Last time Kev set foot in an Australian resort was for a Scoopon’d weekend at the Vines. Sadly, that ended after he took a 9 Iron to the throat of a bartender after he suggested Kev could use a glass of water like an African villager on an ecstasy-fueled World Vision photo shoot.
Now, he could take the misso to Bali for their anniversary, but he probably doesn’t have the money for flights, accommodation and for the corrupt Bali cop-a-magician that can miraculously pull off the cunt-lusion of turning cocaine into paracetamol.
Well as it happens, Kev knows a guy, who knows a guy who sells some Vegas wannabe mid-manager bags of pure panadol. The kind of dripping wet patch of man that could still impregnate you with embryonic disgust weeks after viewing his nauseating Linkedin profile
So Crown Towers it is. Perth’s only 6-star swimming pool. Kev knows his old faithful Ascot pinstriper just won’t do. So it’s straight down to Ferrari Formal Wear to rent the 2nd or 3rd cheapest suit.
To be fair he looks OK, but just like Freddy Mercury’s dick, the real horror lay beneath. Flogged out silk boxers, hole-ridden socks and enough Joop to start a Kwinana Chemist Warehouse cologne sale. The way that Cheriee` loved her man.
After making their grand appearance in a year 12 Ball limo, Kev and Cheriee` decide it’s time to rub their anniversary in everyone’s face. So it’s down to the pool to show off their matching his & her child name tats at the picturesque pool.
To their horror, the pool is swarming with unsupervised children, loud wogs and meatheads taking selfies in the hope of fooling insta-models that they were big-bossing by their private pools. Let’s just say if you were training to be a judge of a punchable face competition, you’d be in heaven.
Fark all that noise, it’s Crown Towers selfie time, and Kev retrieves the obligatory Corona and “expresso martini” combination for their poolside couple’s selfie, Cheriee` takes the honours “wit the luv of my life, celerbraitin in style!! #crowntowers #valet #limo #poolside #perth”.
After getting drunk as possible by the pool, they engage in the kind of sex that would make George Michael rise from the grave just to enter a public toilet one last time. Passionate, multi orifical and at times inhumane to any civilised person.
Needless to say, the mothers of the swimming children finally put down their vodkas in a state of horrified disbelief. Security is beckoned over, and the cuntcrossed lovers are escorted off the premises.
“Yous can’t treat us like this, we’re farken paying customers”. Well, turns out they can, and in the holding cell, Kev pulls out a Zamel’s ring he bought at Cashies, “woman you complete me, what ya’s reckon ay?”
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?