The Perth Royal Show is the biggest day on the bogan calendar. When the Claremont showgrounds turn into a Bertie-Beetle’d Kuta with just as many sunglass-tans. Neekole and Logan have been saving up for weeks and plan to roam the fertile grounds with their poorly behaved shitlings: Bacardee and Armahni. The sound of bogan-squawking will fill the air as Neekole does her best to ruin the experience of all around her.

“$74, farking hell, then I gotta pay for everything inside ay?” Neekole acts like an imaginary human is holding a gun to her over-make-up’d face and forcing her to pay the admission fee. The cashier stares vacantly like Chris Brown’s Tinder date after he prematurely ejaculates from the excitement of hearing Britney Spear’s “hit me, baby, one more time” come on the radio. She snatches the tickets and power-waddles into the grounds.

In a true act of ashtray parenting, Neekole sends young Barcadee and Armahni off with a fresh pineapple each to get amongst the rides. In her view, it’s better that a bunch of carnies who look like the pikey’s from snatch look after her over-entitled brood while she spends some quality time with her Jim Beam hatted husband. They shove chicken satay burgers into their ciggy-holes as they slowly drift towards the “free shit at the IGA pavilion’.

On route to the mecca of free samples, Neekole spots Bacardee in the heat of a ride-line argument with some “pooftah” wearing a fedora-esque straw summer hat. She charges over and undiplomatically gets in the parent’s face, “oi, if my daughter said she was first, then she was farking first you pencil-cock”. Logan is caught in a bewildered bogan-trance as he struggles to comprehend why the parent has dress shoes and a stylish blazer on. Unable to resolve the dispute in a non-shameful manner, Neekole goes full Kwinana and causes her flabby arms to jiggle as she shoves the aggrieved parent in the chest. Logan pulls his foaming wife away and drops some parting wisdom, “next time wear shorts like the rest of us ya faggot”.

Neekole is furious and needs a tomato sauced covered dagwood dog to calm her down. Alas, she is further irritated by the short wait on the deep fried diabetes log, “are yous fucking making the sausages from scratch?” The unnecessary verbal barb further erodes the soul of the girl in the food caravan, and suddenly the offer from the Joe Dirt-cunt carnie to get kwonned for $150 sounds alright. Neekole snatches her snack and drags Logan towards the pavilion. All will be alright once she gets free shit served on toothpicks into her bloated face.

They begin their journey to pavilion once more, but Logan is distracted by a prize-pig that he jokingly remarks, “looks like ya mum!” Neekole stares into Logan’s confused eyes, “petting zoos always make me so horny”, and to the raw disgust of the surrounding public, the pair engages in a public display of affection that makes SAW look like a fucking Disney film. Logan slides his hand down the back of Neekole’s pants as he simultaneously tries to tongue her oesophagus. Even the pig tries to turn away, as it struggles to comprehend the mating scene that even Attenborough couldn’t narrate.

Eventually, the family re-unite and share a hearty chuckle at Armahni’s ripping story of how she spat on a family of ethnics from the chair lift. They proceed to classless-ly barter with the showbag people to obtain a few extra cheaply made toys that will eventually end up broken pursuant to a backseat car fight on the way home to their dwelling.

Fuck the Show.

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