3, 2, 1. There’s the whistle and it is straight to the mini bar. It’s a cold day so these fellas need to warm themselves up before going for a swim. Everyone starts out very confident. Oh this crazy fucker is drinking from the bottle. And so is this wanker. The sober people love it.
The drinking session is off to a cracking start. You can place a bet on who ya reckon will spew first. This bloke has finished his bottle of Vodka. He chases it down with a fucken gherkin. Wowee someone bring this man a Big Mac.
He’s fucked! We have a tumble. He doesn’t know where he is. This fella is all class no matter how pissed he gets, like me Uncle Terry. Now it is time for the race. And it looks like this wanker has passed out. No, he just needed a quick reboot. Everyone else has to get a wriggle on. Aw no MAN DOWN. He’s not going anywhere. The crowd abuses the shit out of him. Back to the pool and it looks like we have an absolute thriller on our hands here. One for the history books. The dickhead in the red cap unleashes his inner Michael Phelps. Although he looks more like me trying get to the dance floor when a fucken great song comes on. Oh no! Tragedy! A cardiac arrest. The last hammered fella is going for gold and he’s got it! Someone get this man a kebab with the lot. He’s demolished his opponents. And have a look at the parents. They are so proud.
There’s his fucken brother. Like a true blue legend he has no time for ceremonies and accolades. He’s like “fuck these flowers, where’s the next party? I have sheilas to meet and pointless conversations to have. Where are my bloody pants?”
And he is out of here. I guess this could be considered the formula one part of the championship. Let’s see how he goes on the first turn. Nah, he’s getting toasted. That was a shit idea.