster getting his Hasselhoff on and seeking attention in anyway he can. You probably have him blocked on Bumble.
The influencer – she hasn’t come down for a day at the beach, she’s come down farm content to show her saddo followers how charmed her life is. Amazing what you can achieve when you are unburdened by gainful employment and daddy keeps the Swift topped up with unleaded.
Metal detector guy – these marine scabs feed off the misfortune of other beachgoers. It’s a well-known fact that the beach is an absolute vortex for your valuables and this guy is going to profit off that. Imagine a guy crawling around on the floor of a music festival looking for dropped baggies, that’s this guy.
The teen going through his badman era – it’s a scientific fact that you are 110% tougher when you fight with your shirt off. This is probably why teens are so keen to live out their eshay fantasies during the school holidays. Their presence is an absolute tumor at any beach.
The lobster – typically the lobster is either from Great Britain or an Aussie who has committed the cardinal sin of falling asleep at the beach (likely due to a drunk stupor). Seeing this glowing red individual is sure to give you a healthy hit of catharsis. Hell awaits them as you slap on another coat of the 50+.
The moon unit – if you’re downwind you’ll know the moon unit is close when you can smell weed, B.O, and that stank every white guy with dreadlock’s house smells like. They will most likely partake in a yoga session where they try to channel the EArth mother Gaia via direct sunlight on their bum’ole.
DJ Spotify – why are the people most willing to blast their music the ones with the worst taste in it? It’s just one of those things. DJ Spotify will rarely delight the crowds trying to soak in some relaxation. Take your portable speaker and rack off to some Scarborough villa party, you doughnut.
Leathery boomer in cockjocks – how this specimen is still alive is a mystery. Perhaps new melanomas attack existing melanomas to keep this leathery stick of jerky in a benign state. However, his flogged-out epidermis isn’t quite enough to distract you from the horrors of his colourful speedos.
The guy who will be denied entry to a local pub soon – he’s had to take his E-Plate down to get to the beach and has subsequently failed to show any restraint with the little esky bag he’s got with him. Not to worry, he’ll be screaming “don’t you know who I am!” at a beachside bouncer in about an hour. Pull up a chair and enjoy the show.
The Creep – the sand dune in his canvas and you don’t want to know what his paintbrush is. Beach creeps are about as welcome as a Collingwood fan in a Colgate commercial.
The smoker – the beach experience is about connecting with nature. Nothing takes you out of that zen quicker than a filthy dart wafting in the breeze. Needless to say, people who stub out the butts on the sand should be charged with treason. We take the quality of our sand seriously in WA, pal.
The free range kid farmer – whoever linked up prime beach season with school holidays should be banished from this society. Alas, the uneasy truce between kids and adults at the beach must be upheld. A little supervision goes a long way, not that it’s bloody likely though.
The coloniser – arriving with half the BCF showroom, the coloniser declares a 10m squared patch of prime beach real estate theirs. For king & country! Not satisfied with their new colony they will almost certainly encroach on the borders to nab more space when another family member decides to come down with a cabana.