The Human Zoo - Ms New Year New Me

Natharsha’s 2019 is off to a flying start. She has already lost 5kg from her NYE Origin pinga-fest and even woke up with her arms wrapped around the only constant rock in her life: the toilet bowl.

After serenading her housemates with the song of her stomach lining Natharsha was ready to be her best self, take 2019 by the horns and ride it like a stolen Commodore. She announces her intentions:

“2018 was pre lit, but also pre shit lol, 2019 is the year of Tarsh!!! There are dreamers, doers and then there is ME, new year new ME. Oh and no hate, I ain't bout that life, so if you are a jealous bitch you’re getting blocked in 2019! You do you, babes, and I do me”

Why does everyone born around the late 90s talk like a fucking idiot? Oh well with any luck, her No.1 “hater”, her father, may even stop staring into the cold abyss of parental failure when asked about her, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

After briefly glancing through a copy of The Barefoot Investor her mum got her for Christmas she opens up a new savings account. Feeling like the Warren Buffet of low fixed interest rates she turns her mind to filling it.

Unfortunately, her LashesByTarsh business is barely fending off the barbarians of rent and Afterpay, she doesn’t have any more second-hand clothing to flog off on Facebook and her boyfriend dumped her for sponging up his shit like a ShamWow infomercial.

Then it dawns on her if Snapchat views were dollars she’d be as loaded as Huey's second plate at Sizzler. It is so obvious, she embraces the spirit of bobs & vagene and starts plugging her “Premium Snapchat” on social media. 

What is a “Premium Snapchat”? Well, it’s an ordinary Snapchat account where naughty pictures are shared in exchange for a PayPal transfer. Why would someone pay? Well they either missed the memo on the whole “porn is free” thing or they are so thirsty they make a vulture stalked African child look hydrated. 

Well, there you have it, a savings account, drug-induced malnourishment and a foot in the porn door. Resolutions more basic than a headshot in GoldenEye with DK mode activated.

A Guide to New Year’s Eve

1. Put the Night on a Pedestal 

The Earth has gone to all that effort of making a full rotation around the sun so you should spend hundreds on a night that fails to deliver so often, that it may as well be called AusPost.

2. The Mandatory 2018 Social Media Reflection

There are two #basic paths you can take on your reflection post. You can use it as a way to rub the smug-shit of your success in everyone's face for one last time or alternatively, you can use it to simply blame “2018” on the fact you made less progress than Michael J Fox building a house of cards.

3. Bore People with Your #newyearnewme Resolution

If the entirety of 2018 wasn't long enough to become a better person, the 1 day jump to 2019 is all you will need to completely change. The key is convincing other people you are going to stick to your bullshit, so keep them on the edge of their seats about your plans to sign up to a gym or open a fucking savings account. You're a total inspiration.

4. Snapchatting the Countdown is More Important than Experiencing It

If you couldn’t get over the excitement of a room full of people counting to 10 and then yewing fear not, because every single story on your Snapchat and Instagram will be a blow by blow account of it, some might even include fireworks. That is essentially how the countdown will be spent, millions of people filming footage that no one will ever want to watch. Killin’ it.

5. Getting Home

Better start sucking up to that boring, non-drinking friend you normally avoid like a warm patch in a public pool. Ubers will be sur-chaaaarging like Benny Cousins on day 3 and Taxis have no doubt added another button that quadruples your fare for no reason. You could try Perth’s famous public transport system if you are prepared to enter the mobile UFC octagon cage which will ultimately leave you stranded at a closer, yet equally inconvenient location to your abode. 

The Human Zoo - Mr Why Haven't My Bins Been Emptied?

For decades, Ron has maintained relative peace with his Council overlords based on the understanding they pick up his shit on Wednesday and in return he doesn’t send them abusive handwritten letters.

So you can imagine the furore when his bins weren’t emptied the day after Christmas. He managed to keep it together until about 4pm when he was forced to accept it wasn’t going to happen. Needless to say, he went ape-shit.

