Mr Southern Cross Tattoo

Tyler paid some Balinese bloke $150 to get a body length southern cross tattooed onto the right-hand side of his torso. Modern-day bogans use the well-displayed tattoos to help navigate through the sea of racial tolerance and find a sympathetic ear which is almost guaranteed to hold strong views about the unparalleled glory of “‘Straya”.

Tyler calls in sick to work so he can head down to Mullaloo Beach to get some sun. He scratches off a tomato sauce stain on his favourite Aussie flag board shorts, slips on a white wifebeater and walks barefoot to his car. Generally, Tyler doesn’t go anywhere without a 6 pack of VB in his little esky carry-bag. Today is no exception. He slides a bikini babe stubby holder onto his wrist and wears it as a bogan-bracelet. He fires up his lime green Holden SS and carefully selects his music: his musical parameters are pretty simple, nothing faggy or ethnic. Cold Chisel it is.

While on the road, Tyler doesn’t fancy the prospects of letting an Indian taxi driver merge. “Fucking, Aussies first”. In the act of frustration, the taxi driver cuts Tyler off and gains pole position. Arguably an unwise vehicular manoeuvre to execute against a man with 3 “patriotic” bumper stickers. The bumper stickers serve as a back-windscreen resume of the casual racist, “Fuck Off We’re Full”, “Love it or Leave It” and an outline of Australia with the word “FULL”. It will always be a mystery to newspaper readers where these sunburnt and dread-locked patriots purchase these bumper stickers. Nevertheless, they are more prolific than baby-bonus kids born into a seedy housing estate in Kwinana.

Tyler foams at the mouth as he gives the taxi driver a spray at the next set of lights, to cap off his expletive-ridden abuse, he decides to deliver a low blow, “youse lot are fucking shit at cricket too”. Tyler is all worked up and needs to calm down. He pulls into a service station to grab a Ms Mac’s meat slurry and a Masters Choc milk. The gourmet degustation of the Aussie patriot. He seals the deal with a Drumstick, not one of those ethnic Cornettos.

At the beach, he sees a large Sri Lankan family enjoying the sand. He instantly whips off his wifebeater to expose his excessively patriotic southern cross tattoo. He stares them down while he walks across the sand smoking a Winnie Blue. In an act that screams “I Love Australia”, he chucks his dart butt onto the sand after he’s finished. After getting sufficiently sunburnt, he decides to head down to the Mullaloo Beach Hotel to watch the cricket, that is to say, watch the cricket while waffling on about how shit the Indian cricket team is.

Tyler catches a news preview of “some shit to do with “boat people”, he sighs and whimsically stares into space, “wish fucking ‘Straya Day would roll around ay”.

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