The only escape Xavier has from his loving family and affluent Northern Beach upbringing is the ocean, bro. Only real G’s who grew up on the mean streets of Trigg would get it.

He is feeling particularly angsty today because his parents have vetoed his boys trip to Bali next year where they planned to get matching TRIGG SQUAD tattoos on their abdomens. Oh, you haven’t heard of them? Maybe that’s because you’re not a local, they run this beach, bruh. 

Like freshly squeezed aqua-bogs, Xavier and the TRIGG SQUAD bob up and down in the surf waiting to smear the skidmark of their bad attitudes on anyone trying to have some fun. 

Xavier loves to trash talk amateur surfers but his real specialty is dropping in on unsuspecting victims like Bill Cosby just pulled him out of a small plastic baggie. Basically, surfing around Xavier is as appetising as tossing a hemorrhoid salad. 

He spots a mid-40s bodyboarder paddling to catch a wave. His dickheady senses start tingling and he lets out a hefty “Yewwwwww” as he charges the wave like it was on 1%. 

He streaks across the wave like a celestial grommet and almost penetrates the lid rider’s atmosp-rear. “What the hell are you doing, I had that wave?” Naturally, Xavier is unrepentant and keeps talking shit, safe under the belief that a grown man won’t chokeslam him like a firefighter on 60 Minutes. 

Well he’s half right, the accountant wasn’t going to choke him but he was going to have some stern words with him back on the beach. Feeling the watchful eyes of “his beach” Xavier starts acting like a certified bra boy and squares up to the bloke, “this breaks for locals kook”.

It all becomes too much for another Trigg local. A gnarly old mate who has had more breaky bongs than this groms had decent wanks. He leaps to the accountant’s defence and slaps the wax right off Xavier’s wettie.

The chorus of ooo’s is deafening as Xavier looks down the barrel at a man with nothing to lose. He retreats to the car park with the TRIGG SQUAD to call mummy and demand she call the cops on the man that slapped him. This is what is sounds like when thugs cry. 

Mummy comforts her regrettable little creampie and shoots the old mate a little grin, “thanks, someone had to do it”.

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

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