The Human Zoo - Mr Electrician

When deciding on a trade, Jarred didn’t want to be the Super Mario of toilets like his plumber mates, nor did he want a fast track to prison by being a granno. Oh no, Jarred’s manicured eyebrows and ability to use a calculator meant he was destined to be a chosen one: a sparky.

During his weekly TAFE visit, he would waltz in like a walking Tinder pic. His hair was perfectly styled, and his outfit was always current and electrifying. While the others smelled of lingering bong smoke, he would leave a pleasant spritz of Acqua di Gio wherever he pranced. 

After obtaining his electrical licence, he started off on Perth building sites, and after a few swings up north he was able to buy an investment property in Baldivis. Like Dom Sheedy in the last 3 minutes of the 2018 AFL Grand Final, Jarred was nailing his targets. 

Was he humble about it? Fuck no, in fact, he would regularly regale smoko with stories about his brilliant investments and told his plumbers mates that if they stopped focusing on the wrong sort of pipes they could “maybe” be in the same position he was. “The only gear you need lads is negative gearing”. 

Being a smug fuck does have its downsides in life, however. As he learned one smoko when he needed 2 months stress leave after a scaffolder tried to bite his face after taking offence to a combination of eye contact, smugness and speaking ill of the crystal pistol. He still has night terrors from it. 

Now just because he didn’t get dirty on the job site didn’t mean he can’t get filthy in the bedroom. He was hotter than a soldering iron, and while his tools were a bit smaller than other tradies, his pinpoint precision meant he knew how to blow the fuse in any girl’s power box. 

At least that's what he thought while his date lay unimpressed while he prematurely ejaculated while admiring his tricep in the mirror. Can you blame him though? It’s hard to stop such a high voltage surge when there is a total live wire looking back at you in the reflection. 

In fact, it was his very own reflection that gave him the motivation to make even more money than he was already raking in. See, when he wasn't on the tools, he was being one, and the best way to be a tool is to become a male stripper. 

With the money pouring in from dirty moonlighting, there was only one stanza left to write in his poetic book of perfection: his inevitable selection as Australia's next Bachelor.

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Tips to Help Yew Have a Great Day at the Races

1. Women’s Fashion

Pick a dress that will make you look as hot as when you enter as when you are filmed slopping around the grass and flashing your minge like it had just seen a speed camera. Remember to choose a pretty floral fascinator too, as flowers bloom best on top of the pile of human manure you will so closely resemble by the end of the day.

2. Men’s Fashion

Don’t own a suit? Don’t stress, your brother is unlikely to need his while he’s in prison. Doesn’t fit well? Again, chill, it’s all about the accessories. Our top accessorising tip is to remember it like your immigration stance: you can’t go wrong with white. “Leather” slip-ons from Betts, your favourite Volcom skate belt and the old “Boom Town Crown” - white Oakleys on top of your noggin.

3. Having a Punt

Your parents spent shitloads raising you, so now it’s your turn to pump money into something that will probably end up in bitter disappointment: horse racing. Ignore those pesky voices saying it’s irresponsible to overdraw your account to bet on a horse just because you like its name. If you do manage to win, make sure you post a pic on social media of your winning ticket with the barcode fully visible. Let others join in on your fun.

4. Standards of Behaviour

In Australia, we like to peer pressure each other to drink like we were Harvey Weinstein bar-tending at a 21st, and that’s just on a normal weekend. At the races, you are expected to step it up a notch and get as wasted as taxpayer's money on the NBN network. So drink until you have the composure of a newly birthed giraffe, piss anywhere you please and if you’re feeling extra frisky, push a cop over on live television.

5. Boycotting

Don’t feel like getting your snout in the formal-wear pig trough described above? Well, have fun from home by suddenly remembering you actually give a fuck about horses and start your annual boycott-Melbourne Cup campaign with a few posts on social media. Don’t be put off by the “haters”, your once-a-year preaching accomplishes far more than actual activism ever could.

