Sunday Nights

Sunday nights are generally the pits, really. If you're a Dolly Parton like most of the working world then it's the night you face the reality that the next 5 days are going to be spent doing something that you don't really want to do, for less money than you think you deserve.

Unless you are Perthonalities like Richard Cleverley and I and you do this.

Welcome to the Lionfish IV, our home for the next 6 hours.
The night started with the aforementioned glamorous motherfucker Richard Cleverley and I drinking Grey Goose on my balcony overlooking the entire C.O.P. skyline. We were going to catch a train, but we knew that this night was special, and we didn't want to fucks with anything as menial as public transport, so we taxi-ed straight to Fremantle. When we got there, this guy was waiting for us.

These fags were trying to get on.

It's alright, Karl was all "You shall not pass."

Petro ate some pizza and looked really contemplatively Greek.

The snitch was there, we were gonna push him overboard but then we decided to let him live out his miserable life. Besides, there were hell lobbing guz to look at.

By this point the boat hadn't even left the dock.

Ahh, there we go.

That girl in the red splattered dress was crying by the end of the boat trip because I threw one of her shoes overboard.

Oh yeah, The Presets were DJ'ing. Well, the semi receding hairline half.

Bowser was chopping.

Richard and I had partaken in a lobster dinner each, so we wanted to see what would happen if we went in here.

What happened was we met the Captain. His highlight of the night was some drunk girl vomiting on herself and then taking all of her clothes off, so he could hose her off.

We thought his sign wasn't working very well, so we made him a new one.

Richard met his Dream Girl.

They were wearing His 'n' Hers versions of the same shoe.

An impromptu battle started.

Then it was time to dock. As everyone was gathering up their stuff and falling out onto the jetty and exclaiming and stuff, some girl was almost crying. It was the same girl we'd seen fall down the steps earlier on in the night, and she asked us if we'd seen her bag.
Richard: No, I haven't seen your bag. But it could be worse.
Close to tears Girl: How? How could it be worse?
Richard: I could have lost my bag.

Quote from this guy "Just because my girlfriend's preggerz with my kid doesn't mean she needs to know where the fuck I am all the time"

This is our insane taxi driver home. We were wondering why Waxe was being so quiet in the front seat while we were in the back making fun of his world music that suddenly went all drill and bass in the middle. Waxe told us when we got out that the taxi driver had been swerving all over the road, and looking at Waxe, then speeding up into red lights. We didn't notice at all.
Thanks Joshy! You totally deserve that clown car filled with sluts that pulled up to your house at 5am in the morning! The ones Cameron Stack wouldn't even touch!

The End.