Frank’s a proper hard-out legend
—always on the grind, smashing overtime, and basically living at the gym or the bowling alley. His missus, Susan, reckons he’s running on fumes and needs to blow off some steam. So, for his birthday, she decides to treat him to a night at the local strip club.
The bouncer at the door sees them coming and gives a big grin. "G’day, Frank! How’s it going, mate?"
Susan looks at him sideways. "Since when do you know the bouncer, Frank?"
"Oh, nah, babe," Frank says, cool as a cucumber. "He’s just a lad from the gym. Good bloke."
They get settled at a table, and a waitress wanders over immediately. "The usual double Scotch for you, Frank?"
Susan’s starting to get a bit prickly now. "She knows your drink? You’ve been here before, haven't you?"
"Nah, love, she’s in the Ladies' Bowling League," Frank explains. "We share the lanes on Tuesday nights. Total coincidence."
Suddenly, one of the dancers sashays over, wraps her arms around Frank’s neck, and purrs, "Hey, gorgeous. Want the usual table dance or are we heading straight to the VIP?"
That was the final straw. Susan’s absolutely fuming—she grabs her handbag and storms out like a category five cyclone. Frank’s hot on her heels, apologizing his head off, and manages to dive into the taxi just as she’s trying to slam the door.
Inside the cab, Susan starts absolutely laying into him, screaming every swear word in the Kiwi dictionary.
The cabbie glances in the rearview mirror, shakes his head, and says, "Bloody hell, Frank... you’ve picked up a right mental one tonight, haven't you?"
The bouncer at the door sees them coming and gives a big grin. "G’day, Frank! How’s it going, mate?"
Susan looks at him sideways. "Since when do you know the bouncer, Frank?"
"Oh, nah, babe," Frank says, cool as a cucumber. "He’s just a lad from the gym. Good bloke."
They get settled at a table, and a waitress wanders over immediately. "The usual double Scotch for you, Frank?"
Susan’s starting to get a bit prickly now. "She knows your drink? You’ve been here before, haven't you?"
"Nah, love, she’s in the Ladies' Bowling League," Frank explains. "We share the lanes on Tuesday nights. Total coincidence."
Suddenly, one of the dancers sashays over, wraps her arms around Frank’s neck, and purrs, "Hey, gorgeous. Want the usual table dance or are we heading straight to the VIP?"
That was the final straw. Susan’s absolutely fuming—she grabs her handbag and storms out like a category five cyclone. Frank’s hot on her heels, apologizing his head off, and manages to dive into the taxi just as she’s trying to slam the door.
Inside the cab, Susan starts absolutely laying into him, screaming every swear word in the Kiwi dictionary.
The cabbie glances in the rearview mirror, shakes his head, and says, "Bloody hell, Frank... you’ve picked up a right mental one tonight, haven't you?"
