“What’s that mate? Bangladesh? Yep, it’s a strip club, we were headed there for Dirk’s stag, but I got into a fight in KFC and spent the night in a cell. Nicked all their bog roll, though.
“What? Cricket? Bangladesh? It’s a country? Key the Falcon, never heard of it. They any good? Useless? Yip. If the Black Caps can beat em they must be as handy as four Swiss army knives in your arse.
“I’ll tell you the problem with Cricket – Cricketers are farkin soft. You’re meant to spend summer in The Sounds drinking piss with a broken arm, not getting grass stains out of your trousers. I bet those Cricket shit heels haven’t even been on a Jet-Ski.
“I mean the AUSSIES are good at Cricket. Aussies. We gave them Robbie Farkin Deans and they can’t even get a decent Rugby team together. That’s about as wrong as taking your missus to the trots. We could sort the Black Caps out with Robbie, a bottle of Coruba and a locked room.
“Have I watched any of the games? I’d rather try and shave my back. Julie Seymour could be wandering around in her undies at fine leg, and I’d only flick over during the ads.
“We done? Good.
“…anyway, I farkin wish I hadn’t drawn Stephen Brett on me Drizabone in Vivid…”