Sandra angrily storms into Dome dressed in the official uniform of the wife that hasn’t sucked a dick in 8 years: loose denim carpi pants, a plain shirt and a super practical pair of New Balance sneakers. Sandra has no time for MILF’y fashion pursuits, she is the CEO of the hardest job in the fucking world: raising kids who are more spoiled than the carton of milk that Kyle Sandilands bought in anticipation for a Cleo Bachelor of the Year nomination.
Within minutes, Sandra is berating a staff member at full volume, “what do you mean I have to pay for a babycino? Look my daughter is crying now! My daughter is crying, my daughter is crying!!!” The poor girl cops the narcissistic rage of a dickhead that believes the passing of a placenta gives her the right to stamp out the cigarette of entitlement on the face of society. “FedUp Perth will be hearing about this! Come on darlings we’re going!”.
She refuses to concede any footpath space as she forces a young couple to step onto the grass to avoid her precious entourage. She shoots them an early-menopausal bitch-stare that conveys her sinister thoughts, “how dare you find it inconvenient to move FOR MY DARLING CHILDREN!”. She continues to stampede away from Dome like a bull-dyke that just spotted a Spaniard wielding a raging boner like a spear.
She walks to her Tarago which is parked in a busy car park. She spends 5 minutes loading her screaming brats into her car and then makes an obnoxious phone call to her day-time television cunt of a friend. A lad who had been waiting patiently for her finally honks his horn. She boils over like a hormonal pot of pasta and storms towards the man like a tampon-tornado. “HOW DARE YOU!!! Now my babies are crying!! You pig!!!”
Hours later, Sandra is having lunch with her bestie. She talks endlessly about her precious little George while he demonstrates just how special he is by running around the eatery and destroying the serenity. A suited man leans over, “sorry lady, could you look after your kid? We’re trying to have a business chat?” Uh-oh…
Needless to say, the eatery is treated to a full blown bitch-Opera followed up an un-requested psychotic-encore by the mayor of dickheadsville.
Ive actually seen that happen. The whole world apparently doesn't understand that the byproduct of a half bottle of greens ginger wine and some loose knickers is actually the second coming of the lord in diapers.
You forgot she stopped for an hour to comment on breeders inc pages like Mamma Mia to tell everyone how being a Mother is the hardest job in the world....like harder than ploughing a field for 12 hours a day for $2 and sleeping in a mud hut with just a bowl of rice to eat, it is HARDER than that. So hard she is having number 4.
That Kyle Sandilands joke will only get funnier with age!
I was at one time in an eatery with a group of friends and friends of friends and one of them had brought along their darling child. That precious little gift to the world was destroying all around it causing absolute mayhem while it's mother was extolling its virtues to all and sundry.
As all this was happening I happen to notice an Asian family across the restaurant who also had a child of around the same age. Except that polite little fucker was in a tuxedo eating with chopsticks and making polite conversation.
I ask you, which would you abduct...
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