CLANCY OVERELL | Editor | CONTACT
A transient man who dad has contracted to thin out the wild animals that keep killing themselves on his fences, shouldn’t be driving around the family property while the kids are awake, and certainly isn’t allowed over the cattle grid entrance to the homestead, says mum.
The nameless vagrant, who comes from Adelaide or somewhere fucking ages away, doesn’t seem to reveal much about his personal life – but always seems responsive to dad offering him a beer and talking about gates.
Like Green Senator Lee Rhiannon, mum has never been a big fan of these type of blokes who somehow have government licenses to carry some of the most powerful guns allowed in human hands.
But unlike the inner-city politicians, it not because she’s worried about Australia’s 45 million wild kangaroos going extinct, it’s because she thinks he’s serial killer.
“I don’t want him coming up this way” says mum, to dad who’s pretty much given up on the he’s-not-a-bad-bloke thing, purely because mum is right when she says he looks like a shifty bloke.
Mum has no real reason for these rules, considering half of dad’s mates are as equally dodgy, and the manager who lives by himself in the fibro shack in the top paddock has actually admitted to killing someone before.
However, the fact that the dogs can’t stop barking at him at is a pretty fair indication that he’s probably wanted for questioning in a couple states over some stuff that has gone down at truck stops.
If you’re going to write black comedy you need to fill it out better than this.