Ms Playboy Seat Covers

How do you show the world that you fell off the sick bish tree and hit every branch on the way down? Pink Playboy seat covers, that’s how.

Sarah’s Playboy seat covers sit trashily in her Suzuki Swift which stands as a shrine to poor taste. Personalised “Sezcy” number plates take some of the attention away from the imitation rim hubcaps and peen shrivelling, “Back Off This Bi tch Bites” bumper sticker, however, the half-arsed top tint and subwoofer really cement this beast in the hall of sick bish fame.

They say that car owners come to resemble their cars over time. Sarah is slowing morphing into full-blown Suzuki Swiftism with her peroxide blonde hair, fake norks and impressive dedication to white singlets and denim cut-offs that make her cheeks reenact that scene from Cliffhanger.

She spends her free time driving around Scarborough Beach at a “look at my fake Gucci sunnies” pace while pumping shit “club anthems” at a volume that causes more vibrations than a Passionzone sales party.

Last Saturday she channelled the power of the Playboy seat covers and decided to run out on her bar tab at The Lookout. She would’ve almost got away with it too – after all, how could police single out “that chick with a prolapsed kwon for lips” in a sea of Scarborough girls?

Alas, her urge to gloat in her easy, petty criminal activity got the better of her. She decided to do a lap of glory and flip off the bouncers. Unfortunately for her, it gave them a chance to grab her licence plate. On the upside, some balding 40’s leftover of a man gave her a thumbs up.

To celebrate saving $60 on drinks Sarah decides to take some Instagram photos of her car. The photos are impressively unimpressive, and her love for the car is truly mind-boggling.

After the photo shoot, she picks up an amateur DJ who is really making a name for himself on the friend’s boat Raft Up circuit. She drives straight to the Rhino Wash on Canning Highway and asks DJ MP4 to wash her whip while she stands around looking totes adorbz.

The exercise is as pointless as a single bloke washing his bed sheets: ultimately, no one is gonna care.

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