Tony “Andy” Abbott needs to get his hands on more of the folding stuff to pay off his big mortgage. So, having swapped his push-bike for a wheelchair and, in cahoots with his “Little Britain” carer, Warren “Lou” Truss, he turns up at Centrelink to be interviewed by two experienced staff members, Andrew Bolt and Steve “Canny” Cannane.
Bolta: Right, Andy...you don’t mind if I call you Andy...cos I feel I have known you for ever such a long time...hee...hee...So, my colleague Mr Cannane here, and I, believe you are applying for a pension, as you have recently become a paraplegic, having injured yourself seriously playing football...is that the case?
Andy: Erm...before we start, Mr Bolt...I’m not too sure about your colleague there, Mr Cannane – can I just get heard by you on your own?
Bolta: Oh, don’t worry about Canny here...everything will all come out in the wash anyway...After all, as you so elegantly said a while ago, it rains on the just and the unjust, and we all know which of those two sides I barrack for...heh...heh...
Lou: Yeth, Andy...thop making a kerfuffle...juth lithen to the two nythe men and we’ll have you out of here in a jiffy...
Bolta: Yes, thank you, Mr Truss...and I now want to outline all the pensions I believe Andy is entitled to...
Canny: Erm...Andrew...isn’t it a tad premature to be arriving at a judgment even before we have investigated Mr Abbott’s case...
Bolta: Oh, don’t worry your little head about things such as investigations, Canny...Now, as I was saying...Andy, having witnessed the awful state that nasty Mr Riley left you in, I believe you are entitled to a Nodder’s and Starer’s Pension...
Andy: I want that one...
Bolta: And because you are so hairy and virile, you should get a Threatened By Homosexuality Pension also...
Andy: I want that one...
And because you don’t have a brain inside your skull, but a weathervane instead, I believe you should also be granted a Can’t Make Up My Mind On Global Warming Pension also...
Andy: I want that one...
Bolta: And due to your speech impediment, I want to grant you a Can’t Stop Saying “Bullshit” Pension as well...
Andy: I want that one...
Bolta: And because you don’t seem to be able to come to terms with the concept of the will of the people, I think you should also get a Lovers Of Guided Democracy Pension too...
Andy: I want that one...
Bolta: And due to your limited vocabulary, I wish you to receive the Spruikers Of The Three Word Slogans Pension also...
Andy: Want that one...
Bolta: Now you’re getting the hang of it!! And because of your fear of flying and obsessive need to ride a bike, I think we’ll give you the Jet Lagger’s Pension...
Andy: I want that one...
Bolta: And due to your proclivity towards hanging around with senior citizens who listen incessantly to 2GB on the wireless, I believe you are entitled to the Revolting People’s Pension...
Andy: Yeah, I want that one...
[Canny, who has tried on numerous occasions to butt in, is by now totally exasperated. However, he has come to the conclusion that there is more than one way to skin a cat. He maintains his composure and addresses Andy.]
Canny: Okay, Mr Abbott...my colleague here has outlined for you the vast array of pensions you are possibly entitled to, which should, within a few weeks or so, totally wipe out that huge mortgage you labour under and [muttering] that great big black hole of yours during the last election campaign...So, before we go any further, why don’t we all have a tea-break...there’s an urn over there on the far side of the room – just help yourselves...
[Andy, never one to knock back a free feed, gets out of the wheelchair, sprints half-way across the room, only to come to a screeching halt, realising he has fallen, hook, line and sinker, into Canny’s trap.]
Canny (exulting): Yeeeeeeeeesssssssss!!!!!!! Gotcha!!!!!!!! I thought as much, Mr Abbott...your condition, it seems, is a tad more than “potentially treatable”...haw...haw...
[Andy, realising he has been well and truly rumbled, recommences sprinting...out the door he runs, into the street, and disappears over the horizon, making the Road Runner look like Phil Ruddock with a ball and chain around his leg...Later that day, Lou successfully makes contact with him on his boatphone.]
Lou: Well I never, Andy...that woth a major kerfuffle you cauthed earlier...And by the way, where in the dickenths are you anyway?
Andy: I’m up north of Woop Woop somewhere...picking fruit with a load of no-hopers...We get paid by the weight so I’m always on the look-out for the bigger ones...
Lou: Erm...Andy...I don’t know how to break thith to you...but...you’re no longer the Leader of the Oppothition...
Andy: What!! The Indos have seen the light and are now supporting me!!!
Lou: Erm...not really, Andy...
Andy: So that bastard Turnbull has finally got back into the big chair, has he?
Lou: Erm, no, Andy...In fact, Gillard hath granted a 457 Veetha to Col. Gadaffi and the caucuth hath dethided that, compared to yourth, even hith is a kinder and gentler polity...
[There is no reply from Andy. Lou can only hear a squabble going on in the background. It is seemingly between Andy and another fruit-picker. All Lou can hear is, “I want that one...” Lou leaves them to it and presses the red button on his mobile.]