The Human Zoo - The Dunsborough Toolie



Damo graduated from Lynwood High in 2003 and had the time of his life on his Leavers break down in Dunsborough. He sets out to recreate the magic of Leavers ‘03 every year. He can basically smell the Leavers period in the air each year and is ensures his Holden Sandman is backed to the brim with Fruity Lexia cask wine, UDLs and a surfboard that can be classed as “ornamental” at best. Damo has always believed in the Scarborough philosophy, that surfing is 90% appearance and 10% participation. If anyone doubts Damo’s surfing ability they can take it up with his Koi fish tattoo.

Although Leavers officially starts on Saturday, Damo is already down in Dunsborough on Thursday night. He is staying with a couple of other bleached-hair desperados in the Dunsborough Caravan Park. They are all aged 29+ and have never missed a Leavers. They sit around sipping on warm UDLs while they brag about the future sex they are going to be having with 18 year olds in their respective tents. “They will be gagging for an experienced man who can hold his piss”. A bold statement, given that it has proved incorrect for the last 11 years. Damo’s extensive history of epic-droughts can be pinpointed to one key personality trait: he is creepier than Kevin Spacey handing out Zooper Doopers at a kid's party.

The group grow tired of each others sexual bravado and bullshit future-sex stories. They decide to go and make pests of themselves down at the Three Bears in the township. Damo rocks up in his official kit: blue wife-beater, Volcom boardies, Reef sandals and his dreadlocks flowing freely. Several groups of Leavers have come down early and are sitting around drinking and planning their holiday of a lifetime. Damo handles the situation like he was in prison: take out the strongest male in a show of unbridled alphaness.

He challenges two good looking ex-Wesley kids to a game of pool. “Sorry mate, we don’t want a copy of the Big Issue”, one of the Wesley kids says to the chorus of roaring laughter from a group of Leaver-girls. Damo takes a breath, “you won't be laughing when I’m sexing your ladies”. Sexing? Gross Damo.

Damo doesn’t even sink one ball. However, this was all part of his master plan. “Guess i’ll be having to drop me dacks ay”. Damo does just that. His sight and smell of his uncircumcised wanger burns a dick-cheese shaped hole in the retinas of all the Leavers standing around the pool table. A couple of bouncers are quick to escort Damo out.

“That's what a real man's dick looks like girls!” In reality, it looks like Clive Waterhouse sitting on the Docker’s bench: dormant with an intense look of longing for even the slightest moist dip of respect.

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The Human Zoo - Ms Perth Boat Hoe


In the Perth summer, children of boat owners rule like majestic kings over their aquatically challenged peasantry.

One such peasant is Cherie, an aspiring social influencer who needs a few luxury bikini shots to get one step closer to the sweet embrace of skinny tea ambassadorship.

Desperate to get on a boat this weekend she FB messages the unfriendly neighbourhood millionaire’s son. A kid who poltergeist-crawled out of his mother’s gin infused womb only to be mistaken for the placenta.

She knows that to access this reptiles floating terrarium she must sink as low as her current Instagram follower count. “OMG that video of you throwing a Macca’s coke on that hobo was so funny  x”

He replies with a shirtless gym selfie and the sunnies emoji aka the official emoji of the guy who sprays cologne on his cock and is always a few years deep into your photo gallery. “Keen for a little water party this w/e babe?”
As dozens of boat hoes roll in, the East Freo Yacht club starts resembling a stripper-ridden Barrack St Jetty before a yew-tacular buck’s cruise. Cherie ignores the other wannabes as she fixes her makeup and protects the $400 haircut she copped just for the occasion.

As they set sail for Rotto, she begins her photoshoot. To be original, she does what every other girl on the boat is doing and poses with a Champagne bottle and a captain’s hat. Nailed it.

Alas, her Titanic-ambitions hit a massive cunt-berg when the millionaire's son decides to bond with Cherie over the very anecdote that brought them together. As she carefully positions her selfie stick, he unloads a mighty bucket of water all over her. “Pranked ya bro!”

Her makeup and hair are fucked as she drowns in a puddle of her own vanity. Of the 430 photos she took already, not one is good enough. Her entire day has been ruined.

Needless to say, she gives the millionaire's son the angriest wristy of his life. Afterall, it’s a long summer, and she has a hole in her ego that only his big, throbbing boat can fill.

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The Human Zoo - Mr South Fremantle




Kyle used to Vespa around Mount Lawley putting more pingas on the shelf than Shane Warne working Coles’ nightfill.

That was until he picked up a copy of Men’s Health before a flight to Melbourne to take a barista course. What he read shocked him. Apparently, gluten is a shitcunt.

He stared at his ham & cheese sanga and the plane filled with the tension of an Indian taxi driver asking a shirtless patriot to pay up front on ‘Straya Day. He could no longer tolerate it. In fact his whole life had to change.

He grew his hair out, discontinued beard maintenance and dressed like an eat, love, pray-cunt that had a spiritual awakening after a 3 day Ubud yoga retreat. Most importantly, he took up residence in South Fremantle.

Gluten intolerance was merely a gateway drug to harder dietary addictions. Lactose was next on his list and much like an internet atheist with a Lynx addiction, he will only add the “milk” of things that have never been near an actual titty.

He hops on his fixie and rides down to the South Freo Sunset markets to mingle with the barefooted flock of organic trending sheep.

While harvesting some kale, he overhears an argument about the controversial Roe 8 project being lead by an impassioned hippie that would rather be bound to an old growth tree than the horrors of an employment contract.

Well, so it happens, Kyle has read a few paragraphs of a Newscorp article himself. Like a true poser, he enters the argument with the intensity of blue balled Shannon Noll refusing to pay for his lap dance because Guy Sebastian’s “Angels Brought Me Here” started playing just before he had a chance to turn his jeans into a milk spill at the local corner shop.

Not posing you say? Well, not only did he kinda read that Newscorp article but he also hashtagged the shit out of the issue on a Freo Facebook group. Who needs political movers & shakers when you have advocates like Kyle ay?

Next stop, Percy Flint to sit out the front with his Macbook and work on his organic food blog. While typing about various grains he notices how trendalicious the #vegetarian hashtag is. Clearly he isn’t going hard enough. Is he even South Freo at all?

So he looks over at an a guy devouring some pork belly and cringes, “you omnivores make me sick, do you think that pig wanted to die mahn?”

If only #dontbeafuckedcunt started trending.

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