Ms Street Charity Worker

At some stage, every English citizen realises their island is so miserable that Peter Dutton might try to send someone there. So they flock to Australia for the gap year of a lifetime.

After 2 months of sunburn and redecorating the Hip-E-Club’s toilet walls with her stomach lining, Lilly realised Australia was as expensive as fuck and needed a job. Like so many of her kind, she responded to a shady ad on Gumtree which promised she could earn up to $5000 a week.

She met up with a man so greasy he could moonlight as a Hungry Jacks Bacon Deluxe burger and was offered a job raising funds for a well-known charity on the streets of Perth CBD. Surely Australians won’t mind taking a few moments out of their day to help the needy? Oh, you silly girl.

See Chuggers don’t operate like normal fundraisers and like farmers in a daylights savings referendum they aren’t after change, they are after a monthly credit card payment plan, and 10 minutes of your life you’ll never get back.

Now Lilly excelled at the role as her personality is much like a haemorrhoid: she gets right up into your shit, and you’ll do anything to get rid of her. In most cases people just fake phone calls or tell her to “fuck off” but every now and then someone agrees to pay $40 a month to a charity that will probably pass on $2 to the cause and hunt for Kony or some shit.

She spots a meek-looking old lady and leaps into her path like a Boost Juice employee with electrodes attached to her nips, “HEY! Love your bag, my cool nan has one just like it! Did you know some countries force gay orphans to make knocks offs of those bags for just 2 grains of rice and a flogging a day?”

Old nanny Myrtle wasn’t ready for such an emotionally manipulative blindside and proceeds to offer Lilly a cheque she was going to give little Timmy for his birthday. At this stage, Lilly realises old Myrtle doesn’t have a credit card, so she scorns her for wasting her time and sends her on her way.

Lilly needs her commissions, so she decides to switch tactics. No more exploiting the pensioners, it’s time to flirt like tipsy Cougar at a casino bar. She spots a middle-aged battler who is unsuccessfully pulling off the tank top look, “hey muscles winks manipulatively got a minute to talk to me?”

He listens for 5 minutes before realising she wasn’t interested in his man-yoghurt. He may be no stranger to paying to get fucked, but even he isn’t desperate enough to give his hard-earned over to a faux-charity.

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