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Mr Middle Eastern Bouncer

Malik sits angrily at the Little Lebanon Cafe smoking a shisha pipe with approximately 18 of his cousins. Malik has the official haircut of the bloke that would bash his own windscreen wipers because they touched his car: shaved sides, majestic cascading mullet and some Craig David facial hair that lets the ladies know that he is also the type of man to slip a thumb up their anus during a root in his beloved Skyline.

It’s payday, and like clockwork, Malik rings his boss, “Wallah cuz, thought maybe youse could just pay me in cash this week?” Malik’s request is denied for the 43rd consecutive payday in a row. Malik calms down by snorting some rock off his knife and then going apeshit in the carpark. He finds the mildly psychotic episode to be quite therapeutic and drives recklessly to Subiaco.

He parks on Hay Street and angrily stares at a couple of females, “lek shu, youse bitches root or what?” They shake their heads. “Come find me with youse stop being sluts then”. Malik is momentarily done with being romantic and storms towards Flawless Nightclub to earn his living.

Malik stands at the entrance of Flawless looking like a Lonsdale brand syringe filled with stink-eye steroids. A cocky drunk Aussie lad approaches the door and tries to walk straight through. Malik grabs the man by the arm and makes a menacing amount of demented eye contact with the lad. The Aussie draws on the power of Yewwww and responds angrily, “don’t touch me mate”. Malik is now burning hotter than a shisha pipe, “you wanna fucking go cunt?” He is a rocket ship of rage that has initiated his own countdown. 10 seconds until blast off, and he will definitely land on “planet: I’ll bash your fucking head in”.

Suddenly, Malik backs down and lets the man enter the club. What could possibly explain this sudden calmness that came over the sea of pure aggression that is Malik? Well, his cousin is popping in at 11:30 to drop off some pingers, and Malik realised he’d possibly be tied up with pesky police questions if he’d dropped the Aussie. As much as Malik lives and breaths physical brutality, he also can never say no to a tax-free buck.

It’s now 2am, and Malik is getting agitated by the thought that someone in the club could be looking at him. He decides to take a lap of the venue and look for intoxicated patrons. He sees the Aussie from before trying to chat up a Lebanese girl. He grins like a prison rapist while king kong’ing his way to the man, he puts his finger right in the man’s chest and grunts, “you’ve had too much, you’re out”. The Aussie looks up at the wide-eyed Malik who is heavily breathing while spit collects at the sides of his lips. The Aussie concedes defeat, “OK I’ll leave”. Malik begins shaking like an earthquake of violent frustration, he turns to the side and swears towards the ground “FUCK, you weak fucking prick”.

We should take a minutes silence for poor Malik, he never did get that fight he was itching for. There is always next weekend though… Stay indoors, people.

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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