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