Bogans are fascinating creatures. Sort of like a throwback to an earlier incarnation of humanity, one completely lacking in self-awareness and emotional maturity. Unfortunately we are surrounded by them in Straya, and especially in Westralia, where, secluded in both physical (geographical) and intellectual isolation, they tend to breed like rabbits and spread their fear and loathing amidst their copious young, and in their narrowly defined social groups.

Indeed, as some critics have previously noted (see Things Bogans Like) bogans fail to see the irony in their FOWF opinion that Australia is too full to take any more foreigners, yet they don’t mind rampantly filling the country with the seed of their own loins. Given that most bogans are too selfish and immature to ever become responsible parents, you think they would spare us the next generation of Jaxxxons and Chardonays clogging up our courts and Centrelink offices. I’m also perplexed by the irony of the bogan concept that Australia is too full to take in any more refugees, specifically brown ones. It’s an interesting contrast that when the country was only populated by indigenes it was somehow ‘empty’, but now there are 20 odd million whiteys clinging to the coastlines around the vast empty interior it is magically ‘full.’

As an aside, here in the glorious nation of Westralia, we recently celebrated Book Week. That is, a week where we celebrate and encourage our offspring to develop a love of literature, by encouraging them to dress up as their favourite literary character. So what did several bogans dress their kids up as – footy players. One in particular made the news for dressing their kid up in blackface to portray a black footy player. Mmm both racist and illiterate. Well done. I was more offended by the literary insult than the complete ignorance of the history of blackface, and why it is insensitive for white people to do it. Never mind that, hey bogans, its fucking BOOK week, not footy week.

Which makes me think, the Westralian mining boom must have been some sort of personal Nirvana for bogans – getting paid a shitload of money for doing unskilled menial tasks while being allowed to hoon around with huge powerful machinery. All topped off with regular FIFO leave and plenty of cash to spend on McMansions, V8 utes, 4Wheel drives, giant flat screen televisions, jet skis, tatts, drugs, booze and whores.

But sadly, the end of the mining boom has witnessed vast numbers of otherwise unemployable bogans released back into normal civilisation. What are we going to do with all these bogans? Other than race riots and letting them loose in Aldi, I’ve put together a (very very short) list of jobs bogans should never be allowed to do.

1 Driving instructor – You’d be learning in a V8 ute for starters.

‘Roight. The lights just turned orange. Fucken gun it!!”

‘But it’s seventy metres away.’

‘Ya failed, ya c*nt!’

 

‘Roight, merging. What is the rule?’

‘errrr… give way to the vehicle in front?’

‘I’ll fucken glass yew, c*nt! Even if the other c*nt is a hundred metres in front of ya, it’s a fucken death blow to your masculinity if that poofdah gets there first, so fucken gun it!!!”

‘But that’s not only dangerous and emotionally immature, it’s also illegal.’

‘Ya failed, ya c*nt!’

 

‘Roight, that c*nt in the pissy Volvo just cut ya off. How do you respond?’

‘I give him a toot on my horn and let it go.’

(Mimics poofy voice) ‘I give him a toot on my horn…NO! Fucken tailgate the prick and push him off the road. Then jump out of the car and smash the c*nt. If he refuses to get out and face ya, loike a man, ya kick his wing mirrors orff, jump up and down in apoplectic rage, then do a massive burnout and fuck off.’

‘I’m not sure exhibiting road rage is an acceptable response to stressful situations.’

‘Ya failed, ya c*nt!’

 

‘Right, so what am I doing for my driving test, emergency stops, three points turns…’

‘Naaah, softcock. Oi want ya ta pull into the bottleo and pick up some piss, then swing by the ex’s so oi c’n drop off me Centrelink fer young Aryan’s child support, and give the missus a hiding, then rock into the Maccas drive thru for me lunch… and oi wanna see a quality burnout in the Maccas carpark, otherwise…’

‘I know, I know… ya failed, ya c*nt!’