ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact

AFTER A LONG DAY of breaking shit up and throwing in a skip bin, Gregor Townsend wants nothing more than to head down to his local piss house and put his hard-earning into Pelican Pete, his favourite poker machine.

Slurping his way through his first ice cold schoon-rat of the afternoon like a plumper on a soup diet, the 46-year-old lifter of heavy things let out a long sigh as he fed the machine another pineapple.

“Nothing more relaxing than having a BB and a Stuyvo [Peter Stuyvesant] in one hand and the other paw slapping the spin button like a leaguey slaps a stripper’s arse,” he said, letting out a short fart.

It’s because of this vice, and the habits of many others townies much like Gregor that have seen the Lord Betoota Hotel crawl their way back into the black – after a failed insurance job late last year.

“Yeah the last owner musn’t have known about the fire sprinklers the owner before him installed” says new operator, Petey, who had the genius idea of strapping in eight more poker machines to the gaming room.

“He ended up in prison [laughter]”

“But yeah, mate. These laptops are doing wonders for business”

“We get called unethical and all those types of things, but fuck me if I going to sell an $80 steak to cover the last two cunts”

However, while some people criticise this kind of entertainment option, Gregor says it’s all about playing the game

“If you get up, you get up. If you lose it all then fuck it, I get paid on Thursdeys [sic] so she’d be getting thin by then but whatever, mate. Oi but, I’ll tell you what’s a fucken pissa? [sic]”

“The boss calls these fucking things ‘brickie’s laptops’ because apparently only dumb cunts use them, but I know plenty of clever builders, moite.”

“Anyway brother, I’m on a streak and you shout me a victor bravo, you melon?” he said.

Before The Advocate left Mr Townsend’s side, he’d parted with nearly $900. He gambled his way up to $1200 but tried to suit it and failed. He then casually walked over to the refreshment table and brought back four small Lamington’s to jam up Pelican Pete’s cash hole.

“I do this to make sure no cunt can play it and hoon off with me moolah,” he explained.

“Management gets grotty with me but fuck ’em.”



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