In two weeks Anfernee will be walking Kaylah down the sandy aisle of Kuta Beach. While Kaylah yearns for the majesty of her shoeless ceremony, Anfernee is more excited for his bucks night.
It will be a lynx-scented last hurrah that will see the end to his bourbon-swerving lifestyle and prepare him for life with the ol ball & chain. As such, he’s going to get as cooked as a servo sausage roll still on the rack at 3 am.
As the buck, Anfernee squeezes into a second-hand dress, throws on a wig and proudly prances around dressed like J K Rowling’s living nightmare.
His mates dress in the finest bogan-black tie has to offer: ill-fitting pinstriped suits, tacky silver jewellery and the ever-present Volcom skate belt. The icing on the shit-cake has to be Macka, who has atrociously paired his “suspended sentence suit” with a pair of Air Max sneakers and a Monster snapback.
Anfernee’s party is held in his backyard and the motley crew sip on the finest bogan refreshments: Coronas, Crownies and cans of Jacks all served in custom made Anf’s Buck’s stubby holders. Plates of mini sausage rolls circulate the nicotine’d ecosystem while loud men amuse each other with gusto-ridden demonstrations of UFC prowess.
Within mere hours, Anfernee is staggering around like a brickie at the end of happy hour. He throws his arm around the unsettlingly sweaty shoulder of his best man and grunts out sweet man-nothings. The love is building up faster than the slag in the corner of his Cheezel stained mouth.
Suddenly, Raylon becomes concerned with the drunken state of the buck. Raylon has been playing pocket billiards all night to the thought of Anfernee eating a ripe banana out of a ripper’s cave of delights.
To ensure Anfernee’s sensual munch will forever be etched into his wankbank, Raylon pulls Anfernee into the laundry room and passes him a charred yewww-pipe, “go on, have a honk son”. Anfernee fills his lungs with smoke and charges out of the laundry re-born from the meth-womb.
10 pm rolls around and it’s time for the entertainment. The lads cheer and jeer like a trophy hunter at the end of Bambi. Raylon outdoes everyone in the field of creepy fuckery. He stands as close as he can and records the show while breathing heavy.
He struggles to contain his excitement when Anfernee takes a knee and bites the banana like a toey ape, “YEWWWWW, farrrrk yeh, YEWWWW”. Anfernee arises and tries to avoid eye contact with Raylon as he attempts to rid his goatee of poon-nana.
The night rages on to the sounds of lighters sparking and bottle caps flicking. By 2am, Anfernee is in a right state. He is crawling around the backyard in a desperate search, “aww guys I lost me pinga ay”.
His dress is ripped and his satin boxers add no dignity to the scene of utter piggery. Oblivious to the arrival of the police, he jumps up triumphant, “fuck yeh found me drugs ay!”
Aw shit.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?