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A portly local man who gets his barber to trim his dense facial hair into a cropped beard has become the butt of many jokes this week.
The fact that his mates are also tier-1 smart arses does not help things for 30-year-old Jacob Webcke, a Betoota-based office worker.
As someone whose own razor sharp tongue has meant that he has usually escaped ridicule over his short stature and boxhead, the recent news cycle now means Jacob is a sitting duck for highly offensive lookalike sledges.
While sitting with his mates at a table this afternoon in the smokers patio of O’Mahmood’s Irish Pub in Betoota’s corporate precinct of Beetson Square, the heckle came thick and fast for Jacob.
“Alright it’s my shout” said one mate, Clacker, before turning his attention to Jacob,
“What are you drinking, Brucey?”
Only half of the boys get it. The response is muffled snorts, with one going as far as spitting a mouthful of beer into a nearby potplant.
“What was that?” asks a puzzled Jacob, who now realises that his mates find it funnier that he hasn’t figured out the topical reference yet.
Clacker continues.
“I said what beer am I getting you, Lehrmo?!”
The crowd erupts in hyena laughter, as Jacob a defeated shakes his head and looks at the floor.
“That’s a shit go” Jacob chuckles, attempting to laugh off on the oncoming onslaught.
Another mate, PK, takes his shot.
“Clacker probably can’t afford big Brucey’s lifestyle”
“Are there any 400 dollar tomahawk steaks on the menu at this joint?”
At this point the laughter has spread to complete third-party patrons on other tables, who are also up to date with the news.
A nearby glassie pipes up.
“You boys make sure you keep an eye on Massage Boy over here. We’ve seen what can happen when he gets a few drinks into him”
The bartenders are now laughing. As are every single patron in earshot.
The growing laughter has not stopped for close to 4 minutes, as Jacob begins to take offence at being compared to a drug addict rapist.
“Alright that’s enough” scowls Jacob.
The boys agree and begin to quiet down. Jacob slips into a false sense of security.
The conversation then turns to what everyone has planned for the rest of the evening.
“I’m in the mood for a relatively big one” says another mate, Dimmy.
“Maybe karaoke…”
The crowd leans in, excitedly waiting for the imminent carnage
“Surely Lehrmo can sort out a couple bags”
“What do ya reckon big fella. You got any Canberra connections?”
The humiliating roar of laughter returns, a seething Jacob now risks this distasteful nickname becoming permanent – depending on whether or not he spits the dummy.
