Pink Flamingos kerfuffles Wollongong bogans.


I spent glorious yesterday at the beach, the water was warm, the sun was out, and I was bedecked in my patented cabana beach wear, which consists of black, black, black, and also my stunning pink flamingos shorts.

I had the utter misfortune to have to venture into Wollongong central, the worlds greatest failure of a shopping centre. As I was ascending the escalator a young couple were standing ahead of me. I followed their line of site, and they were looking at my much commented on, and beloved shorts.

She leaned into her boyfriend, and I heard her say, ‘Don’t laugh’.

DON’T LAUGH!!??, how dare you, you suburban little TART!!.

I gave her and her piss ant boyfriend, who looked like he’d been strained through a homeless persons threadbare sock, the slow once up and down. What I discovered on her were clothes that wouldn’t have totaled more than ten dollars in cost, as well as legs with spider web veins, and the most gut wrenchingly repugnant, flat, splayed feet in non Haviana thongs!.

The boyfriend was wearing cargo pants, BELOW THE KNEE!!. Before you get excited, no I didn’t throw them over the side of the escalator, I was actually rendered speechless that an urbane couple, bedecked in ‘Cotton On’, would dare give ME shade on fashion!!?? (I’m so Au currant with the lingo).

Don’t get above yourself Wollongong*, just because you have a pop up cafe in a shipping container does not elevate you above the fact, you’re still a grubby little city, in the shittiest state in Australia.

*Of course I don’t mean North Wollongong, which is only filled with stylish people of class, poise and decorum (as long as interlopers from Campbelltown keep going to city beach instead).

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