Move over blue/green algae outbreaks, Brett is the grossest thing floating on top of the Swan River.
Today, Brett’s celebrating his buck’s party and has been preparing for the day by embarking on a 24-hour bender that would make the rainbow road look straight.
Needless to say, when Brett arrives at the jetty he doesn’t exactly have his sea legs on. Not to worry, the pack of mid-morning-booze-baboons with him aren’t exactly winning any poise championships themselves.
The best man unveils the buck’s shirt – a photo of Brett with prison bars superimposed over him which will be worn under the obligatory Hawaiian shirts. After all, nothing says you’re going to release some bush chook flavoured burley into the river like a Hawaiian shirt.
The captain and first mate do their best to explain the safety rules to the group but soon realise the futility of the exercise. By this stage, the noises emitting from the group can be compared to something NASA may intersect in deep space crossed with a TAB after a big win on the dogs.
Needless to say, these noises don’t get any more coherent after each punter’s tag team trip to the toilet – and it certainly doesn’t get any easier on the ears when the entertainment arrives.
It’s 1130am and Brett is chewing his face off like it was an overcooked piece of minute steak gristle. He leans over to his best man and expresses himself the only way he knows how, “boats and tits man, dayyyyforittttttt”.
The atmosphere is fairly jovial until one of Brett’s mates charges the wave of inebriation and drops in on everyone by commandeering the portable speaker and changing the song every 15 seconds due to his goldfish fried brain being unable to pay attention for any greater period.
The group’s official alpha male, Johnno manages to put out the spot fire of aggression brewing and gets the booze cruise back on track. Sailing somewhat harmoniously to the tunes of some god-awful Ibizia mix they settled on.
Alas, tensions flare up again when the group passes a competing buck’s booze cruise. Brett draws first blood by flashing his peen at the passing boat and inviting them to come crabbing in his pubey shallows.
It’s an unimpressive display, to say the least, and in his eagerness to get a good vantage point to flash his pork compass he takes a tumble into the jellyfish soup beneath him.
It isn’t a total disaster, Johnno had been looking for an opportunity to whip his shirt off all day but is told to stay on the fkn boat or they’ll turn it back around.
Sure the shrivelled cockle attached to Brett’s hull was shameful but he emerged from the river looking and smelling like a South of the river champion. All it takes is one look at the toppo to snap him out of his daze, “TITS!!!”, he proclaims as he’s back in the game baby.
By the ¾ mark, the captain can’t take it anymore and cuts the cruise short. Luckily for the staff, not one member of this party is in any state to grasp the nuances of time & space right now.
As they pull into the jetty they see the rival buck’s boat rock up too. It appears that the captain also couldn’t handle the gents who appeared to be playing a fun game of seeing who can withstand the hardest slap to the face.
Releasing both rabbles into the wild at the same time was probably a poor decision in retrospect. Although, it wouldn’t be booze cruise season without a little jetty brawl to help manage expectations for the rest of the summer.
God help whoever gets the 3rd leg of Brett’s bucks.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?