Mr World Trade Centre

Years ago, Karl was just monging through life like a regular mouth breather. That was until the radioactive fangs of Facebook sunk into him, and he became the amazing Capslock-man!

It was no longer just the local butcher that had to endure his redneck views, oh no, the Peter Parker of Perthnow was flinging the jizz-like residue of his opinion all over the internet, and much like helping Magic Johnson frost a cream pie, you realised copping the unpleasant spray wasn’t going to improve your life.

He stumbles upon an article about a private investor’s plans to build Perth’s very own World Trade Centre. He couldn’t believe it, “twin towers”, “Colon Barnett”, “Arab investors”. Karl was being triggered like a Columbine copycat with the post-bucks party booze-shakes.

Karl had 99 problems, but a basic understanding of the proposal wasn’t one:

“HA yous serious? How bout we invest sum of this money in SCHOOLS and HOSPITALS, my uncle had to wait 2 hours at RPH last noiggght. Where is this states priority?”

To be fair, Karl is living proof that we need a better education system, and while the waits at RPH can be long, it’s hardly the concerns of Ghazi Abu Nahl that Karl’s uncle cut his hand while glassing that Englishman cheering on Andy Murray.

But like a best man on a Caucasian wedding dance fool, Karl is not done making a fool of himself:

“Also, TWIN TWOERS, yous SERIOUS? Remember 9/11? So now i gott worry bout that lot taxin vegemite and flyin’ planes into us… um, y dont u just paint a big targat on our back COLON?”

Karl was typing the kind of erotica that would make Pauline Hanson’s undies greasier than yesterday’s fish & chip paper, but instead of just relishing in the bigoted drippings, he kept frying further fish:

“Wunt even create jobs cos yous kno them 457 SCABS will SWARM in on their vessels, jumpinn the employment cue, me son been waiting 6 MONTHS for work ai, loada farkin shit mate. Homesless people”

Karl, your son, can’t get a reference because he turned the portaloo in Paraburdoo into his private pippy palace and was sacked on the spot. Banning 457 German engineers won’t fix the broken light bulb of your son’s employment hopes.

Sometimes, an opinion is like giving to charity – the more people you tell, the bigger dick you sound like.

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