Sandra angrily storms into Dome dressed in the official uniform of the wife that hasn’t sucked a dick in 8 years: loose denim carpi pants, a plain shirt and a super practical pair of New Balance sneakers. Sandra has no time for MILF’y fashion pursuits, she is the CEO of the hardest job in the fucking world: raising kids who are more spoiled than the carton of milk that Kyle Sandilands bought in anticipation for a Cleo Bachelor of the Year nomination.
Within minutes, Sandra is berating a staff member at full volume, “what do you mean I have to pay for a babycino? Look my daughter is crying now! My daughter is crying, my daughter is crying!!!” The poor girl cops the narcissistic rage of a dickhead that believes the passing of a placenta gives her the right to stamp out the cigarette of entitlement on the face of society. “FedUp Perth will be hearing about this! Come on darlings we’re going!”.
She refuses to concede any footpath space as she forces a young couple to step onto the grass to avoid her precious entourage. She shoots them an early-menopausal bitch-stare that conveys her sinister thoughts, “how dare you find it inconvenient to move FOR MY DARLING CHILDREN!”. She continues to stampede away from Dome like a bull-dyke that just spotted a Spaniard wielding a raging boner like a spear.
She walks to her Tarago which is parked in a busy car park. She spends 5 minutes loading her screaming brats into her car and then makes an obnoxious phone call to her day-time television cunt of a friend. A lad who had been waiting patiently for her finally honks his horn. She boils over like a hormonal pot of pasta and storms towards the man like a tampon-tornado. “HOW DARE YOU!!! Now my babies are crying!! You pig!!!”
Hours later, Sandra is having lunch with her bestie. She talks endlessly about her precious little George while he demonstrates just how special he is by running around the eatery and destroying the serenity. A suited man leans over, “sorry lady, could you look after your kid? We’re trying to have a business chat?” Uh-oh…
Needless to say, the eatery is treated to a full-blown bitch-Opera followed up an un-requested psychotic-encore by the mayor of dickheadsville.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?