When Clive isn’t peacocking around a wet mess telling everyone about his latest fiscally irresponsible expenditure he’s back home and living it up in the City of Belmont.
Clive loves Belmont. Where else can you be close to the city, close to the river and even closer to having to make a police report each day?
It’s day one of his week off, so he jumps in his flogged out Triton and suburban swerves his way to the bottlo. He arrives at 8:55 am on the dot and has a quick session of pocket billiards to a video he took on his last visit to the red light district in Thailand.
Finally, the doors open and Clive storms towards the pre-mix section. He weighs up his options: Jim Beam Black for $19.99, Woodstock 6% for $22 or Jack & Coke Doubles for $24. Money is no object when it comes to his first 4pack of the day.
He selects the connoisseurs choice: Double Strength Jacks. As he goes to pay he reads a sign on the counter, politely asking customers to use contactless payment. He feels this is time for one of his famous anecdotes,
“Yeah, nah, cash is legal tender, it’s against the federal law not to accept it ay, plus I got shitloads in me wallet cos the skimpies are closed ha ha”
Now there are potentially COVID-infected notes and then there are the notes that Clive is trying to pay with, “Sorry mate, is that blood?” Clive examines the note, “where in the federal laws of this nation does it say a note can’t have stains, it’s LEGAL TENDER“. Naturally, the shop attendant doesn’t get paid enough to deal with this shit.
Clive’s patience is wearing thin. It’s now 9:01 and he’d push his own grandma down some stairs to get that first taste of black delicious. Without further ado, Clive cracks a can while the shop attendant wipes down his note with disinfectant, “don’t have all day, mate”. That’s exactly what you have, Clive.
The 6.9% can has probably already rendered Clive over the legal limit to drive. Is he concerned? No. 0.05% is a mythical number to one who lives his life one 4pack at a time. He takes a detour through the Maccas drive-through and sorts himself out with a couple of Sausage & Egg McMuffins.
Clive says neither please nor thankyou at any stage of his order and smashes a second can on his way home. En route to his man-cave, he spots some unguarded timber outside a home being renovated around the corner.
Be rude not too, he thinks as he gets out and loads up his tray with as much free building supplies as he can. Those pricks are probably insured, he reckons as he speeds away from prying eyes. This has been a sensational morning for Clive.
He gets home and cracks his 3rd can while unpacking his clothes from his swing. Red dirt, sweat and soiled undies lie in a disgusting heap on his laundry floor. He makes a promise to himself that he’ll get around to washing them this time. He doesn’t want a repeat of last fly-in day.
It’s only 10 am and Clive is already down to his fourth can. Clive knows the 4th can is no trifling matter: once it’s gone there is no turning back. He either has to commit to another 4pack or eat an entire packet of chicken nuggets and eat himself out of contention.
Who is he kidding? He applies the Old el Paso bandaid to his problem and decides he can do both. He jumps in the Triton and heads down to Belmont Forum to stock up on the essentials – ovenables, tins and lotto tickets.
Between his car and the entry to the Forum he manages to stare down 3 ethnics, creep out a teen and artfully evade the attention of a security guard who still has it out for him after he swung hooks in the Forum after the McGregor v Mayweather fight in 2017.
Just another day in Belmont.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?