Ms Belmont



The Human Zoo - Ms Belmont

Belmont: come for the cheap bottleshop deals and stay because you failed to navigate the syringe-ridden obstacle course that the locals fondly refer to as “streets”. It is a bustling hive of a cretinous behaviour that will shatter your faith in humanity like the window of a car parked outside Kooyong IGA.

Crystal emerges from her Belmont property looking like an Adidas-clad cave troll with all the majestic youth of a cigarette smoking Chico Roll in a bain-marie filled with blue eyeshadow and TAB bet slips. She jumps in her rusted Ford Falcon and leaves a thick trail of pollution on her way to the Belmont Forum. She needs to pick up the essentials: ciggies, frozen food and an ice pack for her unemployed boyfriend who got into a smash at Carbon Sports Bar during the Mayweather fight.

The Belmont Forum carpark is a glorious who's who of derro BMX riders and meth-addled lunatics with no respect for payphones. Crystal parks in a disabled bay and abuses a couple of “Islams” who had the nerve to snub their noses at her vehicular-cuntery. “Oi, youse Aladdin cunts can just fuck off orrrrrright, my back is sore!” To be fair, if being a crusty racist fuckwit was a disability, then she deserves her ACROD.

On her way to Coles she spots her daughter causing a scene in the Amcal Chemist. It appears her precious baby is furious her demands for Oxycontin are not being met. “Mum, I farking told this Chinese that I’d bring in the prescription tomorrow, dumb slut is calling me a liar!” Crystal feels the rage of derro-entitlement flow through her veins and starts rambling about human rights, dog cunts and how she will be taking this matter to the courts. Her little mother-daughter bonding session has drawn a crowd so she decides to take her leave, “no wonder me son bloody held you pricks up! Get a fucking dog up ya!”

The pair charge towards Liquorland and angrily chirp like a couple of baby bonus birds in a classless aviary. She attempts to purchase a 30 pack of Horizons and a 4 pack of Bulliet Bourbon, however her plans are foiled by an astute employee who notices that she is on the banned cunts list. She still maintains that the skank she hair-pulled and stomped had it coming because she had given her boyfriend a Red Rooster-greased wristy in the back of his Kingswood in Rivervale last Christmas. The lifestyles of the poor and the ratchet.

She returns to her dwelling to see the familiar sight of the door kicked in and her boyfriend too drunk to stop the thieving youths that crawl through the hood like trolley-pole wielding cockroaches. If you cant handle the aggravated burglary heat, then get out of the Belmont kitchen, ya prissy bitches.

We can't call a place without demons Hell, so we call it Belmont.