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Mr Basketball Jersey

avo sits in his Rockingham backyard smoking cones with old mate. Bourbon & Coke sprays into their respective goatees as they yell over each other in an attempt to one-up the others horse-shit burnout story. A seed in Davo’s cone pops and sends a cherry towards his Chicago Bulls Jersey. In an effort to dodge the ember he moves quicker than Colin Barnett at a shark net sale, he fucking loves that Jersey. He especially loves the fact it’s aerated, because it means it technically has more holes in it than his estranged children’s school clothes. 

Davo can’t spend all day smoking cones with old mate, he has shit do. That is to say, he needs to meet his FIFO mate down at the Swinging Pig Bar to pick up a couple of points of gear. He is meeting a local skimpy that he met on Tinder later and he thought he’d shout the shards this time. Afterall, she looks really cute when she’s honking on his glass pipe. Romance aside, Davo needs to get his outfit on point: a pair of white Air Jordans and his favourite pair of O’Neil knee-length jean shorts. His chunky silver chain hangs in front of his favourite tattoo: “Aussie Pride”, if only Australia felt the same way about Davo…

Davo slaps on a pair of black Oakleys and swaggers into the bar like he was Mickey Jordan himself. His mate greets him, “mate, ya see the Bulls get up on the Pacers today?” Davo’s eyes are already too close together and this greeting has further garnished the perplexed salad of stupidity he calls his face, “what cunt?” His dealer should have known better, why would a cunt wearing a Chicago Bulls jersey know anything about NBA? Davo is able to forgive his dealer’s stupidity and the pair share a painfully awkward dealer/client hang-time beer. His dealer notices his kicks, “ah sick kicks man, you should check out the Lebrons too”. Davo stares at the dealer like Buswell stares at his offices sexual harassment policy, “who cunt?”

Davo finishes his fourth cigarette and decides he has chilled long enough, “gotta go peg this stinker, mate”. He grabs a slab of Carlton Dry and heads to his Xr6T. On his way out of the car park, he is preeeeeetty sure he saw someone in the bottlo stare at him. Not one to risk losing any staunch points, he drops his clutch and smokes up his tyres in the drive through. Davo waits for the smoke to clear to examine “how the cunt likes him now”. However, as the smoke disperses he realises it’s his bikie wannabe mate sporting a Celtics Jersey with a Charlotte Hornets cap. 

They shoot each other a look of utmost Rockingham respect. What they lack in NBA knowledge they make up in their love of a billowing shard cloud before mashing their ampheta-dicks on the herpes-pits of peroxide-skanks.

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