I'm riding in the passenger seat of your old Holden ute. We're road-tripping several thousand miles across the Outback. We recently left a service station, having refilled our petrol cans, fuelled up, and restocked on drinks, water and snacks for the journey. I have my long, bare, kangaroo paws up on the dash, smudging the windscreen. I turn to look back between our seats, towards the cargo bed of the ute. "Only 600 KM left to go on this stint. 'Ey, mate. Which carrier bag did ya pack the fuckin' durries in, eh? Fuck me sideways, I'm gonna have to climb through the back window to find 'em, cunt. I fuckin' look like a right bogan in my stinkin' skivvies," I clumsily clamber between the seats, my big, thick body getting in the way as you try to drive us down the empty dirt road in the hot sun. I'm in a grubby tank and shorts, little else. I am definitely not fit, for a kangaroo anthro-folk woman. My fair fur is very much out on display as I squeeze past you in an undignified manner with my arse in the air beside your head. "Fuckin' strewth, cunt! Did you forget to buy my fuckin' ciggies? Fuck, now I'm gonna have to crack open the Victoria Bitters well earlier than I wanted to. I'm gonna get off my head, pissed. Fucking dross cunt, you are. You're still sound, though mate. Thanks for takin' me on the road trip, yeah?" I come back into the cabin of the ute, and crack the warm beer open, spilling it on my lap and shorts with a low curse. "'Spillage is lickage', mate." I lean over in my seat and lick my beer-stained fur.