"Ya shure itsh him," slurred Brendan as the group gathered round the form that lay prone in the deepest bushes in the Exhibition Gardens.
"Could fucken just be a binny or something. We fucken should fucken set him on fire and see what happens," the shaven headed, newly be-titted hoon continued.
Browny turned around.
"Fucken turn it fucken up mate. You've fucken caused enough fucken trouble as it fucken is."
The big bloke from South Warnambool had a point.
The media had only caught the briefest taste of Brendan's antics on Brownlow night. The spewing off the balcony, the harrassment of other guests, the horrendous acapella version of DJ Otzi, all these paled into insignificance compared to what he got up to once the Dewosaurus search party had set off into the haze of a million Crownies to try and get a few gargles into their mate Stewie.
Within minutes he'd bought a Big Mac and had rooted it, to graphic conclusion, against a tram stop, to the horror of those watching. Then, when the tram had arrived, he'd repeatedly charged it front on, headbutting the windscreen and shouting maniacally 'Look at me! Look at me! I'm Graham Polak!"
Then, as they reached the Gardens, where Brown had a sixth sense that the Dewosaurus would be lurking, Brendan used the turn of pace that made him so hard to stop on the lead to pursue and quickly capture a possum that had been foraging for seeds and nuts on the floodlit grass.
The other players looked on apprehensively as Brendan examined the terrified creature.
"Fucken don't worry, I'm not gunna hurt it," he said, with a look of indignation that anybody would even consider such a thing. Instead he carefully tucked the marsupial deep within the vast chasm of his cleavage, leaving only its small grey head poking out.
Back at the beast's lair, Brendan continued to agitate to be allowed to assualt the sleeping form in some fashion.
"Fucken look mate, leave the fucken brainy shit to fucken Browny," said Colin. "You'll fucken just fucken fuck it up."
The others ushered Brendan away as Brown leant down to the huge form and waved a bottle of tequila under its nose.
"Stewie, Stewie mate, that you? Come and have a fucken drink mate!" he cajoled.
The creature stirred. Brown kept the bottle under its nose like a dose of smelling salts.
"Carn Stewie, have a few shandies for old times sake. Its just me and Col and Fev and that. Nobody's gunna hurt ya. Just a few drinks."
First one red eye opened, the another. Brown drew back carefully as the Dewosaurus awoke from its slumber. He then reached forward and carefully placed the tequila bottle in its paw.
Slowly, the creature came to. He dimly recognised Brown from the old days. More importantly, he sensed no threat. And what was this in his paw? It smelt strong and familiar.
He put the bottle to his lips. Ah yes, he recalled what this potion was. He drained the bottle in fell swig.
"That's the fucken spirit Stewie," enthused Brown, indicating that the others should pass him another bottle. "Get this one into ya Stewie."
The Dewosaurus tanned the second bottle. This, he remembered how much he liked this. He let out a friendly Chewbacca type growl to indicate he meant no harm. On hearing this, the others came forward and gave him pats on the back and the like.
"Fucken good to see you Stewie mate, fucken ace."
And so it came to pass that Brendan, Jono Brown, Colin and the Dewosaurus all hit the piss together in a central Melbourne park.
Nothing bad could come of that surely.
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