What a Y-Frontery!

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Friday, 30 September 2011 18:22 by Acerbic Conehead
According to the promotional blurbs sent out to advertise his new TV show, Y-Frontsline, Tony “Mike Moore” Abbott is such a hit as the Leader of the Opposition, he can afford to share out a bit of his presence by also entertaining the TV masses while he’s at it.

To be truthful, however, Tones is simply moonlighting so that he can meet the repayments of his great big fat mortgage.

So, he has done a few practice interviews and they are simply devastating.



And the story behind the name of his new TV program, Y-Frontsline? Well, he reckoned he got a lot of mileage out of his budgie smugglers motif, so why not trade on the old tried and tested Y-Fronts label as well?



So, at the Sydney studios, Tones is getting ready for his first pre-recorded interview at 11.00 am with a high-flying guest. The latter is visiting from the USA and is called Stevie Ray Finklestein Jr, III. He is one of the directors of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC).

Therefore, he is a greenie. And Tones hates greenies, so he’s gonna show up this nerdy, warmist geek big time!

That morning, Tones is at a production meeting to discuss how the upcoming interview should go. Also present are his fellow-reporters (and big rivals), Julie “Brooke Vandenberg” Bishop, and Malcolm “Marty di Stasio” Turnbull, plus the Executive Producer, Rupie “Prowsey” Murdoch. It is 10.00 am.

Rupie: Right, you lot...we gotta make this inaugural interview of Tones work, or it’ll be the second-most humblest day of my life...And, as for you, Tones, you better be a lot more effective as a studio interviewer than you are as Leader of the Opposition – why, that bloody NBN is gonna kill us...

Tones: Erm...your trust is well-placed in my hands, Mr Murdoch – I won’t let you down...

[Malcolm whispers out of the side of his mouth to Julie.]

Mal: Huh...I hope for his sake his guests don’t walk out after two questions, just like he does...heh...heh...

Rupie: What was that, Mal?

Mal: Erm...nothing, Mr Murdoch...I was just saying to Julie that as far as the interviews are concerned, Tones here is going to walk all over them...

Rupie: And rightly so...ratings are all that matter here...and, speaking of ratings, we need to ensure that Y-Frontsline gets more than its market share, and destroys its main rivals...

Tones (sycophantically): Erm...Mr Murdoch, sir...who would our main rivals be at this moment in time?

[Julie “Brooke Vandenberg” Bishop butts in.]

Julie: Erm...if I could just add something at this juncture, Mr Murdoch...in regards to our rivals, I think their identities are staring us in the face...

[Everyone tries to suppress their sly sniggers.]

Julie: And...as I was saying...I reckon that Sophie Mirabella’s new gig over at the ABC is our biggest threat...

Tones: Yeah, I heard The Collectors has got a reprieve and Sophie will be fronting it...

Mal: Yeah...she’ll be inviting all the oldies to send in their valuables to display on her show...

Julie: Yeah, and she has no intention of sending them back...bwah-ha-ha-ha...

[The production team nearly falls off their chairs laughing at Sophie’s expense. After a few minutes, Mal wipes the tears of laughter from his cheeks.]

Mal: Oh...and I reckon Swannie’s new gong from Euromoney Magazine, as the universe’s best tax-collector, was the impetus for him taking over from Alan Kohler on Inside Business...

Tones: Nah...don’t worry about Swannie!!! I’ll have him for breakfast – there’s more economic nous down the front of my Y-Fronts than there is in Swannie’s whole body...

[This time the others do indeed fall off their chairs in paroxysms of laughter. As they roll around on the carpet, making the three hyenas in The Lion King look like Gerald Henderson, Warren Truss and Niki Savva at a WorkChoices cremation and wake, Tones looks from one to the other, wondering what it was he said that was the cause of such uproarious merriment. Eventually, he gives up and exits the meeting. It is now 10.15 am.

So, Tones wanders down the corridor and pops his head into the office of Ban “Elliot Rhodes” Morrison, the “Friday Night Funnyman”, who will perform the musical skits summarising the main political events of the week.

However, Tones hates Ban, as he has the potential to upstage him towards the end of his show.]

Ban: Oh, hi Tones...I’m really looking forward to singing on your new Y-Frontsline show...

