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Mr Electrician

When deciding on a trade, Jarred didn’t want to be the Super Mario of toilets like his plumber mates, nor did he want a fast track to prison by being a granno. Oh no, Jarred’s manicured eyebrows and ability to use a calculator meant he was destined to be a chosen one: a sparky.

During his weekly TAFE visit, he would waltz in like a walking Tinder pic. His hair was perfectly styled, and his outfit was always current and electrifying. While the others smelled of lingering bong smoke, he would leave a pleasant spritz of Acqua di Gio wherever he pranced.

After obtaining his electrical licence, he started off on Perth building sites, and after a few swings up north he was able to buy an investment property in Como. He was hitting his targets like he had DK mode activated.

Was he humble about it? Fuck no, in fact, he would regularly regale smoko with stories about his brilliant investments and told his plumbers mates that if they stopped focusing on the wrong sort of pipes they could “maybe” be in the same position he was. “The only gear you need lads is negative gearing”.

Having more money than Harvey Weinstein’s hush fund does come at a cost, however. As he learned one smoko when he needed 2 months stress leave after a scaffolder tried to bite his face after taking offence to a combination of eye contact, smugness and speaking ill of the crystal pistol. He still has night terrors from it.

Now just because he didn’t get dirty on the job site didn’t mean he can’t get filthy in the bedroom. He was hotter than a soldering iron, and while his tools were a bit smaller than other tradies, his pinpoint precision meant he knew how to blow a fuse in any girl’s power box.

At least that’s what he thought while his date lay unimpressed while he prematurely ejaculated while admiring his tricep in the mirror. Can you blame him though? It’s hard to stop such a high voltage surge when there is a total live wire looking back at you in the reflection.

In fact, it was his very own reflection that gave him the motivation to make even more money than he was already raking in. See, when he wasn’t on the tools, he was being one, and the best way to be a tool is to become a male stripper.

With the money pouring in from dirty moonlighting, there was only one stanza left to write in his poetic book of perfection: his inevitable selection as Australias next Bachelor.

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

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