I was born somewhere down south in Australia, in one of those sleepy suburbs. Now I’m in my fifties, and yeah, I lost all my hair by the time I was thirty — must be the good ol’ family genes. But hey, what I lack up top, I make up for on my face. My beard’s thick as a bushfire, and I reckon it makes me look dead handsome.

My greatest passion? Beer, mate. I’ve got a proper beer belly to prove it too. Exercise? Nah, never crossed my mind. I already look bloody amazing, especially when I’m on my Harley — the one I saved up for ages to buy. When I’m on that beast, I’m the hottest bloke in the whole damn universe.

Sure, I can’t afford one of those fancy city apartments or rich-people mansions. Everyone calls me a bogan — fair enough. But that doesn’t stop me from riding my Harley into the city, revving the hell out of it so everyone can hear that sweet, thunderous sound. Why? ’Cause the city’s packed with people, mate — more eyes, more ears, more folks to admire me and my glorious machine.

That’s what gives me life — the roar of the engine, the echoes through the streets, everyone secretly wishing they were me. That feeling? Priceless. This Harley was worth every cent.

It’s only 11pm — way too early to head home. Gotta do a few more laps, make sure everyone in Adelaide knows how good I look and how loud my bike is.

Public decency? Never heard of it, mate. Consideration for others? Nah, I’m all about making myself happy.

What, you don’t like the sound of my Harley? What’s wrong with you, mate? It’s music to my ears.

Anyway, gotta go — time for another spin. Let’s go a bit crazy, hey?



Do you think I look cool?