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Mr Perth Craft Beer Festival

Liam is a large, gaseous life form that spends most weekends seasoning his man cave with the pungent odours of a man who survives off craft beer and badly cooked pulled pork. However, he is making a rare public appearance this weekend to swing his dick around the craft beer festival. There is a new sheriff in Froth Town.

To establish his dominance at the festival he goes dressed like a cross between a beer rep and the fiddle player in an inner-city folk band. In addition to a stupid brewer’s hat, he has spent the last 2 months cultivating a face bush that could turn Xena Warrior Princess straight.

Upon arrival, he surveys the landscape. He’s disgusted that so many filthy casuals are mixing with seasoned beer drinkers like himself. Do they even know what a NEIPA is? Have they ever lined up for a limited release can of $25 beer? No, and for a man who measures his dick size out in alcohol percentage, this is a very distressing scene.

He systemically makes his way around the beer stalls to sample their wares and irritate the living shit out of them with his unique brand of know-it-all banter. Brewers dodge the beard foam flinging from his mouth area as they politely nod along to his grand ideas to make their beer “passable”.

By his 7th strong beer, Liam is out of control. He’s drunk on power and is critiquing anything that froths. He leers over towards a beer babe sucking back a mid-strength and goes full Reddit on her, “that’s OK, you’ll work your way up to trying a real beer one day”.

After his 9th, he is caught up in the festival spirit and momentarily forgets he is an unflushable turd in the bowl of life. He is seeing the world through IPA tinted glasses and he feels like doing something wild.

So he takes a short break from arguing with his mate over which beers were the shittest and decides to go on some rides. Sadly, rapid motion and an ample belly full of beer are creating a digestive monsoon that would threaten a small Indonesian fishing village.

He ignores the telltale signs of nausea and decides to impress a couple of beer babes with his skills on the mechanical bull. Naturally, he isn’t J.T and he has failed to bring sexy back on this occasion. His hairy belly dances grotesquely in the afternoon sun as he is flung off the ride with great force.

Dizzy, bloated and burpy, Liam makes a break for the toilets. He bursts in and coats the toilet in a lovely shade of stomach bile brown. He staggers back out and denies furiously that he vomited. A man with such an epic alcohol tolerance would never blow chunks like a disgusting casual.

He can deny all he likes, it isn’t changing the fact he has enough regurgitated matter throughout his rank beard to sustain an entire puffin colony. Nevertheless, Captain yack-beard boldly crop dusts his way back to the bar before being intercepted and asked to leave.

For his final act, Liam passes out on the train and wakes up with his wallet stolen at Freo station. This, apparently, is how real men drink beer.

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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