Tones: Erm, Ban...there’s only one way to tell you this, but you’re fired...we just had a production meeting, and it was our unanimous decision to give you the boot...so, clear your desk and rack off...

Ban: But...but...but...I thought I was an integral part of the team, Tones...

Tones: Yeah, you were...until, in rehearsals, you came up with that stupid song about me filling in the back of my Y-fronts when I heard about the High Court putting the kibosh on Nauru...What was that quaint little ditty called again – “I thought Nauru was a dump, til I had a look at Tony’s Y-Fronts”...Well, chum, just keep singing it as you waltz out the door...buonanotte...heh...heh...

[Tones turns on his heel and marches on down the corridor. He enters the office of Barnaby “Geoffrey Salter” Joyce, the TV station’s weatherman. However, if the truth be known, Barnaby hasn’t got a clue about meteorology. Initially, he had applied for the job of company accountant, but, as he failed the adding test at the interview, he remarked to the panel that he would love to move to Sydney, as he was sick and tired of driving into flooded creeks in Queensland. However, as they had no other applicants, the Panel offered the vacant position of weatherman to Barnaby instead.]

Tones: Hi Barnaby...did you hear that global warming has caused the oceans to rise by four feet?

Barnaby: No, get away, Tones! Oh, I get it...it’s another one of your jokes...Well, what about the sea level rising by four feet because of global warming?

Tones: Well, it means that Sophie is down at Bondi, treading water as we speak...bwah-ha-ha-ha...

[The two friends are wetting themselves laughing, but, after a few moments, Barnaby stops. Noticing that Barnanby has stopped kacking himself, Tones also desists.]

Tones (incredulously): What’s the matter, Barnaby – don’t you think my joke’s rip-roaringly funny?

Barnaby: Erm...to be truthful, Tones...I don’t get it...can you explain it to me...please?

[Not for the first time, Tones is disgusted at Barnaby’s inability to get his jokes. Again, he turns on his heel and marches off down the corridor. He pops his head into the office of Peter “Hugh Tabbath” Dutton, the chain-smoking video-editor. Pete is a very loyal servant of the Company, keen to inform everyone that he smokes three packs an hour, so that the Company can maintain its sponsorship deal with Big Tobacco.

The atmosphere in Pete’s office, therefore, is so polluted, it would make the air around Krakatoa in 1883 look like the Garden of Eden before Adam and Eve got their marching orders.]

Pete: Hi, Tones...[cough, cough]...Wanna fag, mate?

Tones: Nah, mate...gotta bike ride this arvo...must keep the old lungs in good working order...[cough, cough]...

[Tones notices Pete’s half-empty packet of coffin-nails on his desk.]

Tones: Jeeze, mate...haven’t you seen the disgusting pictures of diseased lungs on the front of your pack...[cough, cough]...Don’t images like that put you off smoking for good, mate?

Pet: Wow! I didn’t...[cough, cough]...realise those pictures were of smokers’ lungs, mate...I always thought they were snaps of nature-strips after Gillard’s NBN had its evil way with them...hee...hee...[cough, cough]...

[Tones can’t endure the atmosphere in Pete’s office any longer, so high-tails it before he becomes just another statistic of industrial manslaughter. He strolls down the corridor and spots Annabel “Domenica” Crabb, the company receptionist, at the front desk. Everybody knows that Annabel has the hots for Tones, but it isn’t reciprocated. Tones, however, likes to chat to Annabel as she has the great knack of being able to stroke his enormous ego.]

Annabel (gushingly): Oh, hi Tones-babes!! And how’s my favourite TV personality today? I bet that pert little butt of yours is feeling very comfy inside those sexy Y-Fronts you wear...So, if they’re slipping down a tad, just let me know, and I’ll help you to pull them up nice and tight...Whaddya reckon, big boy?

[Tones can’t help blushing, but is keen to get Annabel to inform him, as if he doesn’t know it already, of his schedule for the rest of the day. She reminds him that he is doing a pre-recorded interview with Mr Finkelstein (of the IPCC) in twenty minutes time at 11.00 am. Just then, however, and prompted by Annabel’s interest in his nether regions, Tones excuses himself, saying he needs to spend a penny. He marches off to the gents, enters the cubicle and sits himself down on the dunny.

