Walking home from work. The Tasman Bridge (over the Derwent
While I don't mind CONVERSATIONS, I can't help but feel that the inevitable disputes, arguments and (occasionally) scuffle ruin it for me. Don't get me wrong, I'm a decent bloke, but when I'm ropeable, when I'm spewin', I'm as cross as a frog in a sock. One cross word and I am as mad as a cut snake.
I like a yabber, but not with a galah. Fruit loops, dills and nongs normally get me to do me block. I give 'em a fair crack of the whip! If yer fair dinkum, you'll get a fair go. If you've got tickets on yourself, hooly-dooly, we'll have ourselves a blue on.
I won't have ya playing sillybuggers. Rat bags can pull ya heads in. You can rack off. But usually they sit there like a stunned mullet with a shut gob. Sometimes they'll have a whinge, sometimes they'll go walkabout. That's right, they'll spit the dummy and shoot through.
Usually, she'll be right. Unless they're a sandgroper or a seppo, of course. Big noters. You've got bucklys chance and by the time they've cooled off they'll be at the back of Bourke.