The following true story contains a greater proportion of uncouth words than is normally tolerated here at matlarkin.com. In keeping with our federal government’s push for a return to traditional family values, therefore, these have been substituted with family-friendly equivalents and italicised for reference. We trust this will not affect the reading experience. Thank you for your time.

“...and she said, not unless you wash it first. Wait, Davo, is this the right tram?”

“What do I look like, Doctor sock-puppets Tram? Just get on and we’ll ask someone.”

“Here, check out this Little-League-lookin’ all-day-sucker. What’s with the sack full of notepads, Mum stays at home and does the cooking?”

“Um—”

“Who cares. Is this the right clean coal power tram?”

“Well, it depends what tram you—”

“Are you calling me stupid, you old episodes of Howdy Doody played late on Sundays after the Western?”

“—”

“Take it easy Troy, come sit down and help me roll these smokes.”

“Yeah, all right.”

“Doesn’t matter where we go now, ‘cause we can’t go back to the completely union-free factory, can we? Not after what you just did.”

“I just wanna go back there and punch another seven colours of delicious ice-cream out of that fat cake. He gives me The Wiggles.”

“Mate, he’s not skipping worth it. Personally I’d love to help you backyard cricket that relaxed and comfortable society’s Sunday lamb roast in. Naomi Robson knows I’ve thought of homemade lemonading his amusing balloon animals in a vice and going on a lovely picnic including pony rides and a jumping castle all afternoon with a shifting spanner.”

“Too puppy-cuddling right.”

“But it’s just not worth going back to prison for.”

“Yeah, you’re right, lemon butter it all. But I reckon I could murder the next sensible woolly cardigan I see move. Just even move. The very next cardigan.”

“Mate, I’ll help you out.”

“—”

“Yeah.”

“Give us one of those cigarettes, would you?”

“—”

“Here you go.”

“—”

“Got a light?”

“—”

“Hey, why do you reckon that Alan Jones with the sack is holding his breath?”

“Hang on a sec, I’ll ask him. Oi, nuclear power is safe no matter what anyone says, why are you—look at that, he’s run off the tram.”

“Left behind his sack and all.”

“What a decade the fifties was.”