Wayne Carey wakes up one morning, showers and puts on his best tracksuit, ready for another hard day's work of being an over-privileged little shit.

Catching sight of himself in the mirror, he thinks "By God, Wayne,you're looking good today." He admires the fine cut of his shell suit, the healthy sheen of his tan and flexes his biceps. "Feeling good too," he notes proudly at the firm swell of muscle underneath the Kangaroos jersey he's wearing.

He goes down to the kitchen where his wife hands him a bowl of cornflakes. "You're looking fit this morning, Wayne." "Too right" he says. "I feel good as well." "But you don't smell so good," comments his beloved. He takes a sniff. "You're right there," he says worriedly, "I do smell a bit rough."

He finishes his breakfast, jumps into his car and drives off to Arden Street to practice kicking fancy looking goals. He meets Anthony Stephens at the gates. "Alright Wayne, you're looking good today," says the tall one. "Of course I am," says Carey. "But you wiff abit," says the poor bastard. "Funny that, I don't know what it is but my wife said the same thing."

"Good morning to you," he grins at Denis Pagan. "Its a fine day, Wayne" says Dennis. "And you're looking really good." "Hey thanks, boss. I look good and I feel good as well" replies the overpaid wally. "Oh Wayne!" winces the Denis. "You smell awful. Skip training and go to the quacks."

Worried, the (Wayne) King visits his doctor. "Doctor, I've got a problem. I look good, I feel great but I smell awful." The doctor gets out his medical dictionary. "Lets see...looks good...feels great...smells awful. Hmm,yes. Its quite simple, Mr. Carey," says the doctor "You're a cunt."