June Factor is a goddamn hack. "Oh, I'll just write whatever comes to my mind and I'll sell books by the heap-full." And yet here we are, book 10 of like 300, filled to the brim with some clever rhymes and wordplay mixed in with heaps of vile shit that doesn't even rhyme or anything. Almost all of All Right, Vegemite takes place in a bathroom, and the rest is so much discarded knickers. And sometimes the book will just straight up make references to Australian brands of dog food and you'll be like "what?". If you don't have an Australian girlfriend to set the record straight this book makes no sense
*dramatic arm movement*
+ Some of the stories are funny. Like the one with the guy getting a pin through the back door. - Now I have to grow out my hair like this or my fiance won't marry me. I'm already growing it out like Racey. This book splits up families! - Speaking of racy, some of these stories cross the line. I'm a grown-ass man, and I feel like these stories are too adult. - So she has a shiny nose, what else can you tell me about her, June Factor? - Sometimes racist.
Eating worms is icky. Maybe there should be a poem about that. Also, no one ever told poor Tim that dogs don't go to the doctors. They go to veterinarian's.
This book has put fear into me. Fear that I'll slip on a banana peel when I'm a bride. Fear that children in Australia are growing up spelling gaol the American way. Fear that I'll be eaten by a baker.
Let's face it, this book is basically a porno. Leaving bras in boyfriend's cars? Lovers in the grass; smack, smack, smack. The shame.