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The Human Zoo - Mr Canadian Ski Season

Tobz would like people to think he is travelling to Canada as a sponsored pro, which might be true if Red Bull paid Aussies to transform Whistler into a tragic production of Bali on Ice. 

Upon arrival, Tobz blows a fair chunk of his savings on a new snowboard and the gnarliest ski-wear the Canadian dollar can buy. His dwindling cash reserves do not concern him as he has the fiscal sense of a crackhead with a winning scratchie. 

He eventually realises he has to work, so he gets a job serving at a bar and suckles on the tippy teat of gratuities. That's until he came into work charging like he'd won the golden ticket Pippy Wonka's Pseudo Factory. 

Turns out there is such thing as too much MDMA and generally, if you start looking like the cookie monster with a concussion, you’ve hit that limit. As punishment, he was reassigned to, but a mad dog cannot be leashed, so he stormed out mid shift and made a phone call back home begging for more rent money.

Life was going as well as it could be for a mountain-mooch. He was carving fresh pow pow on the daily and begging girls for hot tub tuggos on the nightly. That's until he decided to hit the slopes on shrooms one fateful morning. Long story short, his arm is shattered in 3 places. 

He soon learned that one benefit of staying indoors is that can wear shorts and have his southern cross tatt proudly on display. How else would the local girls know there is an Australian drinking at a Whistler ski resort?

The rest of his holiday is spent partying away his limited funds and chanting with a fellow group of Aussies who are prouder of their country than it is of them. 

Unfortunately, drinks ain't cheap on the mountain. Tobz knew he had to take drastic action, so he slapped on some clothes, wore a ski mask and in an act of oxygen banditry he tried to rob the local general store. It would’ve been the perfect crime too if he hadn’t picked a shirt with his name tag still attached. 

Tobz is now banned from the country for making a Cuntnadian of himself, but at least he has that FB cover photo. Next victim: Japan. 

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Strayan Thong Etiquette 101

1. One can only retire a thong after suffering a critical blowout and not merely when it has morphed into a greasy extension of your footprint.

2. Never fuck with a man wearing double pluggers. Anyone who takes their thong ownership that seriously has nothing to lose.

3. Similarly, never disrespect a man's surfer joes or wide-loads. This man has reached a zen-like acceptance that sometimes comfort trumps style. He is at peace, so leave him at peace. 

4. Learn to run in them. Poor technique will see you hitting the kerb harder than American History X. Plus you'll look like a dick.

5. Boycott establishments that don't consider thongs proper footwear. You don't need that kind of negative energy in your loooife.

6. Nothing will attract the female of your species more than a swift de-thong & slap to splatter an insect making a pest of itself.

7. Never tolerate your beloved footwear being referred to as "flip flops" or "jandals". A g-banger is a g-banger and a thong is a thong. Refer to point 6 on how to deal with an argument about this.

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The Human Zoo - Ms “I'm Quitting Social Media”

When it comes to social media, Mersaydes always packs in more drama than a box set of Law & Order: SVU. 

Infuriated that her cryptic statuses weren’t garnering the attention she so badly yearned for she decided to announce a cull. On the first of June the great purge of no-one-gives-a-fucktopia was commenced:

“Deciding to DELETE the TOXIC people from my life, if you remain after this CULL then well done, as 4 the rest of ya, to bad tooo sad lol" *insert string of shit-munching emojis*

Like a man with an ever-softening erection, you can imagine the relief everyone felt by managing to remain in her tight circle. 

Next on her hit list was a local community Facebook page that “talked shit” about her:

“This group used to be good but now its jus full of bitches talkin shit, ha ha ha, enjoi ur pathatic lives, im out, cya!" *shit-munchingnesss of emojis intensifies*

Mersaydes isn't a train platform but she sure as fuck is going to be making announcements. All aboard the attention seeking fuckwit express. 

