Chris finally removed the travel-dummy from his mouth, put on his big boy pants and is embarking on a non-Contiki tour of Europe. He even saved up some cheddar to make sure the good times flow like a fuck-yeh-fondue.
In the lead up to the holiday, Chris has conducted a gruelling 50 day FB countdown where he repeatedly asked his mates to “get around him” and promising in “x” amount of days [insert country] will be "in him" and won't be able to "handle him".
On departure day, Chris decides to take the edge off by washing down 30mg of Valium with a bottle of wine and ends up sloppier than a reheated Whopper. His fellow passengers can't wait for his 7th attempt at an "Aussie, Aussie, Aussie" chant.
Chris’ first stop is the seemingly mandatory Aussie travel experience: Sail Croatia. On the boat, he acts like the representative Australia doesn’t want and impresses everyone with his power-yaking, the unfair prejudice attached to the word “cunt” and of course relentlessly banging on about how much he misses the fucking vegemite on toast that he has about once every couple of months.
He tells everyone back home that Sail Croatia was the “BEST WEEK” of his life with an attached photo of his new “EURO FAMILY”. In reality, most will be happy to see the back of Chris and his snoring that sounded like a throat-fucked bear.
To stave off the barbarian feelings at the gate, Chris knows he should “get a little culture into him”. He embarks on his journey to appreciate Europe’s sites one shakas selfie at a time. In total, he sees about 2 attractions and just flogs the other photos from people's Instagram accounts. Culture smarter, not harder, as they say.
With about a month to go, Chris realises his bank balance is looking as depleted as his serotonin levels after 3 days in Ibiza. He has no choice, he has to make the call of shame back home and ask his parents if he could plunge into his inheritance like a Thai cave diver.
He uses the loan to land a brutal 5 night Greek Island combo to his liver functionality and dignity. Like piss through a bed sheet, so are the days of his wanderlust. While he doesn’t remember these days, he will surely tell you they were the best of his life.
To unwind he decides to update his Facebook with a hefty photo album. He predominately chooses photos of himself with large groups of good looking girls. He basks in the “yeh, the boys” glow of his mate's questions, mainly, did you root her?
He can only respond with a winking emoji. As an inference is technically not a lie.
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