A proud Queenslander who reckons he could smoke more bongs than any other bloke in his hometown and routinely breaks the speed limit to impress his mates is apparently a little bit hesitant about protecting himself against this virus.

Hailing from the Central Queensland town of Gladstone, Clayton Claymore (31) is one of those blokes who openly discusses what UFC fighters are doing wrong during a main event broadcast at the local pub, and is always the third man into any fight within fifty metres of his vicinity.

It seems the local plasterer’s issue with immunisations comes from a complicated desire to tell everyone he’s not scared of the virus. In fact, he’s not even keen to admit he believes the virus is real.

But on top of that, this absolute fucken wuss says he’s heard, from nowhere in particular, that the non-mandatory inoculation aimed at protected him from this virus is bad news.

As someone who has twice fractured his humerus after being unable to say no to the challenge of an arm wrestle, it comes as a great surprise to his mates that Clayto won’t get the jab.

“Nah fuck that” he says at the pub this afternoon.

Clayto scowls as he takes another sip of his mass-produced full strength beer.

“Have you heard some of the shit he’s been saying about this virus” he tells his mates.

When asked to expand of what he’s been hearing, and where he’s been hearing it, the former club rugby league icon gets a bit testy.

“All that shit mate!”

“It’s everywhere!”

Without being able to produce a source or statistic to back up his claim that this shit is bad news, Clayto turns the conversation into an aggressive discussion about his disdain for authority.

“Fuck why would you believe anything the government says!”

“Who knows what’s in these drugs”

His mate Blocker is quick to point out a blatant inconsistency.

“Clayto you ate a six blue pills you found behind the toilet at the Royal Hotel not even a month ago”

“They weren’t even in a saddie bag. They were just on the floor”

Clayto says it’s different.

“Not those kinds of drugs you fuckwit”

Blocker holds strong.

“What kind of drugs then? The kind the doctor gives you?”

Clayto tell Blocker to stop being a smart arse. Roy the publican intervenes.

“Clayto I reckon you’re a fucken dropnuts”

“You’re a cat mate. A scaredy cat”

At time of press, it could not be confirmed whether or taking pot shots at Clayto’s masculinity was a succesful tactic in convincing him take the Chief Health Officer’s advice, but witnesses say it certainly made him have a think about it.


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