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Mr Rotto Swim

If private schooling had a smell, it would probably smell like fluoro coloured speedos mixed with daddy’s boat fumes; and William absolutely reeks of it. It’s Rotto swim time, peasants.

William’s team, the “Cottes-bros”, consists of 3 other lads who would push their own mothers into a shark-infested ocean for early access to their trust fund. On the surface they are mates, but under the surface, where you may actually need their help, they are exactly the sorts to write your life off as cunt-lateral damage, rather than risk their “legacy”.

William and the Cottes-bros assemble at Cott Beach and almost suffer an afflue-phylactic shock at all the disgusting, suburban blows-ins they see before them. To take their mind off their eye-sore of the working class, they decide to enjoy a little photoshoot instead of stretching or any of that bullshit.

If William is honest with himself, he could’ve tried a little harder during the race, skipping half of his legs probably wasn’t in the spirit of it. However, he was trying to conserve his energy for the post-race piss-up. Does that stop him writing an inspiring post-race Instagram post to commemorate his great achievement? No, no it doesn’t:

“From sailing to crossing channels with my bare hands, the ocean is in my blood. Rough water, sharks and that little voice inside telling me to stop. Full credit to the boys, it was a pleasure leading you into battle :P.”

Oh fuck off William, you didn’t just listen to that little voice, you obeyed it’s every command. Having inspired the nation, William sets off to turn Rottnest Island into his personal urinal. He decides against having a shower just in case the hot water rubbed out the registration number on his arm. He will fiercely protect the visibility of this number for the next week.

By 6 pm, William has threated the jobs of every single bouncer on the island. Finally realising he is too pissed, he decides to crush up some dexies and snort the chalk like he was Mr Squiggle and Blackboard on a bender.

By 8 pm, William has invited every single influencer on the island back to his boat; however, they have made “promises” for their own floating accommodations and need to turn him down. A jaw can only take so much. Not to worry, William will just enjoy the ever accepting company of the local Quokka community.

After 28 failed attempts at a Quokka selfie, William is getting the nagging feeling that nothing on the island likes him. He quickly buries that thought deep down in his hurt locker and proceeds to show his disdain for land-stayers by vomiting in various bungalow courtyards.