"Oi, oi, check out the personalised plates I got 'er."
And they all looked- '1STCAR'
"One shit car?" They said.
"Nah, mate. First car, it's her first car, oright? Cheezus. You blokes... Shit, you think she'll think it means one shit- Ah, you blokes. Shut your holes 'fore I rip you a fresh one."
And Dog probably could. He was a pretty big unit on account of the hours per week he'd spent tending to his physique for the past few years. Luckily, for his mates, Dog wasn't feeling too violent today- he was just excited. Really, really excited.
Last week was Solid Item Disposal day in the small municipality of RooChat and Dog had gone rummaging for second hand used goods. This was the one week of the year that the people of the neighbourhood were allowed to leave anything- no matter how big, old, dirty, and bulky- out for garbage collection and disposal. Which meant it was the one week of the year when it was worth raiding wheely bins and driving around in the chilly air in the back of a trailor. You never knew what people could be discarding.
This year on Solid Item Disposal day, Dog had gathered a fine collection of goods. He'd nabbed a large, rolled up piece of carpeting for his carport, some new old Nike Pumps (which definitely had at least 6 months more wear in the sole,) and a new king-sized bed head and base (his mattress was a queen but he had figured this ambitious frame left room for a future upgrade.)
Well, the future didn't have to wait long. Today, after he presented Shirley with her first car, Dog was going to pick up his new Sleep Number king sized mattress.
"Choice!" He had exclaimed when he saw the rolled up carpeting. "That's what I need for my carport- bit of cushion for my V8 and a bit of in-shur-la-tion for me when I'm working in my workshop. Yeah... Choice." And he rapped two times on the back of the slowly rolling ute which told Ham there was something worth stopping for here. Together, Ham and Dog had loaded the heavy roll of navy blue shagpile into the trailor and set off on their merry way.
Later, when Dog unrolled the thick blue stuff in his carport he was spitting chips.
"I'm spittin' chips!" He said on the phone to Ham. "Them bloody, cheating pricks! Leavin' out sumfink so feral! I oughta go kick their door in and give them a piece of my mind I oughta!" And Dog was so angry, so very angry that he threw down his phone and started swinging his huge fists into the grey cinder block walls of his carport. He threw tools around his workshop area and even kicked at his timber plank stocks. Luckily, Dog lived in a neighbourhood with a very conscientious Neighbourhood Watch scheme and so it wasn't long before someone called in a report of a domestic disturbance and it wasn't much longer than that before the coppers arrived.
"Hey, mate," A tall policeman said, climbing off his bicycle. "What seems to be the problem?"
"You tell me, mate!" Dog, blood bulging through the huge vein that pumped in his shiny forehead pointed, furiously, at his new carpeting. "You tell me what seems to be the effing problem here!"
And the copper whistled as he surveyed the shagpile. For it was a sight to whistle at.
The holey, mouldy, mushroom infested, stinking square of navy blue looked like a petri dish experiment of deliberately created filth. It was, quite actively, disgusting.
Then the copper's partner walked in. A girl. A youngish girl with brown, curly hair pulled back into her copper cap. "Jesus, Stew'" She breathed in wonderment. "Does this guy know what he's got here? Jesus..." And she looked up at Dog where he stood rubbing his raw knuckles angrily. "You're a lucky bloke, you are," She breathed.
"You being funny are ya?"
"No!" She wrinkled her nose up at him. "This," She pointed reverently at the carpeting. "This is an infestation of rare black truffles! Don't you know? I thought they needed a tree... They're worth- phwoar, they're worth, like $6000 a kilo! Saw 'em on Master Chef last week. Jesus mate, you've got yourself some sort of fungi mine right here. Looks like they're lovin' that shagpile, hey? That's a lot of kilo's I'd say..."
Later, when the copper's had officially issued their warning and left, Dog made some calls. In the morning the master chef's entourage flew in. Three of them, from the swankiest restaurants in Australia, armed with little red and blue eski's, on a mission for their master's. One came from Perth, one from Melbourne and one from Sydney harbour. They left Dog with wads of cash and just enough bacteria for a fresh batch of fungi in one years time, if he was very lucky.
Ham was waiting outside with Shirley when Dog pulled up in the new second hand VW mini featuring personalised plates. He tooted the horn gently to announce his arrival then hopped out and grabbed his god daughter from his best mate's arms. "See that Shirl?" He pointed so her little baby eyes might see. "That right there's gonna be your first car! I'll teach you to drive it when you're all growed up."
