Maaate... Suck My Dick

It was a bright sunny morning this morning. A pulled-back blond-haired, gold sunglasses wearing, pointy-face chick driving a grey 335 BMW convertible hurled herself around the [name of my street]/Gertrude Street corner, accelerating quickly towards Victoria Parade, so hard that all of her engine values opened up, like I am sure her snatch did against the leather seats. She quickly caught the small Hyundai hatchback that had been in front of me at Gertrude Street, that had just managed to slip across Gertrude before blonde-fantastic took over the road. I caught up behind her when it took a while for the black hatchback to get around the corner.

She turned right somewhere and I left her behind.


As we crossed over Hoddle Street, all the morons were sticking to the right hand lane. Idiots. There are two lanes, you dicks. Sometimes it has its advantages, if all the lobotomised humans stick to the right lane, I could pull into to the left lane from behind the black Touareg and slip passed just about everyone on the road, even passed a big truck that couldn’t decide what lane it wanted to be in. I’m assuming, it was moving from the right lane to the left lane, but really, such lazy driving. I slipped passed it, no problem. The red Prelude finally decided it wanted to be in the right lane and not the left lane, so it took off after the other dopes, which then left the right hand lane relatively free.


I heard the diesel engine of the truck rev and could hear it engage first gear and pull up next to me. The cute wog boy in the hi-viz vest and beanie looked down from the open passenger window that seemed a whole story above me.


“Hey maate, didn’t you see the truck here?” He was trying to be really smart and threatening at the same time. That kind of cool threatening serial killer kind of tone.

“I’m sorry.” Oh spare me, you halfwit.

“Maate… have you ever heard of giving way to trucks?”

“Mate, have you ever heard of the left lane,” I pointed to my car, “and the right lane," I pointed at his truck. "Why don’t you try picking one.”

“Maate, how would you like me to make your car a convertible.”

“Mate, I can’t hear you?” I was considering saying I couldn’t hear him to everything he said.

“How would you like me to make your car a convertible?”

I shook my head and raised my eyebrows. “That would be great, maaate.” I wondered if the crow call mimic of his expression was too much. “I’d love a convertible.” But I am not sure if the big lug really got it. The traffic began to move and I zipped off the mark, while dick head and his boof head buddies shuddered to life in their 2 toner.


I glanced in my rear vision mirror to see the three idiots, three across in the cabin in Hi-viz vests in the Hino Truck. They looked like the old “not so squeezy” add. I bet they were enjoying each other’s pressure on each other’s thighs. The big closests.


The traffic in front of me in Victoria Street on the other side of Church Street intersection was banked back to the intersection so I stopped with Larry, Curly and Moe still right behind me. I stopped at the white line the next car to go. I waited to the last minute until the Church Street lights changed to orange, despite the traffic moving forward some what, and then I accelerated across the intersection leaving the big lumps to rub their thighs together (One in three, they say, so one of them potentially had half a mongrel) as I left them behind at the now red lights.

Suck my dick, mate, I thought.