Mr Yewwww

Koby is spraying down his secondhand SeaDoo on the front lawn of his Mullaloo dwelling. He uses the bottle opener attached to his black and green Jet Pilot boardies to open an ice cold Toohey’s Extra Dry.

He takes a big sip of the liquid peasantry and gets hit with a lightning bolt of sick-cuntery, “yewwwwww”, he loudly says while sticking out his pierced tongue and shaking his blonde mini-dreads around on his white Arnette adorned face. The Southern Cross Tattoo on his chest serves as a respect-proof vest that adequately protects him from the bullets of ethnic integration.

Koby proudly owns a yewwwwww pipe (glass pipe). He sits around and smokes shards with his shirtless mates while amping himself up about all the “bitches” that are going to be at the Mullaloo Beach Hotel that afternoon.

He sucks back a few more TEDs before slipping into a singlet with a semi-tasteful picture of a tids out chick on it. He covers his body in Lynx Africa and jumps into his lowered orange Xr6 Ute with “Yeww” licence plates.

Naturally, he drops the clutch and smokes up a mean burnout at the end of his street, “YEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW”, he yells as he sticks out his thumb & pinky gestured hand at his fed-up neighbours. A car behind him can see his “Fuuuck Off We’re Full” bumper sticker glimmer patriotically a noxious cloud of smoke.

Koby pulls into the MBH car park and stares down a couple of peroxide blonde Northern bikini babes. He puts his fingers into a V shape and flicks his pierced tongue between them.

When the girls look sufficiently disgusted, he flashes them the barracuda, “two in the pink and one in the stink”, he remarks to his dick head crew. The sound of “yewwwing” can be heard from kilometres away. They get so caught up in their yewwww session that they don’t notice the girls have walked away. “Sluzzas”, Koby thinks as he slips on his Monster hat and heads towards the bar.

Despite it being midday, Koby orders a Red Bull & Vodka. It seems to be the only drink that can mask the funk left by his inexplicable dedication to TEDs and Carlton Cold. “Can youse put on some Hilltop Hoods?” The staff decline his request, so he pumps “Drinking from the Sun” from his cracked screen iPhone 2 while bopping his head, “yehhh boi, yewwww”.

His yewww levels are running a little low, so he heads back to his ute for a quick pippy. As always, Koby has hit the yewww pipe too hard and goes charging back into the pub.

He smokes 5 darts in a row and starts busting out his own brand of Aussie hip hop: he sounds like a dick trying to spit rhymes while throttling a Vegemite covered Kangaroo with a belt made entirely out of Alf Stewart’s fore skin.

Koby chucks a few mad doughies in the car park before heading home. He is throwing a sick party yewwwwww. He waits for his guests to arrive while sitting in a blow-up pool with two Aussie flag stubby holders as wristbands. Life’s good when yew are on top.

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