Twas a fine summer day in Australia. The man known as 'Queeri' to those closest to him (postmen, garbage collectors) arose from his cot (the wife left long ago, taking all the furniture), performed his morning ablutions, put on a fresh paper mask, and mounted his scooter.
Dodging beer cans thrown by his neighbors (a ritual he barely even noticed anymore) he arrived at the beach, spindly legs shaking with the effort of balancing on the ancient scooter. Spotting a group of young women, he puffed out his chest, and greeted them with a hearty 'G'DAY, SHEILAS!' The women, now alarmed, quickened their pace, veering from the parking lot to the lifeguard stand.
'OI! MISTAH LOIFGAAAHD! DIS CHEEKY FAKKA TRYIN IT ON WIF US, AYE??'
The lifeguard, a Maori with multiple felonies under his belt (child rape, mostly) made a beeline to Queeri, who had just settled into the warm sand with a bottle of Zima and a magazine (Maskers Monthly).
'OI, YOU FAKKIN KUNT! GIT DA FUCK OFFA DA BEACH, AYYYYYEEEEE?????' Queeri immediately lost all control of his bowels, and the familiar wave of shame washed over him. Sobbing loudly, he abandoned his belongings, scurrying to the scooter and making his retreat. Tears blinding him, somehow he made it back to his (grandmother's) house, flung himself on his cot, and went online to seek solace from his friends. "FAGGOT' said one, 'WEIRD OLD HOMO' said another. The verbal abuse calmed him, and he was once more in his element.
