Dodgy tash, scratty mullet, tinnie permanently welded to one hand. Three sheets to the wind by lunchtime and scrapping over ropey sheila's.... Usually spotted wearing shorts so tight they look spray-painted on, a faded singlet from a long-forgotten B&S Ball, and travelling in packs of similarly equipped specimens.... Vocabulary consists largely of "farkin-ek" and "farkin-cnt" which, while charming in its own way, lacks the sophistication and cultural refinement of a properly delivered "fukin-ell" and "fukin-<deleted>"... Truth be told, I encountered a mini-colony of them on holiday a few years ago. I'd ended up on crutches with more luggage than a family of circus performers. The wife was worried about how she'd manage it all herself, seeing as I was about as useful as a horny aussie fightin' over a prized ewe... "Don't worry," I told her. "One of those mulleted, moustachioed ambassadors of Australian culture will put down his VB long enough to lend a hand"... Sure enough, within minutes one wandered over. Then another. Before I knew it, our luggage operation had become a community project. .... And, despite appearances, they were absolute gentlemen. Polite, friendly, helpful, salt-of-the-earth blokes. One even dropped an F-bomb in front of my young son, immediately stopped mid-sentence, apologised to him personally... before walking off and saying "y'know what, those Brit cants where alright"... Which just goes to show: never judge a book by its mullet. Beneath every suspicious moustache and singlet lurks a decent bloke who's only three VB's away from helping a complete stranger move a suitcase.
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