Trish is rougher than Vulcan wacking you off with a sand-paper lined flesh light before Mike Whitney asked if your little gladiator was ready.
She was born in Rotorua and spent the majority of her 20s travelling the world drinking with as much regard for herself as a cult member at a Kool-Aid clearance sale.
Now at the tender age of 26, she sits at the front desk of a Rockingham car dealership and lives her life one shameful Liquids display at a time.
It’s Wednesday afternoon, so Trish is playing a game of dick-hunt on her hoe-tendo entertainment system. Success, she managed to find a bloke who claims he is gainfully employed. They match.
Her mulleted lothario greets her at her door, “uh wanna grab a feed or some shit?” Trish snorts, “ya feel like Chinese?” He pauses as he tries to determine it’s halal status, “uh yeh”. Trish chortles, “good, cos if ya play your cards right you’ll be eating a different kind of puss later, mate”.
Lucky for Trish, casual-racism turns him on, and they head to the pub instead. After several beers, Trish finally offers to buy a round. Her date watches her muffin top flow over her denim cut-offs that are so short they could start whipping a horse at any moment. The icing on the muffin is a Silver Fern tramp stamp. Delish.
Trish brings back 4 shots. “yous Aussies are weak ay, we’d be having tea pots in New Zealand”. She slams 3 and gives her date 1, “try to keep up ya pindick”.
The rest of the date consists of Trish moaning about not getting access to Cenno, “it’s bullshit I have to work over summer”. She then tells her date she plans to get tribal tats despite having no connection with any tribe.
Halfway through the date, Trish leans over the table and launches a bushman’s blow right onto the floor. She is blind drunk and decides to treat her date to some of her seductive dance moves. She bumps into tables and flails around like something that should rightfully be accompanied by David Attenborough commentary.
By this stage, she is making more noise than an amateur Dunedin’s rugby team’s mad Monday. Her date gets up to join in on the festivities but regrets it when Trish spews a little bit on his favourite 3-year-old Unit shirt.
It doesn’t deter him though. Trish takes him back to her house and they make sweet love on the floor mattress she sleeps on. Sadly, his pull out game is weak and Trish frets that he just fertislised her fookin’ eggs.
Ah well, it’ll just have to be Plan B the next morning. Just like she claims living in Australia is.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?