The Council had forsaken him and his bin was filled to the brim with the kind of seafood that John West would certainly reject. Sick of his street smelling like a mermaid’s queef, John decided to take action.

He gathered up his first born and ordered him to help wheel the bin down to the local park and help him dump a Mandurah toilet seat’s worth of crabs into the Council’s bin.

It would’ve been a perfect plan if it wasn’t for that pesky Ranger busting them! Fortunately, the Ranger really didn’t want to be added to Ron’s mailing and telephone list, so he let him off with a warning.

Peace had been restored. At least until the 2nd January, when Ron stood outside his gate along with every other older gent worth his River’s cargo shorts and formed a guard of dishonour, waiting for their fucking bins to be emptied. To no avail.

That night was the domestic waste purge. Neighbour turning on neighbour as they played pass the rotten parcel with each other's frozen bags of fish heads and ham bones. No one’s bin was safe.

Facebook chat pages exploded with the frenzied caps locking of boomers scared of a slight change:

“How BLOODY HARD is it to empty a BLOODY bin on BIN DAY. Its called BIN DAY for a reason duh????? What do I pay me rates for and me taxes!?!? What am I meant to do about me bins you counsil GRUBS?! This isn’t over”

Well, apart from simply waiting for the next day, you could try a Valium and a glass of red Ron. Instead, he penned a 3-page letter to his local Council and waited at his gate the next day to give the Garbos a piece of his mind.

When they arrived he sprayed them like a territorial cat. They coped his abuse as they smiled menacingly, looks like Ron’s bins won't see a timely evacuation next week either. Dickhead.

The Human Zoo - Ms Pop Up Bar

Perth’s pop-up fever outbreak has reached epidemic proportions with millennials suffering symptoms ranging from life-threatening FOMO, pangs of exclusivity and chronic and uncontrollable hashtagitis.

Sharlean has been fighting a stage 5 infection since the start of summer and despite bars stretching the definition of “pop-up” further than the skin on a Cottesloe cougar's facelift, she wasn't going to miss out on the chance to drink out of a plastic cup or sit on “furniture” stolen off a forklift.

Just to clarify, Sharlean isn’t like all you other basics, she lived in Melbourne for 3 months and knows a thing or two about pop-up bars. She knows that there are only 2 nights that matter, the night the bar pops up and the night before the bar pops down. It’s called being in the “in-crowd” sweetie, look it up.

Sharlean also knows that the key to pop-up barring is to act like you’ve discovered a hidden gem that the decidedly un-vogue masses of Perth wouldn’t know about. It’s not like they have read the same Broadsheet or Urbanlist article that any dickhead with an internet connection has.

Last week Sharlean stormed into The Docks opening night venue like she was premiering her latest playsuit on the red carpet of the Oscar Awards Cuntemony.

She ignores at least 5 other socialites she knows as she races to get an Aperol Spritz, the official drink of being a hip, cultured influencer. Once she has her drink she utilises her boyfriend for the only thing he’s good for: being her personal photographer.

Now that she is Instagram ready, she acknowledges the existence of some other girls she knows. She sizes them up to make sure their outfits and faces aren’t cuter than hers and eventually satisfies herself that they will be forming her "squad" for the shot.

She makes her boyfriend retake the photo 7 times before she is satisfied she is slaying and her “besties” look like fucking dragons:

“Popped in to the Dock’s opening party with these 10s #intheknow #exclusive #VIPS #popupsquad #ganggang #skrrrt #enjoyingtheparamountlosers #popup #thedock #popupkween #slay #STMsocialpages #perthonality”

Yuck. If that’s the effect of pop-up fever, just give us regular Ebola thanks.

The Human Zoo - Mr "I Bought a House"

Sure Anthony worked, but when it came to blessings, life always had its legs open and he always seemed to be washing his dick in the VIP sink.

That hand-me-down Beamer, that second hand Rolex and that passport with more stamps than the combined lower backs of the Mandurah Forum clientele. Something was up.

You always suspected, no fuck it, you knew that Anthony’s parents kept him more secure than the bolts on Fritzl’s dungeon door. A labour of love, because they weren’t hit-n-run hush money rich, they merely feasted on the nutrient rich after-birth of their baby boomer’s easy run.

