Mr Sports Bet

Like a pissed up butterfly, Johnno loves a erratic flutter on the weekend and fortune is in the air today! Unfortunately for his mates, that means it’s a gamble on whether he’s acting like a total mutli-bet brained shit-punt or a decent bloke.

His friends reluctantly invite him out to watch some footy on Saturday arvo and he arrives suspiciously chipper. Suspicious becuase if anyone read his enraged shit-posting the night before on a FB multi page, they’d assume he was in a state of great distress.

Before anyone doesn’t ask, he launches into the brilliance of his current wager which of course has more legs than a centipede’s gang-bang. Ah yes, he’s hopped up on goofy delusion balls.

He just needs Tigers to win by more than 30, Lachie Neale to score the first goal, the Sydney Roosters to get up and finally a horse in Tokyo to win, and he’ll turn $100 into $5000 and put an end his current cycle of triple-bowling Mi Goreng and smashing Nimble loans until his next payday.

One of his mates plays devil’s advocate, “what do you know about Japanese horse racing mate?” Johnno is offended at the mere inference.

“Mate, he has a spotless record on a soft track, and they are expecting 10mm of rain today, like Bunnings beating any competitor by 10% it’s guaranteed”. Sure.

As they watch the game, Johnno celebrates each goal with the unsettling intensity of a full-time mummy at a live, love, laugh poster clearance sale. Frankly, it’s embarrassing.

Suddenly, joy turns to silence as he stares at his phone in anger. It turns out his horse in Japan wasn’t a sure thing and has completely farked his multi.

Like a steak knife infomercial, he enters full cutboy mode and refuses to talk to anyone for several minutes. After his silent tantrum he launches into a tirade about how the reason the horse lost was because he backed it. He’s 100% sure it would’ve won if he’d not backed it.

It’s the deranged musings of a gullible invididual who enjoys Sports Bet’s memes and thinks they are his friend. Not an analytical-monster designed purely to take your hard earned off you.

His friends are used to him acting like a toyless baby, but weaselling out of his round by bringing up the carton he bought 2 months ago was a real low point. If he were any saltier, Sarah Jessica Parker would come and lick him for breakfast.

He disappears into the darkness of a nearby TAB and returns 40 minutes later with a shit-eating grin on his face. He had a minor win on the Greyhounds and had temporarily de-fuckheadified himself, “I’m back boys, now I just need this horse to come good in Roehill…”

Lucky them.

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