Chrissy is pacing around her Rockingham duplex while trying to figure out what to wear today. It’s her birthday, and she has assembled her dream team of bogan friends to meet her down at the Merrywell for a day of decadence.
She slips on a tacky pink playsuit and runs a leopard print GHD through her peroxide hair. “Braaaaaad, have you ordered the taxi?” Predictably, Brad hasn’t ordered the taxi and is still wearing his jean-shorts while playing with his Pit Bull puppy in the backyard. “Aw shit”, Brad skols the rest of his Bundaberg & Coke and pulls out his cracked-screen iPhone to make the call. He then makes a bold attempt at ironing his black Billabong button-up shirt. The scene is reminiscent of Derek and Hansel trying to extract files from INSIDE a computer.
The taxi waits outside while Chrissy bumps a quick line of crystal meth. “Get it up ya”, Brad jokes as he waits for his turn at the gear. Chrissy sits in the back of the taxi and complains to her girlfriend about “that bitch Crystal” who have bailed on the Merrywell. Brad picks dirt out of his nails with his house key and leers at passing females. They arrive at Crown and Brad pays the driver with one of the many fresh pineapples he is stocking in his wallet. Maybe its the Bundaberg or maybe the gear, but Brad decides to “drop and run”. He lets out a dirty bum-grunt and giggles as he gets out. “Oi Chrissy, I farted in that cunts taxi HA”. You sure did Brad, gooooood one.
They enter their beloved Merrywell: a fine collection of toey MILFS, Asian tourists, Ed Hardy draped roid-heads and of course, a decent peppering of bogans who sorta look like they are dressed for the races. In true Australian fashion, the pair head to the bar before greeting their friends who are sitting outside chain-smoking darts and yelling in that nasally way that bogans like to communicate with.
Chrissy gets a 2 litre Andaman Sea Sangria and Brad purchases two Bourbon & Cokes. A decent way to get a party started. They join their friends who are now loudly swearing and exchanging sexual innuendos. Brad politely interjects, “oi shut up cunts, haaaaapy birthday to you…” Brad’s voice sounds like a cigarette doing a Jimmy Barnes impersonation while getting run over by a lawnmower.
The evening is getting on, and the group are well pissed. Chrissy decides it’s time to eat. A genuinely amazing transformation happens to a woman at the Merrywell. They turn from pretty social-butterflies to vicious burger-consuming beasts. The waiter brings over the massive burgers, chips and a selection of share plates. The scene is comparable to the cow getting lowered into the Raptor cage in Jurassic Park.
Brad looks at his princess while she scoops the mayonnaise that missed her mouth and ended up around her face, “god you’re beautiful, fancy a root in the shitter?”