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.
A porking ticket ?
LikeLike
Bo(a)ring, pig-headed swine.
Such cheek.
Made a pig’s ear of it.
(No silk purse?)
LikeLike
Although a disturbing omen, it was delicious…
LikeLike
You ate it? I assume it would have been ravaged by South of the river perverts.
LikeLike
You are probably right,
but with the end of days fast approaching, i couldn’t afford to be picky!
;-)
LikeLike
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.
LikeLike
In LA it would be a Vegan’s head. http://www.vice.com/read/reasons-why-los-angeles-is-the-worst-place-ever
LikeLike
It wouldn’t surprise me to see an Urban Taco Fabricator here.
LikeLike
I could totes murder an Urban Taco right now.
LikeLike
In the north we would have put some boquet garni on the bonnet.
LikeLike
Tiny little tapas tacos.
LikeLike
In Freo we leave Magic Happens stickers on your rear window.
LikeLike
Or just smash it and take whatever is on the back seat.
LikeLike
Suddenly that pig’s head looks a lot better.
LikeLike
you’ve got a purty mouth
LikeLike
Pingback: It’s something gone mad | The Worst of Perth