How disrespectful, at least the boomers fought wars. Wars just like the one his FB contacts waged in their head while deciding whether to invade their screens with their fists after his latest post.

He is standing in front of a duplex and beside a SOLD sign in the leafy ‘burb of Wembley:

“Just bought a house! Hard work and sacrifice has finally paid off and I’m a homeowner. Watch this space it’s only going up babaaaaayyyyy, enjoy renting suckers :P”

While he is peacocking around on social media his parents are praying desperately he doesn’t fuck up. Unlike Anthony’s delusions of self made mannery, his parent’s deposit and signatures on those guarantor papers are fucking real.

His social media gloating is bad, but his overnight belief that he is the Kochie of mid-range property investment is worse. He waltzes into the Captain Stirling and orders like a man not restrained by the ropes of a $600K mortgage.

The Sultan of Cunt-nei didn’t even look at the specials menu. He didn’t even enquire as to the pint of the month. He stuffs rib eye down his privilege-hole as he gives unsolicited investment advice, “you guys should really think of buying, renting is just throwing your money away”.

His mates roll their eyes as he continues, “I’m already looking at a place in Nedlands, it’s important to not let you portfolio stagnate, I’ve got the collateral so probably sign away my life next year some time *laughs Blizerianly*

Even though his mates want to call him out, they also want to use his folk’s boat in the summer. This vicious cycle will continue and Anthony will grow old without ever having to let the barbarians of self reflections through his fragile gate.

For most, buying a house in Perth is like getting robbed: it’ll happen at the end of a train line and you’ll be left broke.

The Human Zoo - Mr Down South

Adam is planning a trip Down South, but like an impotent male escort, he relies on toys to get people to come.

His weekend warriors toy box contains all the goodies: dad’s 4WD, surfboards, a quad bike and the main attraction, the multi-million dollar beach house that has been in his family for years.

After loading up the Landcruiser, Adam encourages his female passengers to get into their bikinis for a #squadgoals for the Gram:

“Douth sorted, this is how we roll ba-bbby #lit #boss #baller #douthdoneright#mybeachousecalls #workhardplayhard #surfsup #adventure#whereyoudratherbe #boysgotthetoys #babes #4WDnation

While it’s frustrating that Adam flaunts all this shit like he owns it, his acquaintances know it’s best to not pollute his very delicate ego-system with the bitter toxin of truth. Fuck it, they’re getting a holiday out of it.

While steaming down Forrest Highway Adam attempts to brush off his disappointment at getting flashed by a camera, “ha! Who gives a shit it’s just money”, which is wankstralian for “daddy will cover that one”.

On the first day, they hit some wineries and Adam attempts to show off his pedigree by interrupting the winemaker to give his own tasting notes. After impressing exactly nobody he gives the other plebs a taste of his family’s credit card spending power, “buddy, I'll take two cases of your best, my crew only drinks the best”. Yuck.

Next stop, is Yallingup to get a photo of himself with the surfboard he can't use in front of waves that he can't ride. He pontificates on Instagram, “only surfers know the feeling #barrels #yew #fatlip #swell #boardnation #gnar#stoic #localsonly #nokooks”. The photo says more than actually surfing a wave ever could.

The next day Adam decides to show everyone his 4WD skills by taking the rig onto the sand. Like he was hosting an episode of All Aussie Cunt-ventures, Adam neglects to let his tyres down and within 5 minutes of filming footage of himself beach bashing, he is well and truly bogged.

The tide slowly comes in and within a few hours, the car is soaked in so much salt that Sarah Jessica Parker might appear to lick it. Unable to do much they abandon the car and Adam retires to one of the rooms in the beach house to inform father of the bad news.

What a player, and you know what they say, there is nothing more balling than getting blasted by your dad for 45 minutes for being a waste of his surname.

The Human Zoo - Mrs Organic Mumma

Celeste can’t believe doctors study for 10 years to be so wrong. When it comes to raising a healthy bubba David “Avocado” Wolfe is Jesus, and Pete Evans wrote the bible. 

