Mr Bali

Bali: making Australian peasantry feel like kings since forever. Aussies with more tattoos than tolerance flock to the island to escape the shackles of law enforced acceptable behaviour that Australia so overbearingly demands of its citizens. They seek to purchase freedom for a discounted rate, yet it’s Australia’s reputation that always picks up the bill.

Johnno rocks up to the airport 4 hours early. The savings made on his budget ticket & accommodation will be used to sink as much piss as possible while bogan-frothing about cheap darts and back alley rub-n-tuggery.

His banter is a lot like his encroaching shoulder-hair: thick and utterly stomach-turning. He is no greenhorn when it comes to Bali, and his airport outfit conveys that message strongly: white Bintang singlet, Jet Pilot boardies, flogged out double pluggers and pair of white Arnettes with accompanying head strap. Mr Yewwwww on tour.

Johnno arrives in Kuta and checks into his villa – making sure to alert the staff that a VIP is in the house. He wastes no time running down to the main drag and hires a scooter: the chariot of the drunk knucklehead. He drink drives directly to the closest pharmacy to stock up on enough ephedrine and dodgy vals to fuel his bender for days.

While flicking through his wad of rupiah, he regales the pharmo with one of his opinions, “ya just stick to the prescripos, don’t wanna end up having to bribe one of you lot”. His errands are done, now it’s time to get trollied and urinate in a pool bar somewhere.

In between random outbursts of “Aussie Aussie Aussie” and “tits out for the boys”, Johnno manages to fine tune his pulling technique on a couple of Pilbara princess with full braids and skin so red they look like a sunscreen-less Julia Gillard at La Tomatina.

He points at his Southern Cross chest tattoo, “see, it’s the Bali-mans tiny little hands, makes all the difference, best tatt I have ay”. He floats to the bar like an unflushable turd and orders another Bintang, “no worries boss”.

Calling Johnno “boss” gets him a little hard and causes his face to resemble a dog after it’s owner scratches the sweet spot behind its ear. “Respect I’m farking due ay”.

In preparation for a night out, Johnno bangs 3 Valiums up his arse and changes into his formal attire: black Bintang singlet and a pair of Rusty jeans that he’s had for 12 years.

His sunglasses tan is as impressive as his fashion sense, and he tears through Kuta on his way to Poppies Lane 2 for his customary mushie shakes.

He smashes three and has the best night of his life: vomiting on the dancefloor, telling Balinese girls they should try a “real sized cock” and most importantly, cultivating a nice cheesey discharge from a backpacker.

In the morning, Johnno realises that he has pissed himself and his backdoor lover is not impressed. He flees into the morning and picks up some more Bintang to deal with his hangover.

Back at his hotel room, Johnno decides to order in Maccas, he justifies his decision to his mate, “Bali food makes me shit ay”. He gorges on Maccas like a baby-bonus anaconda and urges his mate to “smell me finger”.

Absolute cretin.

Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?