Two more from Jaidyn Jaxxon up country. A masterpiece of didgeridoo salesmanship in Widgiemooltha, – and is the didge not just a step down from the saxophone as a musical instrument, particularly for buskers? Show me saxophone and digereedoo buskers and I’ll show you two cunts. – and surprise surprise, there’s race wars in Wyalkatchem. I’m from the wheatbelt, and it still amazes me how west australian country people are such morons. Are all country people around the world idiots, or do we have world’s best practice here?
The Worst of Perth 
Little known fact – most didgeridoo players are former Eurotrash backpackers called Sven who spent two weeks in Fremantle during the 1990s. The are also under the mistaken belief the the Sail & Anchor is a sacred site.
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Another little known fact – Smiths Crisps rejected didgeridoo after-taste flavoured chips after focus group testing. The only people that enjoyed them were a group of Fremantle backpackers who were actually only after a free meal.
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Jaidyn Jaxxon, why are you spending so much time in Widgiemooltha? Is it a job, or some form of penance?
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I’d like to think he was a social worker. Or prozzie.
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One group is a sub-set of the other.
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A prozzie is a type of social worker too.
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It might be his community service.
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Bought a house and moved there. Widgie pop’n still <4.
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The only time a Lamborghini was seen in Wyalkatchem was before Sophia Ulgiati showed Troy Barbagallo how to program the GPS and he thought he was going to a party at the Russians place.
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Didn’t Wilson Tuckey have one? And crashed it?
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Where is Wyalkatchem? And why does it need an airport?
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See also The Hanging Gardens of Telfer.
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It has some famous sons.
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Yep. It went the way of his blog. As Howard’s former Chief of Staff, Grahame Morris put it, “When the PM talks about a broad church, Wilson has his own pew.”
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Speaking of race wars: http://au.news.yahoo.com/thewest/a/-/wa/16543465/police-chase-car-across-three-suburbs/ armed robber arrested in Coon Doola by Eog the german shepherd.
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Apologies, Ego. Although Eog sounds like an interesting dog name.
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[i][b]Tighten yer Wheatbelts[/i][/b]
Tighten yer wheatbelts ‘cause Racewars is here
But not if you’re Arab or Abbo or queer
For the only war here is man against self
He thinks as he stares at the noose on the shelf
Thinks of his daughter and then of his cock
Which he touches while dagging his dying livestock
Sometimes considers selling up to go urban
Where it’s twenty bucks less for a bottle of bourbon
Or so he’s been told by his mate up the road
The same one who reckons he saw a cane toad
Yet for men of the land there are issues more troubling
Their fields lying fallow as the handouts keeps doubling
Spreading like salt lakes their larrikin grins
Are reflected in shiny new R. M. Williams
He bought his today while in the big smoke
His pretext in Northam a tank of four-stroke
On the winding way back he cursed his V8
Which two weeks ago he crashed into a gate
Thought to fix it himself and no doubt he could
Or smash any cunt who mocks his manhood
At the Club he asserted that none but a man
Can take the back seat without giving a damn
But shakes himself now lest he start to unravel
Pulls up by the house and kicks up the gravel
Calls out down the hall but his wife will not answer
Looks into the room where his Pop died of cancer
He honours Pop’s hatred of Fords and Asians
And now just as his Pop did on many occasions
He ponders the shotgun behind the old desk
And the letter he’d write to his son at Muresk
Again shaking himself while doubting his head
Though he would anyway to the liquor he sped
Pours a shot for himself and a glass for his bride
Gets on the blower after watching Statewide
Cover band warned to play only Cold Chisel
As the missus chops onions for the Club sausage sizzle
He’ll screw her tonight after cleaning the kennel
Hoping she’s pissed up enough to do anal
Rolls off her right after and starts counting sheep
Her snoring suggesting she’s long been asleep
His pride is deflated but he’s too hard for sorrow
And drifts into dreams of the big day tomorrow
Amid petrol haze the eight-cylinders roar
Everywhere teenage girls dressed up like whores
Yet even their charms can’t compete with the thrum
Of a well-tuned Holden nor cola and rum
There were crashes ‘n’ burnouts ‘n’ plenty of thrills
And not least an appearance by Julian Grylls
Who went on for a bit ‘bout how Wyalkatchem’s beaut
While shaking the paw of best dog in ute
Hands out blank cheques so the town might continue
Then in Landcruiser leaves with his loyal retinue
The townsfolk adjourn to the Club to get pissed
O those noble agriculturalists
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“The same one who reckons he saw a cane toad” LOfucken L
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our new (improved) Rofl Harris!
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Magnificent.
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Superb.
Julian Grylls?
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Bear Grylls? I’ve conflated two of WA’s worst public figures, but meant Brendon. There’s an uncensored version which among other things details the debauch following Grylls’ departure. I tell you what, the 2013 Racewars Champ sure gets lots of action that night, maybe some Bundy & Discipline.
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John Kinsella aint got nothing on NatFan Number One
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Jesus wept!
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