Hard Luck Harry

Me' old mate, Hard Luck Harry, was always trying to make a quid, somehow or other, and somehow or other he never quite made the grade.

Take for instance his breeding of chickens that tasted like Black Snake, he did this so that he could sell the cut meat of the chickens, which he found some that were not venomous, to use as genuine Fair Dinkum, cusine for the flash Cafe market in the Big Smoke.  He had no luck of course, as Black Snake tastes like chicken to start with.

So, off he goes into another bit of an attempt to break into this lucritive market  of Black Snake for the gormet trade and other supermarkets, he starts to set up a Black Snake farm, breeding the fatter variety of Snake than the common bush dwelling  critter that tastes a bit gamey, more like an old rooster than a chicken, and a bit more difficult to handle straight out the their feralness.

He ended up with ten good breeding females, but only one male, I mean a male Black Snake does not like it very much if you try to look at its nether parts for too long, and a black snake objection is often quite painful.  The girls don't seem to  mind so much.

Twelve months went by and not one wriggler from the ten sheilas, so having tamed the male a bit over that time, Hard Luck Harry takes the critter off to the vet, who takes the snake into the examination room, which is set up with anti-venom and other such stuff, like a loaded shot gun, and has a bit of a check on Harry's breeding buck.

"Harry, Old mate, I have to tell ya' that although the snake is healthy, he suffers from reptile dysfunction, and nuffin' can be done."

"Gees," Harry sez "That's darn right hard luck, I reckon."

Which is why we call  him Hard Luck Harry, and becasue his name is Harry, of course.

PS: To explain to those that love Black Snakes, alive, the shotgun is to shoot the Vet if the anti-venom  has run low.