Todd’s parent’s hopes were simple: for Todd to not end up like his brother who is no longer permitted to drive or his cousin who dragged their name through the mud by acting like the Kiwi Don Burke at a local shearing shed.
They dreamed that Todd would crawl into the private boarding school cocoon as a simple hick-erpillar and emerge a semi-competent account-fly to help the family farm.
What they got was a borderline alcoholic that was expelled for stealing the gardener’s quadie and doing doughies on the schools perfectly manicured grass, but hey at least he knew how to really get onto a torpie on the footy field.
Like many country boys, his age Todd got stuck into a life of roughin’ it and working the farm. All his money was funnelled into a Ford Ute with more shit stuck onto it than a festival-hoe’s cleavage.
Each addition was like a new child to Todd: fuckoff antennas, spotties, every single bumper sticker ever manufactured and of course the pièces de résistance: a roo bar that even Mad Max would consider unnecessary.
Each month, Todd would load up his swag and head down to the big smoke to drink like Rolf Harris at the fountain of youth.
Unfortunately, when it came to getting on it, Todd only had two modes: a frothy after a day’s herding and full-blown Newman Races. A byproduct of growing up isolated – every party was like a caveman stumbling across some exotic fruit. Boots had to be filled when the opportunity arose.
Todd decides his cousin’s wedding weekend is a good chance to blow off some steam. He rolls into Perth and the manager of a beachside pub grimaces as he sees the familiar sight of the one man Ute Muster arrive in the car park.
It’s game time, and the only thing deeper than Todd’s pockets is his thirst. By pint 14 Todd finally has a buzz on and recognises a good ol country girl from his sister boarding school.
Like a rodeo Romeo he boot scoots across the bar and greets her with a little country hospitality, “I’d root ya”. The romantic gestures causes the rains to come early in her nether-regions. He gestures towards his Ute tray, “I’m gonna ride you like I stole ya luv”.
True to form he penetrates her like a slow rodeo clown and returns to the pub to continue the war against his liver. He’s impressively sauced by this stage but Todd doesn’t do things in halves.
After 6 more Bundies, he mistakes the ATM for a urinal. The unimpressed bouncer taps him on the shoulder, “that’s it, Todd, you’re fucking banned mate”.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?