TassiMania Bound Bar-Maid

Well this Dirty Bar-Maid is shedding her greasy, stale skin for a week to embark upon that grand ocean trek to Australia's little own 'Landing Strip'.
No, I'm not getting my genitals waxed (though I probably should......)- I'm going to Tassimania!!! That sweet little island that is the butt of every mainlander's jokes.
The cousin-rootin', hootin', babba-bootin', disconnected little strip of cunt ain't going to know what hit it this time next week when the Dirty Bar-Maid and her flock of pot-drinking, bourbon-snorting, Cow-Punching associates tumble off the ship and into TassiMania.

I've never been out of Australia before so am seriously psyched about crossing that little strip of sea to see how people outside my own grand mass of turd live. So far I'm picturing things to be a little something like this:-















Meets............

Yeah!

Early Monday morning we tumble off the almighty Spirit of Tassimania amidst our shit-load shipment of empty whiskey, bundy and bourbon bottles with a backpacker or ten to be greeted by the natives of said TassieCuntMania.
Most of who will be the direct descendants of cannibal-convicts who were transported to Van Dieman's Land for napkin stealing or rooting a gutter rat or some trivial crime like that.
The small assortment of natives, after welcoming us with open limbs (hands, fingers and toes need not apply) will invite us through teeth-less gobs with green tounges to a delicious feast of TassieCuntMania's traditional delicacy of their father's/brother's/sister's eyeballs, to be washed down with a pint of fairy urine.

I and my fellow Cow-Punchers feeling rather seedy from this point from all the fairy urine will continue on to meet the native's leader- a giant Tassie Devil called Aaron with TassieMania natives suckling from his teats. We will pass on such an indulgent and insist that we really must be on our way. We had hoped to get in a spot of fishing and native-hunting before nightfall.

Now I'm not 100% sure on this theory, so decided I'd Google image cannibal-tassie-cunt-mania-convicts-incest-bestiality-hairy just to round of the final perfections to this insightful understanding of other cultures. And this is what I found-

Your search - cannibal tassie cunt bestiality incest hairy convicts mania - did not match any documents. Suggestions:
Make sure all words are spelled correctly.
Try different keywords.
Try more general keywords.
Try fewer keywords.

Ahhh I see. Second time is the charm then.

Google image search number #2 with 'cunt incest landing strip hairy' unearthed me this:-

Hmmm.... yehh that's kind of close to what I had in mind. The eyes so close together along with the dunny-brush tail are definite give-aways of inbreeding and cannibalism since 1788, but I've gotta say- the white fur really throws me. I can't seem to put that down to any logical explanation connected to the Tassie-Cunt native's lifestyle. Bathing in cum since 1788 maybe?

The Spirit of Tasmania should make that their motto. If the ads showed cum-bathing as the cultural highlight of this grand island instead of clearly homosexual husbands dancing with their wives on the ship's deck in the sunset I would've booked myself a ticket to Cunt-Mania the day before i was born. Or even worse, Poxy the fat Coxy telling us how the 'sea view is amazing'. Is it? Cause we can't see it with your fat arse, gut the size of Uluru and even bigger head in the way Poxy Coxy.
The marketing fuckers behind this advertisement and Poxy Coxy's humungo gut need to go back to MAWDTM University (Manipulate and Achieve World Domination Through the Media).

But any who, back to my Dirty Bar-Maid holiday to TassieMania.

I think I may have a serious problem. Did I mention that? Because after weeks upon weeks of listening to Kid Rock's sexual assault of 'Sweet Home Alabama' all I want to do is sit by the campfire, drink whiskey out the bottle (even though I don't even like whiskey- make that shizzle Bundy the bloke's best mate Polar Bear), 'smoke funny things, trying different things and sing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long'.

True talent right there- rhyming 'things' with 'things'. I was about to say that if the incest rumours about Kid Rock are true then he must be TassieMania's poster child...... woooahhh.. was that too far? I mean Tassie is still part of Australia after all, well kind of anyway.

[Rusted Gumption is not responsible for any politically incorrect statements and by viewing this blog you understand the terms and conditions of things being all fun and games till someone (i.e- a Tassie native) looses their self-esteem.]

So I Google imaged 'whiskey bottle campfire things things' to once again try and carve out some sort of image of what to expect on my grand expedition and this came up:-

So now I'm scared and am thinking that either the said Tassie Natives are terrorists, Kid Rock is a terrorist or *gulp* I am a terrorist. Which according to Bush means I can't trust myself and should go out and buy lots of guns and locks and be terrified of my own shadow because any minute my own shadow could rise up from the pavement wearing a turban, speaking Farsi and telling me to go get a Qantas plane. So I think it's just easier to decide on Kid Rock being a terrorist and being the Western World's enemy number #67864356 so must be set on fire- not because he's some how responsible for that note, but because he sexually abused Sweet Home Alabama. Fucker.

*takes medication now*

I'll try to bring back all my blogger friends tassie souvenirs. A Tassie Native's tail for the girls and and a Tassie Devil's turd for the boys. Don't say I don't think about you.