The Human Zoo - Mr Dunsborough


Every summer, Dunsborough is flooded with people that mistake not having a Cottesloe Golf Club membership with hardcore poverty and renting is for riff raff that rely on the quality of their dropped knee’d suction for their next can of Chum. 

Simon is a self professed “beast” in the boardroom. A Dickensian dogcunt who recently made some “hard choices” to guarantee executive bonuses. Hard choices that make recently unemployed scum like you shop at Red Dot this X-mas. 

When it comes to family holidays, Simon’s wife Maree has a fever, and the only prescription is every thing in the medicine cabinet. Accordingly, by the time they depart at 9 am, she is lit up like a Xanax & Vodka decorated X-mas tree. 

Cruising down Forrest Highway, Simon decides to pull off an aggressive merger & acquisition into the right lane. A Getz full of #blessed babes is forced to brake rapidly as Simon smugly grins to the beat of his own ego, “for I am Simon, get out of my wayyyy”.

While in Dunsborough, Simon’s philosophy is simple: dine at the places people in board shorts cannot afford. While peasants glug pints at the Dunsborough pub, Simon is draped in Hugo Boss and dining in total silence with his family at Must. 

After dinner, Simon informs his wife of his other X-mas bonus. He holds onto the wheel tight as Maree bobs up and down like the Dow Jones Index at an insider trading festival. “Thank you darling, you hit most of your KPIs there, but maybe more balls next year”. 

The next day Simon pulls up at Willespie Wines and briefly admires the dust that has accumulated on his car. His weekend warrior stiffy soon fades as he realises he is about to mingle with the common public.

He grimaces in horror as he sees a herd of heifer-esque working class people taking up the entire tastings area. 

After 2 minutes he begins eye-plebbing the group like Billy Zane would look at the child he just elbowed to get into a lifeboat off the Titanic, “is this how you treat a customer who actually intends to purchase some wine?” 

A man in a Bintang singlet looks him right in the eye, “look pal, me and me family are first orright? Yous can just hop in ya poofters car and fark off”. 

How ghastly, this is more terrifying than the time he couldn’t get his window up in time at the Canning Highway window washer intersection. 

To hide the stench of cacked dacks, he storms out in a fit of importance, “we’re GOING!”

Finally back in Perth, Simon reflects on his dusty 4WD. Will he clean it? Nay. Let Claremont see what a wild man of the South West he is.

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The Human Zoo - The Dunsborough Toolie



Damo graduated from Lynwood High in 2003 and had the time of his life on his Leavers break down in Dunsborough. He sets out to recreate the magic of Leavers ‘03 every year. He can basically smell the Leavers period in the air each year and is ensures his Holden Sandman is backed to the brim with Fruity Lexia cask wine, UDLs and a surfboard that can be classed as “ornamental” at best. Damo has always believed in the Scarborough philosophy, that surfing is 90% appearance and 10% participation. If anyone doubts Damo’s surfing ability they can take it up with his Koi fish tattoo.

Although Leavers officially starts on Saturday, Damo is already down in Dunsborough on Thursday night. He is staying with a couple of other bleached-hair desperados in the Dunsborough Caravan Park. They are all aged 29+ and have never missed a Leavers. They sit around sipping on warm UDLs while they brag about the future sex they are going to be having with 18 year olds in their respective tents. “They will be gagging for an experienced man who can hold his piss”. A bold statement, given that it has proved incorrect for the last 11 years. Damo’s extensive history of epic-droughts can be pinpointed to one key personality trait: he is creepier than Kevin Spacey handing out Zooper Doopers at a kid's party.

The group grow tired of each others sexual bravado and bullshit future-sex stories. They decide to go and make pests of themselves down at the Three Bears in the township. Damo rocks up in his official kit: blue wife-beater, Volcom boardies, Reef sandals and his dreadlocks flowing freely. Several groups of Leavers have come down early and are sitting around drinking and planning their holiday of a lifetime. Damo handles the situation like he was in prison: take out the strongest male in a show of unbridled alphaness.

He challenges two good looking ex-Wesley kids to a game of pool. “Sorry mate, we don’t want a copy of the Big Issue”, one of the Wesley kids says to the chorus of roaring laughter from a group of Leaver-girls. Damo takes a breath, “you won't be laughing when I’m sexing your ladies”. Sexing? Gross Damo.

Damo doesn’t even sink one ball. However, this was all part of his master plan. “Guess i’ll be having to drop me dacks ay”. Damo does just that. His sight and smell of his uncircumcised wanger burns a dick-cheese shaped hole in the retinas of all the Leavers standing around the pool table. A couple of bouncers are quick to escort Damo out.

“That's what a real man's dick looks like girls!” In reality, it looks like Clive Waterhouse sitting on the Docker’s bench: dormant with an intense look of longing for even the slightest moist dip of respect.

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The Human Zoo - Ms Perth Boat Hoe


In the Perth summer, children of boat owners rule like majestic kings over their aquatically challenged peasantry.

One such peasant is Cherie, an aspiring social influencer who needs a few luxury bikini shots to get one step closer to the sweet embrace of skinny tea ambassadorship.

Desperate to get on a boat this weekend she FB messages the unfriendly neighbourhood millionaire’s son. A kid who poltergeist-crawled out of his mother’s gin infused womb only to be mistaken for the placenta.

She knows that to access this reptiles floating terrarium she must sink as low as her current Instagram follower count. “OMG that video of you throwing a Macca’s coke on that hobo was so funny  x”

He replies with a shirtless gym selfie and the sunnies emoji aka the official emoji of the guy who sprays cologne on his cock and is always a few years deep into your photo gallery. “Keen for a little water party this w/e babe?”
As dozens of boat hoes roll in, the East Freo Yacht club starts resembling a stripper-ridden Barrack St Jetty before a yew-tacular buck’s cruise. Cherie ignores the other wannabes as she fixes her makeup and protects the $400 haircut she copped just for the occasion.

As they set sail for Rotto, she begins her photoshoot. To be original, she does what every other girl on the boat is doing and poses with a Champagne bottle and a captain’s hat. Nailed it.

Alas, her Titanic-ambitions hit a massive cunt-berg when the millionaire's son decides to bond with Cherie over the very anecdote that brought them together. As she carefully positions her selfie stick, he unloads a mighty bucket of water all over her. “Pranked ya bro!”

Her makeup and hair are fucked as she drowns in a puddle of her own vanity. Of the 430 photos she took already, not one is good enough. Her entire day has been ruined.

Needless to say, she gives the millionaire's son the angriest wristy of his life. Afterall, it’s a long summer, and she has a hole in her ego that only his big, throbbing boat can fill.

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