Upon arrival, Sebastian’s stomach gives up like a shrivelled peen during a 6am dexie-fueled pooning, and he unleashes chunks all over the revered French landmark.
She finds the way he makes Australians look like tools abroad hot. Even hotter than the time he chucked a slash on the Colosseum. “You are such a lord Seb”.
Alas, the apple of his eye has a long term boyfriend back home. He has two choices, accept it or attempt to be a lunch cutting sack of shit for the remainder of the 14 days. Naturally, he chooses the latter.
The remaining 4 weeks play out as expected, and by the end of the trip, he has avoided having a meaningful conversation with a single European local.
Why attempt to get to meet the locals in a new country when you can forge lifelong bonds with a group of Aussies that you’ll never see again? Checkmate, culture seekers.
Back home, he stares at a friend drinking a coffee. “I could never drink Aussie crap again, I’ve had espresso on the Riviera”.
His pretentiousness is ignored as he launches into a story of how most travellers wouldn’t have the balls to walk the streets of Krakow on a pre-organised 2-hour tour like he did.
On his way home he walks past Flight Centre and sees a special to Bali. He turns to his mate, “um that awkward moment when you think Bali is a real international holiday”.
Ah Seb, what are we ever going to do with you?