Unlike your disgusting working class spawn, Celeste’s children need an extraordinary blend of organic, non-GMO, gluten-free, sustainable food that must be sourced ethically in hand-woven baskets by the kind of dollar-a-day Oxfamlings that she believes live off her husband’s insincere charity write-offs. 

Didn’t catch all that? Don’t worry, Celeste has a stack of cards printed out with said information that she dishes out like a grad position lawyer at the Raffles on MILF night. 

Today Celeste is trying to realign her chakra by masturbating with an activated zucchini while reading pseudo-scientific health articles that make Buzzfeed look like Al Jazeera. 

Chakra re-aligned, and her bubba’s fed on a delish bone broth, Celeste instructs her cleaner to whip up a special cleaning agent that the avocado-dicked fuckstain Wolfe recommended. She tweaked her recipe and calls it Eat, Love, Spray & Wipe. 

As for Celeste, she is off to yoga to tell all the other luxury 4WD owning mummies that big pharma allegedly has its finger in a particular brand of organic baby water. 

“I would never give little James Earth Glow H20 again, I read that big pharma is paying off the Siamese hills people to add vaccine residue and sneakily get our kids hooked on vaccinations! It’s like a gateway drug to autism”.

There is a mighty gasp from the Lululemonites who are now stumped as to what water to give their babies. The tap stuff is loaded with fluoride, and now their trusted brand of GMO-free organic water is tied up in the conspiracy. 

For fuck's sake, this woman is a few steps away from being a beautiful mind-cunt with a bedroom full of newspaper clippings and string connecting the dots. 

She starts a petition on a mummy group to boycott the water and proceeds to only hydrate little James with the purest of kale-strained Voss water. “It’s the only way I can be sure”. 

Nevertheless, sprouting insane health views is perfectly acceptable when Dr. Google will see you at any time. You won't even need to re-read a 7-month-old edition of Woman’s Day while you wait for some medical hack to tell you that you are a moron.

The Human Zoo - Mr WA Engineer

There were plenty of swinging dicks in the WA boomtown gangbang, but none swung as far past the knees as the University of Western Australia Engineering graduate. 

By the second week of his degree, Adam was already swaggering around his physics lecture like Cuntsaac Newton. By the third week, he was calling himself an engineer with the sort of shit-eating grin you’d expect from a property trust fund-aire at a Nescafe Blend 43 sale.

Now you may think to call yourself an engineer in your third week of a degree is total wank, but fuck you, did you even see his calculations in that recap of year 12 maths unit? They were more out of control than George Calombaris at an under 17’s soccer match.

After graduation, Adam was offered a 6-month contract with Rio Tinto and spends his first 3 months in the Perth office walking around like his work lanyard is a fucking gold medal.

Sadly, the thrill of showboating to admin staff wore thin, so he decided to join the lunchtime jogging crew who donned Rio Tinto branded t-shirts and ran around the CBD just making sure everyone knew.

The second half of his contract was spent doing FIFO work. Getting to wear a hard hat and Hi-Vis vest gave him a bulging power-stiffy. On top of his little dress up party, getting to carry around a clipboard and look down on tradies made him harder than the shortcut on Rainbow Road. God, he was important.

What would highly skilled tradesmen know? He had 3 months experience and a little thing called a “brain”. Needless to say, his arrogant and belittling tone had him dodging stink eyes like Cardinal Pell would dodge an extradition order.

In the break room he spots a tradie heating up a can of soup. So superman dons his cape and swoops in to save the day, “you should put a glass in the middle of the soup for more even heating, geothermics at play, lucky you have an engineer here hey”.

It takes two men to hold the tradie back, “don't tell me how to heat up me soup ya dog!” It seems Adam has greatly misjudged the level of respect he commands on site.

On a side note, it’s fortunate he is on a mine site, because he now needs to excavate a dirty load from his jocks.

Thankfully, the mining giant will let him go after 6 months and like the economy his ego may just go into recession.

The Human Zoo - Ms “We’re Engaged!”