However, he has no sooner finished, when his mobile rings. Tones answers it and it is Annabel on the line, informing him that “Mr Finklestein is in reception”. “Crap!” says Tones to himself, “what is it with these bloody greenies – haven’t they heard of watches! He’s fifteen minutes early, ffs!”

However, Tones has a brainwave. “I’ll teach this leftie warmist bastard a lesson...heh...heh...” He tells Annabel to keep him in reception for a couple of minutes and then send him to meet him in the gents.

So, in the reception area, Mr Finklestein makes himself comfortable, leafing through the Y-Frontsline catalogue which he found on the coffee table. He is so taken by one picture in particular, that he can’t resist the temptation to rip it out and put it in his pocket.

Meanwhile, Tones jumps off the dunny, without flushing it, grabs the toilet rolls and hides them in the cupboard, and turns the thermostat on the wash-handbasin’s water-heater right down to freezing. He then races up the back stairs to Barnaby’s office, grabs something off the bookshelf and skates back down again to the gents, just before Mr Finkelstein arrives, carrying a clip-board.]

Mr Finklestein: Aha! You must be Mr Abbott...But, I must say, I am finding it very unusual to be directed to the male toilets to meet you...very unusual protocols, to say the least, my good man...

[Mr Finkelstein proceeds to record something on his clip-board. Tones, however, is intrigued that this greenie Yank has suddenly developed an Australian accent, but, then, what do you expect from these subversive mongrels who are trying to impose their primitive, tofu-munching ideology on normal people like him.]

Mr Finkelstein: But, before we go any further, Mr Abbott, I must say I haven’t completed my ablutions today, so I will utilise yonder cubicle, if you don’t mind...

[Mr Finkelstein enters the cubicle and locks the door. Immediately, however, Tones hears a gasp of disgust emanating from within.]

Mr Finkelstein: Euwww! Good gracious! How disgusting! The last person in here didn’t flush the toilet!

Tones (dismissively): Don’t fret yourself, mate...shit happens...heh...heh...

[Tones can hear Mr Finkelstein scribbling frantically on his trusty clip-board. Then the toilet is flushed, followed by the sound of Mr Finklestein unzipping his flies. After another few moments, another anguished cry emanates form within the cubicle.]

Mr Finkelstein: I don’t believe it! There’s no toilet paper in here!

[Again, Tones hears the tell-tale sounds of Mr Finkelstein writing on his clip-board. So, Tones fires under the door the big book he had grabbed off Barnaby’s book-shelf.]

Tones: Oh, stop your whinging! Here’s a copy of the latest report from your greenie mates at the Productivity Commission – if it’s good enough for Barnaby to use as toilet-paper, it’s good enough for you...haw...haw...

[After a few moments, Tones hears the toilet being flushed and a very irate Mr Finkelstein, still scribbling furiously on his clip-board, emerges. Totally speechless with rage, he puts down the clip-board and runs the water in the wash-hand basin. After an eternity, the water is still stone-cold!]

Mr Finkelstein (rhetorically): I don’t believe this, Mr Abbott! Don’t you know that, for hygiene reasons, hot water should be provided in wash-hand basins?

[Again, Mr Finkelstein writes something on his clip-board.]

Tones: Look, mate...the water used to be hot, but because of global cooling, its temperature seems to have gone down a notch or two...heh...heh...

[Then, as Mr Finkelstein continues to record on his clip-board, Tones’ mobile goes off.]

Tones: Hallo? Oh, hi Domenica...Who? What do you mean there’s another Mr Finkelstein in reception? You...you...you are saying this one’s got an American accent and is here to be interviewed by me on global warming!

[Tones looks at this very irate Mr Finklestein and the penny starts to drop.]

Tones (barely audibly): Erm...you’re not Mr Finkelstein from the IPCC, are you?

Mr Finkelstein (sternly): No, I’m not! I happen to be Mr Ray Finkelstein, chairman of the Inquiry into the Australian Media ...and, Mr Abbott, after I write my report, and if the terms of reference are widened to include dubious programs like yours, I think your career in the TV interviewing business will be somewhat stillborn...

Tones: But...but...but...what about my big mortgage? I need the extra dosh from this little earner to help meet the repayments!

Mr Finklestein: Well, if you need the extra money, Mr Abbott, maybe you can give some consideration to applying for a male model’s position, advertising your company’s wares...I think this image I got from your Y-Frontsline catalogue suits you to a tee...hee...hee...