So, while living in Brizzie I chucked a sickie before brekkie and slept in til arvo, then woke up and had a barbie past black stump...was flat out like a lizard drinking, but i burnt the snags while distracted by the cliner, while the other blokes wasted time on the rest of the sheilas, but they were bored shitless... so the bloody bludgers were ignoring the bizzer and the fucking bitser wouldn't stop whining, but anyway, im bloody gobsmacked.. only a bloke like me could get into the clinah's grundies, everyone says good on ya mate, deadset I tell the bloody bogans and rack off before I spit the dummy you silly buggers, then they ask for a coffin nail and a cuppa like im a bloody ozzie cobber from the lucky country, im not kiwi either so its a piece of piss and I tell em your shout skippy, get me a middy of Fosters and grab a tinnie for yaself . They call me a bloody seppo as they grab their coldie, and i yell good on ya mate. We hit the turps til they ask for some good oil about the sheilas from a clued up bloke as myself, since they are as clumsy as a duck in a ploughed paddock. One bloke was game as a piss ant, took a gargle, and went for the village bike. He had as much chance as pushing shit up hill with his kangaroos loose in the top paddock, but I hoped she'd give him a fair crack of the whip. His blood's worth bottling, but he's not within cooey from a buckley's chance of crackin a fat inside her grundies. I said don't get your knickers in a knot and Bob's yer uncle. He was mad as a cut snake, but I told him to cark it cuz she'll be apples, bloody oath. They said Exalt is a dinky-di Yank alright, fair dinkum.
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