A few weeks ago, a footy player needed a date for a star-studded F1 after party. Now, there is a reason they call him the super trawler of poon, he snorts a couple of lines of coke and casts a vast net across Instagram, messaging 30 insta-hoes.
He manages a few nibbles and only one bite, but unlike John West, he’s more than happy to accept what Justin Bieber rejects. Jacqui is that fish and she knows she has found herself in a net of opportunity.
Gone are the days where she will have to add “@calvinklien” to every underwear-clad post in a desperate attempt to get some discount coupons and fool people into thinking she is sponsored. She was now aboard the S.S WAG.
After the event, she gets ploughed like a paddock after the harvest. She Snapchats the entire night and even posts a photo of her in his AFL gear the next morning. However, unbeknownst to Jacqui the farmer didn’t want a wife, he just wanted some guaranteed action.
He gives her his well rehearsed post-coital spiel about how she means so much to him, and even pays for her Uber back to the airport.
Back in Perth Jacqui wastes no time in activating full fame-leech mode. Firstly, she sets up a health & wellness blog and party planning Facebook page that she expects her new love to promote to his healthy following.
Like a shitbag Neo, he dodges all 64 of her phone call and message bullets over the coming week. That is until she decides to fly to Melbourne to confront him. No unrequited love is going to get in the way of her not wanting to work again.
She stalks him to a Chapel St cafe and confronts him. “Was I just some hooker to you?” Well kinda, but let's just say this athlete is a few molestations short of a church service. He freezes up, “uh ah nah babe like, my phone dropped in a toilet, um yeh new number ay”.
Nice try bud, but she’d launched a multi social media platform assault. A lost phone wasn’t going to cut it. Her dreams of full blown WAG’ery were fading but that didn’t mean she couldn’t milk the opportunity cow.
“Uh whatever, you promised to promote my business though, you are going to promote my business right?”
Shit Jacqui, the guy had consumed more coke than a fat kid at the HJs self service section. “Um look nah cos like, be a bit hard to explain to my girlfriend why I’m doing that ay, sorry Jacinta, was a pretty good night though I think”.
Oh shit. Calling her by the wrong name was the last straw and she threatens to blow & tell. “Look shit for brains, if you don’t share my business, I am going straight to the media, I bet they’d love to hear how you scream like Tarzan getting a prostate exam when you climax after 2 minutes”.
They end up settling on an Instagram post and a Mimco bag. If he’d remembered her name, she even would’ve told him that she’d pricked the condom and wasn’t on the pill. Now she plays the waiting game.