Lauren’s relationship had three basic stages: the 2 week fun bit, the 2 year restructure of her man as a human and an intense 6 months of dropping engagement hints that would make a thrice-divorced mummy-prenuer’s pyramid sales pitch over messenger seem subtle. 

Over time Lauren’s hints became more aggressive. She needed a ring to provide credibility to her relentless boasting to her favs that she and Dan were tighter than a baby boomer's fist in the economy’s hole without the decency to use the sweat of Gen Y as lube.

She storms into the lounge room while Dan watches India rip through the Aussie Cricket team like a poorly refrigerated Vindaloo curry, “are you even serious about all this?” She runs out crying and refuses to elaborate further on her outburst.

It’s not just the outbursts, it was also the sex life. It’s like his dick was a Zooper Dooper that was too cold for the mouth so it’d just be squeezed impatiently until it melted. He even used to enjoy a little foray into ol' brokeback’s shack, but that has since been abandoned like Dreamworld’s ticket line.

Dan tries his best but sometimes his judgment misses the mark like a 3am piss. He waltzes into Cash Converters and starts perusing the “my baby’s daddy is in prison so I sold the ring” section. He puts a deposit on a $600 ring and intends to return the following week to complete the transaction.

Alas, Lauren uses his car the next day and spots Cash Converter’s Victoria Park in the GPS. “He better be after a new fuking kite surfing board” she thinks as she travels to the rip-off-a-torium. After a series of intense questions, she determines that a man matching Dan’s description had attempted to commit engagacide.

When Dan gets home that night, Lauren is standing in the corridor staring at him like Elliot Stabler looks at an especially heinous sex crimes. “Cash Converters? I won’t say yes, did you think you could get away with it?”

Fuck. Dan has been exposed like a dick through a trenchcoat. He bites the bullet and blows his savings on a $5k piece with a diamond that looked as big as a little African kid’s hands as compared to the enormous pick-axe use to mine it.

As per Lauren’s dreams (instructions), Dan books a holiday in Cable Beach and arranges a $200 beach picnic. He goes to reach into his pocket but is interrupted, “champagne first darling, the sun hasn’t even started setting”.

Sun now setting, he proposes with her dream words (script) but she is too busy fucking around with her iPhone camera to actually say yes. Not to worry, she takes 78 couple’s selfies until she decides on the perfect one that makes her look hot and the stone sparkle like a toilet in a Spray & Wipe commercial.

Instead of enjoying the moment, she spends the next 30 minutes re-drafting her social media post caption, settling with, “he ROCKS my world ;)#shesaidyes #yes #marriage #engaged #diamond#whereisthediamond #broome #love #loveconquors#helovesme #yallslutslonley”.

As they say, you are not officially engaged until you’ve alerted a bunch of high school acquaintances on social media that you’d rather die than ever see again.

The Human Zoo - Ms Afterpay

Afterpay is the Hello Kitty of credit lines. While it lures you in with its soft, fashionable purr, you will quickly learn shit gets serious when it drops the dead bird of default at your feet and claws your credit rating like every other cunting credit providing cat.

Afterpay knows that teens need to be eased into a life of liabilities, after all you don't become a level 70 outer suburban debt sorcerer overnight.

Tara knows to stay away from credit cards. Her brother is still sleeping rough in consolidation city after maxing out two cards on overseas holidays and enough ecstasy to put a grin on Margaret Court’s face while being stuck in traffic during Mardi Gras.

So in a moment of Kochie-esque brilliance, she decides to fuel her raging clothes addiction by only using Afterpay. Fun, fashion and fiscal responsibility, yassss Tara, slay.

She first dipped her toes in the world of over-extension with a totes cute $300 The North Face puffy vest from The Iconic. Fuck that $100 dollar peasant garb from Kathmandu, with Afterpay, Tara was able to dress at least 3 social classes higher.

Weeks later, Tara had paid off the puffy vest. She only needed to borrow $20 from daddy to cover the final instalment. All in all, a total success. However, the road to fiending is paved with good experiences.

