Aaron has decided to mix things up and is spending another Saturday drinking with “the boys” from his footy club. He hides his crippling fear of widening his social circle with binge drinking.
Aaron decides to kick off the day with a shockingly outdated Anchorman reference, “oi lads, beer was a bad choice!” Banter down the hatches because a LOL storm is brewing. Aaron repeats his “joke” and starts laughing so hard that he bumps his mate causing his pint to drop. Aaron looks on, the world is going in slow motion, he is in the bad-call Matrix. It hits the floor and smashes. Without missing a beat Aaron booms:
For a split second, the bar goes quiet. All eyes are on an extremely self-satisfied Aaron who is madly searching for hands to slap while grinning like a drunk uncle after reading a Christmas cracker joke. The rest of the bar is in shock after the cringe-bomb was dropped. A group of girls decide to locate to Claremont to avoid inhaling too much second-hand douchery.
2 hours pass and Aaron is still beaming after his Taxi zinger and decides to step his game up a notch. He uses the base of his Becks bottle to firmly smack the top of his mate’s bottle while his mate is trying to chat to a couple of finger-lickin’ honeys. He has executed the infuriating technique perfectly, and the beer froths over and begins to cascade out like an unnecessary waterfall. The party terrorist has struck again, “better get this flog a TAXIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!” Oops, he did it again…
Aaron has done what he does best and alienated himself from every female in the bar. He is now completely fuck-eyed and can no longer rely on his tried and tested taxi call. He decides to go nuclear on the situation. He pulls together an odd squad of drunk cretins and begins the chant, “tits out for the boys, tits out for the boys!” The mating call of the couch-masturbater.
Tone it down, you reptile Aaron.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?