Mr Lynwood/Ferndale

Harisyn has always been the golden child of the family. Unlike his brothers, he actually made it to year 10 before being expelled for stealing his classmate’s mobile phones during the aths carnival and then threatening to throat punch the chick from year 9 who snitched on him.

He didn’t just outshine his brothers in academia either. He was also the most promising athlete of the family. His inspiration was always Dusty – not for his skills with the ball but for his connections with an outlaw motorcycle club.

Harisyn managed to play 4 seasons with the mighty Lynwood/Ferndale footy club before rocking up on gameday after 0 sleep and getting caught filling his lungs with cloudy confidence in the car park.

That’s not to say that Harisyn didn’t invest in his future. Since school, he has spent thousands of dollars on tattoos and gold plated jewellery to pull off the style best described as “I don’t lodge tax returns-chic”.

While he has clocked in a few hours as a brickie’s labourer his true source of income comes from his knock-off LV manbag that he always has slung across his body. Someone call the ranger, this dog is off the leash.

Business is booming and he has become somewhat of the pied pipe-r of the South East backyard shed party scene. Spending most of his weekend nights jumping between parties and selling whatever his wannabe bikie brothers can sling his way.

Even methepreneurs have got to find some time to unwind and Harisyn never feels more alive than when he’s driving recklessly around the neighbourhood in the early hours of the morning.

When he’s not playing the bard of the shitcunt-neighbourhood rooster he’s heading down to the Rivo or Lakers to watch UFC, drink Jack & Coke stubbies and go apeshit at the TAB screens when all his ridiculous bets lose.

Typically, he’ll down about 12 stubbies before treating everyone to the main event at the weapon convention – his shadowboxing form while he smokes a cigarette outside. What he lacks in training he makes up in enthusiasm and oosss noises.

To be fair, given his own fight record he’d have a chance of winning the UFC – if only they’d allow his unique style of trolley pole-jiu-jitsu into the competition.

Alas, until then, the only octagon he needs is the space between him and the bouncer ejecting him for the 15th weekend in a row.

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