The following week she stepped it up a notch, filled a swimming pool full of checkout items and she diiiiived in it. Damn, this time, she had spent $600 on 2 complete outfits to a 21st she was going to on the weekend. Excessive for a girl who earns 600 a fortnight? Not with Afterpay.

Like throwing irresponsible rocks at the hornet's nest of repayments, she was beginning to feel the unpleasant sting. This time, she needed to flog a bunch of her shoes off on a Facebook group to meet her final repayment.

She was creeping ever closer to desperation, ever closer to taking a walk down the desperate alleyway of dick suckery. Is this what is sounds like when indebted doves cry?

She calms herself, she will totally get like a gazillion dollars back on tax. So it’s a perfect time to splash out on an elegant ball gown and more shoes than a #blessed centipede.

Fucking #yolo bitches, she spends $1200 on her next spree. Feeling guilty pangs, she decides to ask her father how much she actually will get back on tax. Her dad reckon the best they can do is $300 and he has a buddy who is an expert on tax back. Oh shit.

Unable to pick up more shifts, she does what so many have done in moments of impending poverty, she agrees to date a Western suburbs “perthonality” and turn on the waterworks to hydrate her drought-ridden finances.

She scrapes through with only a few late payments fees. She has learned nothing and soon the third party debt purchase vultures will begin circling.

The Human Zoo - Mr Rockingham

Dieson has the Rocko look. Fake Gucci sunnies, a mullet, Air Max, Unit apparel and more ink on his body than a Yakuza boss getting weird with a shoal of squid. 

Unsure what to do with his FIFO redundancy, Dieson decides to invest in his future and buy a second hand Harley. Not a wise investment? You just wait until the bikies accept him.

Alas, they won't, even though he is more desperate for membership than the last standing Blockbuster store. Why? Because if floggery was an art Dieson would be Cuntlo Picasso and his personality would have its own wing at Le Louvre.

Last time he saw some bikies at the Swinging Pig he decided to show them why he’d be a great fit by taking on a couple of Hi-Vis’d Maoris. The “I’ll make you piss” tables turned and Dieson’s month-long recovery urinating through a catheter failed to impress the 1%’ers.

Feeling depressed, Dieson decided to take his family on a little holiday to Rockingham North aka Kuta.

We hear a lot about GMO’s, but Dieson’s toddler was a GDO: a genetically disadvantaged organism that was raised on the principles of parental neglect. To make matters worse, his misso missed the memo about drinking during pregnancy. After all, UDLs are only 4% right?

Accordingly, the youngin’ behaved like an entire amatuer suburban footy team on the flight over to Kuta. The flight attendant’s pleaded with Dieson to secure his child for landing. However all Dieson and his misso could hear was the annoying whine or someone telling them to do “somefink”.

The staunch fuse had been lit and this bad boy was going to blow. Dieson and his misso launch into a rant so foul it’d make an Armadale junkie’s dickcheese seem like a wheel of fresh brie.

They swear like Kevin “Bloody” Wilson after stepping on lego and flail their limbs like your white uncle on the dance floor after requesting Gangnam Style.

The behaviour is so bad it almost forces the pilot to turn the plane around. Next comes a week in Bali that explains why they want to execute us over an ounce of weed. Bintang fueled loutery and a hotel room filled delivered Maccas.

On their return to Denpasar Airport they are advised by Jetstar staff that their booking has been cancelled and they are banned from the airline. What do you mean there are consequences to acting like an entitled fuckhead?

Dieson is quick to contact the highest court in Australia: A Current Affair. He tells the “journalists” that he and his family are stranded in Bali because of the ash cloud of toddler intolerance, “these dogs cancelled out flight cos our youngin’ kicked off, he’s just a kid ay”

You should never bluff when playing the victim card and just one truthful statement from the airline made Dieson look like the creepy crawly at the bottom of the knuckle-dragger gene pool.

The Human Zoo - Ms Newly Single

Jasmine finally dropped her boyfriend like a UFC spectator with a staring problem. What a relief, if she'd wanted to waste 3 years on something that offered her no future, she could've just done an Arts degree. Unshackled, she was ready to let her hair down. 

