My booty has the composition of two McChickens.
fillet o’ feathers
Billy on the Street: Would You Have Sex with Paul Rudd
Note to self: be Paul Rudd.
Second note to self: have dollar.
I was told that I did not learn respect at school. I learned one thing: I learned about self-respect and self-regard for Australia — not about some cultural cringe to a country which decided not to defend the Malayan peninsula, not to worry about Singapore and not to give us our troops back to keep ourselves free from Japanese domination. This was the country that you people wedded yourself to, and even as it walked out on you and joined the Common Market, you were still looking for your MBEs and your knighthoods, and all the rest of the regalia that comes with it. You would take Australia right back down the time tunnel to the cultural cringe where you have always come from.
My older brother’s friend I grew up with, who was stationed in Hawaii, I think, for the navy and now lives in Perth or some shit, making his mark on this Earth by jacking as many cultures as he can. Here he’s showcasing his sick Western Force rugby apparel, including the hot Mickey D’s shorts. I don’t know who he’s trying to look cool for or why he’s trying so hard, but I hope it works out.
Motherfucking bandwagoners. The Force have enough fair-weather fans, we don’t need no mo.
You can’t be a bandwagon fan when you #BELONG