Feeding Time at the Zoo

Here we see a typical clash between self-professed foodies at a bountiful Perth feeding ground.

Mr FIFO Foodie has drawn the ire of a waiter with his ignorant butchery of the wine menu, “yeh cob, bring us a coupla bottles of Mo-ayyyy and just yas best bottle of Cab-a-nay Chardonnay or some shit”. In an act of defiant superiority, the waiter channels the smug fury of his topknot and snidely retorts to the Billabong shirted brute, “sir, it is pronounced Mo-et and there is no such wine as Cabernet Chardonnay”.

Mr FIFO Foodie is lost in a trance of curb-stomping fantasies as he struggles to deal with the waiter’s condescending tone. Suddenly, Ms FIFO Foodie delivers a lightning fast strike, “oi ya little pooftah, how dare ya disrespect us, just go back there orright and bring out some of the fuckin’ french shit”. The battle is far from over, as Ms FIFO Foodie brandishes her iPad and begins writing a scathing review of the restaurant before a single dish has been served. In the Perth jungle, there is the right way, the wrong way and the mo-ayyy.

In response to the classless display, Mr Young Professional turns to his tight pony-tailed girlfriend to express his disgust, “geez, don’t you think they’d be happier at Hungry Jacks?” Unfortunately for the suit-monkey his arrogant snobbery carried to the already irate ears of Mr FIFO Foodie, “ya having a crack mate? How much yous earn a fortnight ay”. While the smooth-hand is no match for the Southern Cross’d predator, he is unwilling to concede defeat, “maybe you should order drinks you can pronounce, mate”. A psychotic grin cuts through his stubbly face and biffo-lust glimmers in his bloodshot eyes.

The tension remains for the remainder of the meal and resentful stink-eye’ing is served hotter than the soup of the day. At the end of the feeding session, Ms St Georges Terrace decides to stoke the fires of ill-feeling and flashes her corporate credit card towards the FIFO’s while paying for their meal. Predictably, this display revs Mr FIFO Foodie’s pride more furiously than a V8 engine and he staunchly slams a wad of red-dusted $50’s on the table and permits the waiter to “keep the change” ($2.55).

There can be only one winner and Mr Young Professional leaves a defeated man. He will eagerly await the sad consolation prize of the lonely slow stroke from his cold missus once he returns to his den. A rather different fate awaits the victor as Ms FIFO Foodie demands her man consecrate his alpha male display with a car park root involving unconventional penetration in a chrome plated Maloo.

Art by Shakey – https://www.facebook.com/shakey.com.au