Life is looking bleak. You lost your job after bottling an apprentice at a work do, your misso left you for a guy who could afford to pay his rent and your yew green SS has a dirty canary slapped across the windscreen.
So, you do what any self-respecting dirty southerner does and you take out a Nimble loan and then charge into City Beach to acquire a branking spanking pair of Jet Pilot Boardies. However, jokes on them, you’re not gonna actually pay $99 for them – what the fuck is that little teenage sales chick going to do?
Having staunched a pair of fresh boardies the world is your yewster. You are unburdened by employment, you look sik and you have $100 in your pocket thanks to a predatory payday loan. It’s time to honk on the pipe of life.
The combination of methamphetamine and Jet Pilot boardshorts ownership has you feeling invincible. Suddenly, the long hand of the law looks short to you and you take your beloved SS for a hoon. You drive past your baby mamma’s place and start honking your horn. When she comes out you fill her driveway with the sweet burnout smoke of vindication.
While she pines for what she’s lost you fishtail down the road. You leave a skid that would put a construction portaloo to shame. You’ve left your mark and now you need to deal with your merciless thirst – for the piss and the flesh. Cops are dogs but you gotta bone.
You walk into the pub feeling like 99 bucks and try to order a beer. Alas, the bar staff take exception to your outfit. Despite what these dogs say you maintain that your new boardies and a southern cross tattoo is a sufficient outfit. In what world is the Rocko Tuxedo not permitted?
Not missing a beat, you bite the security guard’s face and send out an open invitation to the bar – anyone that wants a piece is welcome to step up; but do you think anyone wants a glassing to the back of the head when you are wearing these bad boys? Forgetaboutit.
You thank the pub because now your boardies have tasted first blood. They say a pair of Jet Pilots are not truly a pair of Jet Pilots until a weak dog has spilt their blood on them. Needless to say, it’s time to celebrate.
You take your illegal vehicle to the nearest skate park and try to impress the local 16-year-olds with stories of your recent police station lockup. Life is good.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?