Dooren’s expectations for the Supermoon were sky high so she loaded up the “didn’t pull out-mobile” and drove her family to the Rockingham Foreshore.
They roamed the fertile grounds looking for a spot amongst the herds of Supermooners who made the area look like the land that Colgate forgot.
Once settled, they began demolishing vast quantities of fish & chips until their communal breath smelled like a mermaid’s whore house. “This is the biggest thing since last year's Supermoon, it better be good”.
Dooren’s hubby tightened his crossed arms and scoffed, “nah it’ll be fuck all, I saw a moon bigger than the sun up North ay”. You know what they say, there is nothing bigger than an oil rig moon.
At around 1830 the Supermoon exposed itself and shocked the foreshore like it was Bert Newton’s head flashing out of a cheap trench coat.
People desperately took photos but it was undeniable, the Supermoon was pretty shit. Slightly bigger, slightly shinier, like an astro-cold sore with luna-carmex smeared on thick.
Dooren is outraged but she doesn’t really know who to blame. Accordingly, she relies on the therapy of the thicko - Perth Have a Whinge.
“FAR OUT! $30 on fuel, $80 on fish & chips all for what!? Irresponsible media reporting it as eing a SUPERMOON, shouldve just stayed at home and not botherd!!! Sersiouly Perth, why cant we hav gud family entertainment!!! Now my kids are refusin to go to bed GRRR”.
Her baffling complaint gains traction as it orbits pointlessly in the outrag-a-verse. Countless families feeling aggrieved by the Supermoon validate her anger with a like.
Dooren is feeling born anew in purpose and takes her fight to the highest Court in the land: A Current Affair.
Grimshaw reads the complaint and salivates while writing the headline in her head. “Perth’s dodgiest moon, it says it's super but it's ripping off families and not even having the decency to eclipse”.
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