G’day Swordians!
A group of Coalition supporters need transport to get themselves along to one of the Peoples’ Revolt rallies. They have put an ad in the Oz and have been contacted by a taxi crowd called CT (“CabTeam”), under the proprietorship of J Gillard and W Swan. However, even though the taxi firm offered cut-price rates, the Coalition knocked them back on the grounds that the roofs of their cabs are insulated with pink batts and they are afraid they will self-combust. Luckily for the Coalition supporters, a more suitable alternative presents itself with a tender from another outfit, this time a bus company (“The Independent Bus Co”) operated by its driver, Tony “Stan Butler” Windsor, and his trusty conductor who collects the fares, Bob “Jack Harper” Katter. However, to ensure as much as possible that things will go according to plan, the Coalition day-trippers insist that one of their own, Tony “Blakey” Abbott, fills the role of Bus Inspector. So, eager to join the Revolting Peoples’ Rally, the Coalition is, “On the Buses!”
The punters are queuing up on the pavement, but there seems to be some sort of a hold-up. Even though the bus itinerary is completely restricted to the Australian mainland, Inspector “Blakey” Abbott, keen to solicit contributions to his “STOP MY MORTGAGE” appeal fund, is insistent that, before they board the bus, the passengers need to fork out a $100 fare and an additional $100 if they can’t show their passport. However, the impasse is eventually overcome when Julie Bishop gets wind of Blakey’s scam, pulls out her portable counterfeiting machine and, for $10 a head, issues each of the punters with a near-perfect edition. However, even when subject to one of Blakey’s metronome-dome death-stares, Julie remains totally unflappable. “Why not?” she says, “isn’t everyone doing it?”
So, the Revolting People start to clamber onboard. The first is Mavis, one of Conductor Bob’s neighbours from North Queensland.
Mavis: G’day Bob...just got back from taking some tourists to the zoo, hey?
Bob (puzzled tone): Erm...not really Mavis...This is our first job today...Anyway, what’s the zoo got to do with the price of bananas?
Mavis: Oh, I just presumed you had been to the zoo, cos there are at least 20 or 30 crocodiles on the roof of yer bus...hee...hee...
[Before Bob can make an equally cheeky retort, Blakey insists that Mavis pays her fare, so that he can proceed with getting more passengers on. Having relieved Mavis of her $100, and passed it on to Bob the Conductor, Blakey quickly shoos her up the bus. The next boarder is none other than Malcolm Turnbull, who, typical of a multi-millionaire, is squabbling over the fare]
Malcolm: Are you sure we are getting value for our money here, old chap? You know, I think we need a jolly good cost-benefit analysis...
Blakey: Bullshit, mate!!! If you don’t fork out the $100 fare, it’ll cost you your front teeth and that’ll benefit us, as we won’t have to listen to any more of your crap...
[Suitably cowered by Blakey’s belligerence, Malcolm hands over the $100 to Bob the Conductor and moves up the bus. Next on board is John Howard]
Johnny: Urrrr...is this bus going to the cricket?
Blakey: It’s going to wherever you like, mate...as long as you hand over the fare...
Johnny: Urrrr...unfortunately I don’t seem to have any cash on me...do you accept a Gold Card?
[Johnny is unceremoniously booted off the bus by Blakey, who mutters ominously, “We will decide who comes on this bus, and the circumstances by which they pay”. Eventually, all the punters are on board, and Bob’s money satchel is bulging. Blakey is delighted with the money-collecting progress so far, and even promises Bob an extra commission at the end of the trip. However, Blakey’s fiduciary engorgement campaign has only started and so he starts on the next stage of ripping off the passengers.
With Bob in tow, Blakey moves up the bus, microphone in hand, asking them to describe their pet hate against Julia Gillard. The punters come up with the usual litany – her dangly earlobes...her ranga hair...her voice...her pointy nose...she’s Welsh...no handbag...her porno step-daughter...she doesn’t carry any letters to the troops when she visits Afghanistan...no gravitas (whatever that means)...is wooden...On and on they went, causing great merriment as each foible was broadcast over the bus speaker. However, Blakey had the last laugh, when he ordered everyone who said something to hand over $100 to Bob the Conductor. “Cash for Comment”, he called it – “Jonesie would be proud of me...heh...heh...”
So, Bob’s money pouch by this stage is so stuffed, it would make Joe Hockey’s belly, after he had consumed a few trays of party pies, look somewhat concave. Blakey is delighted, and can’t wait to use the dosh to make some headway into the burden of his crippling mortgage. However, during a lull in the money-grubbing processes, Bob takes Blakey aside and has a quiet word in his shell-like.]
Bob: Erm...Blakey...maaaate...in case you didn’t notice...but most of your passengers are close to getting a telegram from the Queen – shouldn’t we have a pit-stop and allow them to empty their bladders?
Blakey: Yes...yes...yes...you’re right of course, Bob – but don’t forget to charge them as they do their ablutions – and I don’t mean they should only spend a penny either...haw...haw...
[Bob dutifully concurs and informs Tony the Driver that the bus will need to stop as soon as possible. Tony pulls up at the side of the road and alights with Bob, seemingly to stretch their legs. Meanwhile, Blakey forces the passengers to empty their bladders and colostomy bags right there on the verge. And, true to form, and to add insult to injury, he charges them $100 a head for the “privilege”.
However, all of a sudden, a vehicle screeches to a halt close-by, and Bob and Tony quickly clamber into the vacant back seats, with the engorged satchel of money wedged in between them. Things were happening so quickly, Blakey couldn’t even identify what type of vehicle was involved. However, he could have sworn the driver, who looked like Col Gaddafi, shouted out the window: “tax the polluters – compensate us, the people!”]
Blakey (nodding his head in unspeakable rage and shaking his fist at the fast-disappearing vehicle): You bastards!! Come back with my money!!
[Then, Malcolm Turnbull sidles up to Blakey, looking like the cat who got the cream]
Malcolm: Erm...old chap...I think the costs have definitely outweighed the benefits on this particular excursion...hee...hee...And with this place looking like a latrine, you had better start cleaning up this particular environment, making sure you do just as good a job as Gillard did in cleaning out your wallet...haw...haw...
Blakey: But...but...but...are you sure it was her...I could have sworn it was Col Gaddafi?
Malcolm: Nah, it was definitely the CabTeam mob for sure – after all, if it acts like a taxi, and it hits you like a taxi, it is a taxi...heh...heh...
Blakey (still futilely shaking his fist): I ‘ate you, Windsor!! I’ll get you for this, Katter, you see if I don’t...
[To make matters worse for the Revolting People, it started to rain cats and dogs, so much so, the creeks began to flood. In the absence of Tony the Driver, Barnaby Joyce volunteered to drive the bus. No-one took up his offer. The long march home began. It resembled the biggest surrender since Singapore]
