me, shoveling vegemite toast and a glass of cold milo down my facehole: i’m not really like a stereotypical aussie aussie, yknow?
me, with a slice of fairy bread in each hand as i eye off the pavlova: it’s like, i’m pretty sure i’d know if i was, yknow? i dont think i’m all that ocker
me, as i sit out back with a coopers pale and the sounds of the neighbours kids kicking the footy around sounds in the distance: it’s not like i say “g’day” for real or anything… pretty sure i’ve never said it once seriously in my life, and- *sniffs the air* and some bloody bastard is having a barbie and didn’t invite us. rude.
me, struggling to cram an entire cherry ripe and two tim tams into my mouth at the same time: i mean if you offer me a holden or a VW i’m gonna pick… … i mean if i had to pick a hatch or a ute, i’d… shit.
Me
what does this say
