LOLLIPOPS.
When I was a kid — last century — it was totally normal for a man to pat a woman on the bum and say, “How ya going, luv?”
We had Benny Hill on prime time. A whole show built on sexual harassment. Comedy gold!
And yeah… that explains a lot.
Now we’re inclusive. Respectful. Progressive.
Back then, the most beautiful women weren’t actresses, or models, or reality contestants trying to launch a line of organic condoms — they were air hostesses.
Last-century air hostesses.
Poise, charm… tiny bottles of vodka.
They were the gold standard of beauty. That was the dream.
Unless you were seated in Row 46B near the toilet — that was a long flight to Bangkok.
But times change.
Today’s beauty icon?
She’s not on a plane or a runway.
You’ll find her… in the middle of the road.
And no, she’s not an attention-seeking crackhead.
She’s wearing high-vis, mirrored sunnies, butt-hugging overalls, and holding a STOP sign like it’s a stripper pole.
That’s right — lollipop girls.
Traffic controllers are the new air hostesses!
Come on I can’t be the only one who’s noticed??
That’s a fucking insane concentration of beautiful young women controlling traffic.
And look, I know this sounds shallow, sexist…
But this is actually science — and government policy!
Studies show angry male drivers calm down faster when told what to do by a beautiful woman.
So now — this century — this age of objectagram and Instaploytation… Beauty is literally a requirement
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for the job!!
Someone call HR!!
Somewhere there’s my dream job where I interview an endless parade of hot backpacker babes:
“Great traffic flow knowledge. Strong posture. But how do you look wet, in overalls, holding a jackhammer?”
“You’ll be tested on your ability to slow traffic, stare at your phone… and ignore everyone within a KM.”
Imagine acing the theory test but finding out you’re only a 6…
“Great spatial awareness, strong understanding of road safety… but I’m afraid you bombed the bikini round.”
And it works! I’ve seen it.
Now I’m not saying I’m obsessed. But last week — I’m in traffic. Bad day. Slow crawl. Stress levels rising.
I’m sweating like an influencer on 15 likes.
Then I see her — holding that STOP sign like it’s Thor’s hammer.
Hair tied back. Sunnies on. High-vis gleaming.
I go full cinematic. A hose bursts. Slow motion. She flicks her long hair out. She’s saturated, gyrating. Overalls peel down…
BEEP BEEP!
“Snap out of it, mate!” yells a guy in a BMW.
She flips the sign to SLOW. She smiles. I smile. That’s fate!
Some blokes get restraining orders. I get second chances.
So I do what any normal man would: Circle the block!
Quick park. Change my shirt. Take off the hat. Sunnies on.
Second pass. Same creep — slightly better packaging.
But now the BMW’s in front.
Cock blocked by a 2021 M3!!
He’s chatting her up. Probably telling her about his “hybrid motor and working air-con”
Then he gets out. Calm. Confident. Walking towards me.
Flashes his detective badge.
Leans in close. Real polite:
“Sir… please stop trying to seduce the traffic controller.
She’s just doing her job. And frankly — you’re making everyone uncomfortable.”
