Whether you’re in Hi-Vis or HR is watching you take a wizz; whether you’re pulling a go-slow or rabbiting on about FIFO, you are probably quite familiar with the Dare Iced Coffee range. Simply put, without Dare this nation would be in recession.
Dare is the bountiful titty that provides nourishment to workers who have emerged from the methy womb of excess. Having played hot cross buns on the glass recorder all weekend, the worker is unable to consume solids and must rely on the sugary elixir for strength.
Be warned though, she can be a harsh mistress. Men chasing the brown dragon have been known to lose themselves in her milky allure. Simply put, once hooked you’ll never be quite the same.
Generally, a Dare connoisseur is very discerning with what they put in their mouth. You wouldn’t put 91 octane in a Ferrari, so why would you put anything less than a 750ml Dare Double Espresso down your gullet? Extra strength = extra length, you small dick prick.
Of course, the range includes the infamous triple espresso. However, with great power comes great responsibility, so unless you are the most seasoned Hi-Visman, it’s best to approach the triple with caution.
Unless you want to shit your pants again while working at height. The stains may be gone, but the memory still haunts your apprentice.
Nourishment aside, Dare is also the reassuring friend that stands by you when cuntsfucked. A Dare never asks to review your JSA, a Dare never questions where the fark you got your truck licence, a Dare doesn’t fail you on your 3rd crack at your forkies ticket.
It is that reassuring umbrella shielding you from the liability storm of your own glaring incompetence.
You may wonder what the physical effects of surviving off a steady diet of Dare Iced Coffee and servo bain-marie food are. Well, nothing good.
At about the 2L mark, the alarming rumblings of gut-ill-health will sound an alarm and the worker will spray a portable toilet with the unstoppable fury of a CFMEU rep storming onto a site.
The aftermath leaves little wonder as to how milk is turned into Yogo dirt dessert and the smell could strip paint off a Greek’s overalls.
A normal human would head straight to the doctor after such a digestive horror show, not the Dare addict though, he carries on with his day, just like nothing has happened.
But something has happened. You boldly looked in the face of contemporary health standards and you said fark off. You dared, dared to dream, dared to break the mould, and who dares, wins.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?