Dealing with life after love called for some reinvention. So she started brewing her own Kombucha, she dusted off the old yoga mat and most importantly she reconnected with her besties.

See, while she was dating old meth-lungs McGee she tended to hang out with his cretinous friends. Her mates were thrilled when she started bantering in the group-chat and even committed to every social event they planned.

Like Kevin Spacey, all it took was the realisation that she was focused on the wrong dick to actually come out. Truly a blessing, as friends who only remember you exist when they are at rock bottom are truly the best friends of all. 

At her first major event since the break-up, the girls wooo’d to the sound of Rosé-filled glasses clinking as they shat on masculinity like Clementine Ford using an old Zoo magazine as toilet paper.

“Who needs a man when I’ve got my 10s woooooooooo”. She promised she'd never abandon her girls again, and would de-cockify her life like Old McDonald wanting his sleep ins back. 

Well, that strong independent woman shit lasted about 4 hours, when she found herself looking lustfully into the first guy who paid her a half-compliment, “you remind me of a chick I fucked”. O Cunteo! Wherefore art thou Cunteo.

Almost immediately, she ditched her friends and danced with her slurring lothario until realising he was cut from the same jizz-cloth as her last loser boyfie, “let's go to a cubicle baby”. No dice cheesedick, nobody puts baby in the piss covered corner.

She continued to involve herself with her friends for at least a few weeks. That was until she realised she was as codependent as a joint Facebook account and jumped on Tinder.

Over the next month of her life, she cut through more scum than a bottle of Shower Power. Almost every guy she met claimed to be hot shit but disappeared as soon as she flushed the toilet of commitment.

Except for one. One turd that clung on and didn’t disappear into the murky sewerage of online dating. He’d shown he could stick around, and although not entirely pleasant, he was still there for her.

Her mates were less enthusiastic about the news, “he sounds a lot like the others Jassy”. So just like a Tour de France rider with a fresh batch of human growth hormone, so began the same familiar cycle.

The Human Zoo - The UWA Student

Jeremy went to Christ Church. Jeremy's dad went to Christ Church. Jeremy is enrolled in Law/Commerce at UWA. Jeremy's dad completed an LLB in Law/Commerce. So completes the circle of entitlement to trust funds and other such financial boons of Perth's elite. 

Jeremy studied hard during school. He knew that if he failed to achieve UWA educated lawyer status his parents would disown him. Unfortunately, he neglected to water the soul's desire for healthy social interaction, thus his personality was dry and withered. 

Jeremy quickly joins the UWA social scene. There are two rules that apply to UWA social events: firstly, you must come in fancy dress and secondly, you must adopt a try-hard American system of lingo. Call people "freshmen", play "beer pong" and berate those geekier than yourself for yaking their guts out. Fuck what all those kids at school said, YOU Are the "jock" now, and your chosen sport is "Tavology 101" LOL. You are such a bad-arse that you don't even care that you've got yak and piss all over your 1970's Disco Stu costume... your dad can afford the $50 dry cleaning charge. Bitches. 

"Can you believe people waste their time doing law at Murdork and Notre Dame LOL", Jeremy says to some sheltered Indian bird. "How can they afford to party like us on Youth Allowance HA!" Jeremy gets a roaring applause from a group of Big Bang Theory looking cunts sitting nearby. "Well said, Jez for Prez!" Ahh, yeh. Totally. "Jez" runs for president of the Blackstone Society, UWA's elite law students group. He plasters his election posts all over the University campus. "Vote for Jeremy, a scholar in the lecture room and a lad in the Tav LOL". 

"Jez" fails to win the election. His pussy-footed upbringing hasn't prepared him for the pains of disappointment. His eyes start welling up. The king of the UWA Tavern starts crying behind the library. As tears roll past his prominent Adam's apple his demeanor switches to nasty. "This isn't over, you will be hearing from my lawyer!"

It's like fucking law inception innit? A law student losing an election so he engages a lawyer who happens to be his procreator. Wonderful.

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.

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.

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. 

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.