Ms Armadale

What can be said about Antwonet that hasn’t already been said about a discarded syringe? You can pick her up off the street and doing so will probably make you sick.

Despite this, the shortlist of men who could be the father to her children reads like a who’s who of the Armadale Magistrates Court’s waiting room on a Monday morning.

Paternal ambiguity is but one thread of this Adidas-arachnid’s web of lies. Her natural prey is Centrelink payments, and she is an expert at snaring them.

For the past 2 years, Antwonet has scammed a ticket to the disability payments ball. A regular Cuntarella, that instead of a glass slipper dons a frayed moon-boot that prince uncharming gave her in exchange for a honk on her yewww-pipe. Wouldn’t she also need crutches? Fark off, you dont know her story ya dog ‘ole.

Rorting Government services isn’t giving Antwonet the same buzz anymore. So she draws inspiration from the welfare-whales that feasted upon the rich parcely-plankton left on people’s doorsteps over Christmas.

She recruits a walking cigarette of a man to crime-creep through Armadale in his E-Plated chariot. She spots a juicy parcel and instructs the anti-Halal horndog to get out of the car and grab it. The perfect crime.

After a busy day of ganking parcels, she gives her companion’s chode a cold sore slurpo and returns home to tend to her children. She notices her kids cloths have more holes than a Pilbara grin. She decides to hop on the bus and take her kids to Armadale Central for a spot of family shoplifting.

On the said bus, Antwonet spends the entire journey loudly explaining to a maybe-baby daddy that he can’t come round anymore until he returns her brother’s TV that he allegedly burglarised.

While the meth cat is away, her shitlings will play. The entire bus is forced to endure the misbehaviour of rat-tailed demons high on red-bull and neglect.

A fed up man tells her children to pull their heads in. Antwonet lowers her phone and gives everyone a lesson in not taking responsibility, “don’t farken talk to my kids ya rockspider, i’ll cut you an all”.

5 Minutes into Big W and steal, all of Antwonet’s fuck-hens come home to roost. Both of her children are busted with pockets full of toys, and Antwonet’s bag is loaded with more make-up than an Essex girl’s face. She refuses her right to dignity as she is dragged from the centre by a couple of coppas who know her by name.

After processing her, Armadale’s finest drop her home and take the opportunity to have a quick gander inside. The pile of parcels are duly noted, and the police perform an impressive magic trick. They wave their hands and turn the parcels into evidence.

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