And they all looked- '1STCAR'
"One shit car?" They said.
"Nah, mate. First car, it's her first car, oright? Cheezus. You blokes... Shit, you think she'll think it means one shit- Ah, you blokes. Shut your holes 'fore I rip you a fresh one."
And Dog probably could. He was a pretty big unit on account of the hours per week he'd spent tending to his physique for the past few years. Luckily, for his mates, Dog wasn't feeling too violent today- he was just excited. Really, really excited.
Last week was Solid Item Disposal day in the small municipality of RooChat and Dog had gone rummaging for second hand used goods. This was the one week of the year that the people of the neighbourhood were allowed to leave anything- no matter how big, old, dirty, and bulky- out for garbage collection and disposal. Which meant it was the one week of the year when it was worth raiding wheely bins and driving around in the chilly air in the back of a trailor. You never knew what people could be discarding.
This year on Solid Item Disposal day, Dog had gathered a fine collection of goods. He'd nabbed a large, rolled up piece of carpeting for his carport, some new old Nike Pumps (which definitely had at least 6 months more wear in the sole,) and a new king-sized bed head and base (his mattress was a queen but he had figured this ambitious frame left room for a future upgrade.)
Well, the future didn't have to wait long. Today, after he presented Shirley with her first car, Dog was going to pick up his new Sleep Number king sized mattress.
"Choice!" He had exclaimed when he saw the rolled up carpeting. "That's what I need for my carport- bit of cushion for my V8 and a bit of in-shur-la-tion for me when I'm working in my workshop. Yeah... Choice." And he rapped two times on the back of the slowly rolling ute which told Ham there was something worth stopping for here. Together, Ham and Dog had loaded the heavy roll of navy blue shagpile into the trailor and set off on their merry way.
Later, when Dog unrolled the thick blue stuff in his carport he was spitting chips.
"I'm spittin' chips!" He said on the phone to Ham. "Them bloody, cheating pricks! Leavin' out sumfink so feral! I oughta go kick their door in and give them a piece of my mind I oughta!" And Dog was so angry, so very angry that he threw down his phone and started swinging his huge fists into the grey cinder block walls of his carport. He threw tools around his workshop area and even kicked at his timber plank stocks. Luckily, Dog lived in a neighbourhood with a very conscientious Neighbourhood Watch scheme and so it wasn't long before someone called in a report of a domestic disturbance and it wasn't much longer than that before the coppers arrived.
"Hey, mate," A tall policeman said, climbing off his bicycle. "What seems to be the problem?"
"You tell me, mate!" Dog, blood bulging through the huge vein that pumped in his shiny forehead pointed, furiously, at his new carpeting. "You tell me what seems to be the effing problem here!"
And the copper whistled as he surveyed the shagpile. For it was a sight to whistle at.
The holey, mouldy, mushroom infested, stinking square of navy blue looked like a petri dish experiment of deliberately created filth. It was, quite actively, disgusting.
Then the copper's partner walked in. A girl. A youngish girl with brown, curly hair pulled back into her copper cap. "Jesus, Stew'" She breathed in wonderment. "Does this guy know what he's got here? Jesus..." And she looked up at Dog where he stood rubbing his raw knuckles angrily. "You're a lucky bloke, you are," She breathed.
"You being funny are ya?"
"No!" She wrinkled her nose up at him. "This," She pointed reverently at the carpeting. "This is an infestation of rare black truffles! Don't you know? I thought they needed a tree... They're worth- phwoar, they're worth, like $6000 a kilo! Saw 'em on Master Chef last week. Jesus mate, you've got yourself some sort of fungi mine right here. Looks like they're lovin' that shagpile, hey? That's a lot of kilo's I'd say..."
Later, when the copper's had officially issued their warning and left, Dog made some calls. In the morning the master chef's entourage flew in. Three of them, from the swankiest restaurants in Australia, armed with little red and blue eski's, on a mission for their master's. One came from Perth, one from Melbourne and one from Sydney harbour. They left Dog with wads of cash and just enough bacteria for a fresh batch of fungi in one years time, if he was very lucky.
Ham was waiting outside with Shirley when Dog pulled up in the new second hand VW mini featuring personalised plates. He tooted the horn gently to announce his arrival then hopped out and grabbed his god daughter from his best mate's arms. "See that Shirl?" He pointed so her little baby eyes might see. "That right there's gonna be your first car! I'll teach you to drive it when you're all growed up."
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