Alas, quitting community groups wasn't enough. She needed a hit that would last ages, so she decides to inject her social media with a big hit of Crystal Methamcuntamine, and announces she is quitting the platform forever: 

“Just letting you all know that I will be deleting my FB account this afternoon and you can reach me in PERSON or the phone, so sick of Crackbook try REAL communication people lol, all plugged into your keyboards talkin shit l8r”

She includes a picture of a Minion giving the middle finger and deletes her account. God, she believed she was better than everyone else as she rode into the real world on a horse higher than Waleed Aly’s stallion after it got into some ketamine.

Days go past, and she monitors all her old social media hangouts with an account she had set up for her fur baby a year ago. She notices that no one is talking shit about her, she had faded into obscurity like The Bachelor contestant's careers after getting totally honey badgered. 

So after a month, she starts up a new account. Complete with an announcement about the conditions on her return and how you will be blocked without notice if you can’t handle her at her worst. 

Just fuck off Mersaydes.

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The Human Zoo - Mr MSN Messenger

Welcome to 2001, where Volcom belts were in vogue and the best way of chatting up your crush was acquiring their email and sending them a desperately timed nudge on MSN Messenger. These were simpler times. 

It's Saturday morning and Ben signs into MSN with his resume-destroying email address: “Nookie_Bizkit69@hotmail.com”. He changes his personalised message to some hardcore song lyrics, “I'MMM Onnne SteeeepPPpp CloseeerRrRrr to Tha EdddgeEEeE, IM bout to BREAK :P”. Bravo Ben, now every girl will know you're edgier than a dodecahedron shaped dildo. 

Ben sits on his family computer and sees his crush log on, “Sara_Pie86@hotmail.com” aka “Sarzzzzy  :P : P xoxo”. In Ben's circles, Sarz was a trio of the finest dips and his Turkish bread was ready. If he was going to be the man, he would need to invite her to his dinner dance. 

Ben stares at her green icon for 10 minutes and mentally battles his urge to initiate conversation. Nah, chill Ben, switch your status to “offline” and then “online” 6 times in rapid succession to attract her attention. Alas, she doesn't take the bait, and Ben snaps under the pressure of excessive-wank angst and sends the first message: “Hi lol x”. Move over Santana, this is smooth. 

It’s been 1 minute and 42 seconds and Sarz hasn’t responded. In the interest of playing it cool, he nudges. The chat window shakes like the foundations of his own pick-up artistry. FINALLY, “Sarz is typing a message…” OK, Ben is getting anxious, she has been “typing a message” for about 2 minutes and 53 seconds. For the love of teenage desperation, just hit enter girl! Suddenly, it goes blank. Sarz is no longer typing a message. Nookie_Bizkit69's hopes are as depleted as the follicles on Fred Durst's scalp.

Poor Ben spends the next 5 hours staring at Sarz's contact which has been set to “away” for the last 4 hours. Day becomes night, and Ben flicks through the sordid filth that makes up his received files folder. A digital Mos Eisley Cantina of adolescent party photos, jpeg smut and saved chat logs documenting his clumsy foray into the dangerous world of online flirtation. 

It's now 3am, and Ben is staring at the same list of weirdos that never seem to log off. Contacts he’d never consider initiating contact with, really just filler for his contact list. Which during your high school is a bigger deal than even the girth of your moon-boot Globe skate shoes.

Finally, a message from Sarz on Sunday night, “could you ask Simon if he wants to take me to the dinner dance? He is megs cute hehe". Fucking Simon? The kid that had to sit in the portable classroom for 15minutes after the bell because of his no-reason-boner? Ben is devastated but knows that after making the Head of the River rowing team, he still has a shot at turning this romance around. 

Just as Ben tries to initiate the dance of persuasion, his mum storms into the computer room, "log off the internet now, I need to make a phone call!" What a fucking disaster. 

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