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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