Mr Mandurah



Fucking Mandurah. A hard drinking marine environment that offers you a chance to catch crabs in the estuaries or from the slurry you rail at Chicken Treat while waiting for your rock dealer who also happens to be one of your babies mummas. A thriving ecosystem of big eared degenerates who delight in shoeless spitting and believe that when it comes to venereal disease, sharing is indeed caring

Brent is a hairy back, missing link-cunt who occasionally puts in a days work laying bricks. He wears the official uniform of the guy who smokes a crack pipe in public: Fox racing shirt, Unit boardies, no footwear and a Monster snapback. His E-plated VN Commodore is his pride and joy and the local children know to stay well clear as he suburban swerves his way to Halls Head to purchase alcohol from the only bottlo that doesn't display his image on the wall of shame. 6210 is proudly tattooed to his neck.

Having recently mated with the female equivalent of a commemorative ashtray, Brent must make his way to the Mandurah Forum to purchase baby formula. A shopping centre so ghastly it makes an Armadale meth lab feel like a McDonalds' playground. He charges through the car park like he was confronting his cheating ex on an episode of Jerry Springer. He is so busy sizing every bloke up that he forgets to purchase the baby formula. Instead, he scoots around like an irate crab shooting people the “I’ll glass you in the throat” stare. Clearly itching for a fight, he spots a bloke that supports the Freo dockers. That’ll do he reckons.

Brent roars the battle-cry of the Mandurah derro, “meet me at the farking traino, cunt!” The Dockers supporter shows some rare diplomacy, “oi cunt, we’ll grab a few pints at Murphys and then smash on in the car park orrright? Ya bloody pelican”. The men bond over stories of headbutting Maori bouncers and contemplate how a crab shell may be fashioned into a functional yewwwpipe.  Brent barely wants to cave this blokes skull in as they walk out to the car park. That is until he spots the bloke’s car. “Fucking, Rockingham Holden? I’ll fucking kill ya”. They smash on to the delight of a couple of long haired louts enjoying their fish and chips.

Despite severe facial lacerations and a concussion, Brent fancies a quick armed robbery at the local Jesters. He could use the extra spending money on some white Arnettes and has been craving a nutty chook pie since his meth wore off about 15 minutes ago. Crime pays when your expectations are low.

They really should just build a wall around Mandurah.

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