reallyreallyreallytrying:

Carrie Bickmore was on her way to McCafe to catch up with her friends Sheila, Sheila and Sheila over a delicious McLatte. God, she couldn’t wait for a McLatte! Ever since the McDonalds Corporation had arrived in Australia the entire population had become obsessed with the deliciously creamy beverages. Each morning, every Australian raced out of their tin shack, unless they were poor or a cripple, and headed straight to their local McCafe. The Australian landscape was harsh and unwelcoming and populated with dingos, crocodiles and trillions of deadly spiders, and McLattes helped everyone to feel just a little bit fancy.

As she drove to her local McCafe in the car from Mad Max, Carrie Bickmore wondered idly if other countries had McLattes. She’d heard tale of a land far away, over the sea, called America, where they had something called “diners”. It was possible, she thought, that these “diners” had McLattes. Possible, but then again: her shrewd journalistic instinct told her it was unlikely McCafe would share their ingenious milk-frothing technology with a competitor. She let out a self-satisfied giggle (her first for the day!) and ran over an Aborigine.

Then she arrived at the McCafe and parked her car up against a spinifex bush. She could see Sheila, Sheila and Sheila through the window. She waved at them, but they did not wave back, probably because they were trying to get one of the many businessmen who congregated in the McCafe to marry them. “Girls will be girls,” said Carrie Bickmore, casually opening a Fosters with her forehead. She drank it one gulp, then used the glass bottom to magnify the sun’s rays and set fire to a nearby koala. Then she headed into the McCafe.

When her friends Sheila, Sheila and Sheila saw her, they squealed so much that a nearby businessman’s head exploded! His body was eaten by dingos. “How are ya, Sheilas?” said Carrie Bickmore. They squealed some more, indicating as they did so that they had been reading a feature in Cosmopolitan Magazine on How To Give Him The Best Orgasm He’s Ever Had. “Strewth, that sounds bloody grouse!” said Carrie Bickmore. “How To Give Him The Best Orgasm He’s Ever Had? I’ll have to bloody read that.”

As she said the words, a hush fell upon the assembled businessblokes. Carrie and the Sheilas looked around nervously. Slowly, one of the blokes stood up, his eyes fixed on Carrie. “Bloody hell,” one of the Sheilas murmured. The bloke began to thread his way through the crowded McCafe, the room silent but for the crunch of dead eucalyptus leaves underfoot. He walked up to Carrie and stuck out his hand: “G’day,” he said, and then had sex with her so hard she had a baby there and then.

“You had me at g’day,” she said, scooping up the screaming infant, “that was bloody bonza”.

Then they all cracked open another Fosters, including the baby, and threw some shrimp on the barbie etc etc.