Sleeping with the pigs.

Martin is a Northbridge man, and like all of us north of the river sophisticates, seldom ventures south. Unfortunately circumstances dictated a clandestine trip across the Swan on the weekend. No problem right? Who would notice? Just going to the Windsor Hotel. Surely the banjos and anal raping doesn’t start until Labouchere Rd. Como?

But on leaving the Windsor, Martin found the traditional warning of a pig’s head on the bonnet. A nibbled cooked pig’s head. (Basically for the uninitiated, the southern rurotards were making the point that if Martin crosses the Narrows again, it will be his honey glazed ringhole that will be chewed on.) Never again, says Martin. Never again.pig

About The Lazy Aussie

Commended Haiku writer. A lover of The West's Worst. Perth stand-up comedian, photographer and writer.
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16 Responses to Sleeping with the pigs.

  1. rong1 says:

    A porking ticket ?

    Like this

  2. Rolly says:

    Bo(a)ring, pig-headed swine.
    Such cheek.
    Made a pig’s ear of it.
    (No silk purse?)

    Like this

  3. Martin says:

    Although a disturbing omen, it was delicious…

    Like this

  4. GAFC says:

    You don’t understand! That’s the southie way of saying hello and thanks for visiting, it’s like a cat leaving a little present of mouse organs on your doortep.

    Like this

  5. orbea says:

    you’ve got a purty mouth

    Like this

  6. Pingback: It’s something gone mad | The Worst of Perth

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