It’s an early morning start for Tony “Arthur Daley” Abbott at his ACTION MOTORS car-yard (“Arthur’s Commodores – Trade-Ins Or Newies”).
However, as he alights from his car, he can’t help noticing that his rivals across the road (Gillard’s NBN MOTORS – “Net a Bentley Now”), even at this early hour, are managing, unlike him, to do a roaring trade.
On his way to the portacabin that he calls his ‘office’, Arthur passes by the big tree that is the centrepiece of his display-yard. “Great tree, that”, Arthur mutters to himself. “When the customers see that, they think I’m serious about this carbon-capturing Real Action clap-trap...hee...hee..."
However, under the tree, Arthur notices a set of stepladders. “Jeeze...better put them away”, he thinks to himself, “or one of those leftie union thugs will pass by and half-inch them on me”. Arthur grabs the stepladders, opens his office door and places them inside. Therein, moreover, a further shock meets his eyes. He had strategically placed a nice photo of himself in his speedos on the board opposite, so that the mug punters entering the office would spot his muscular physique, and buy a Commodore so that they also could look as manly as him. However, some joker had drawn a pair of specs, a bra, and a comb-over on his pristine photographic likeness!
Arthur’s visceral feelings of hatred towards the perpetrator, however, are interrupted by the sudden entrance into the office of the agitated figure of Malcolm “Dave” Turnbull, the rich owner of the ‘exclusive gentlemen’s club’, the Winchester. Dave obviously has a bone to pick with Arthur.
Dave: Righto, Arthur...I think I’ve given you enough time to pay me back the money I loaned you...
Arthur: Oh, keep your hair on, Dave – you know I’ll pay you back when the Indos ditch those Bentleys Gillard gave them on that discount deal...Soon, they’ll all come over here and buy a Commodore from me at top dollar price...heh...heh...
[Dave is just about to remind Arthur that there is as much chance of the Indos doing business with him, as there would be with Paris Hilton taking a vow of poverty, when, in the background, they hear plaintive cries for help.]
Arthur: What’s that bloody racket? Sounds like somebody’s life’s in danger...
Dave: Yeah – sounds like Joe at the Press Club when he couldn’t answer any of the journos’ questions on the economy...hee...hee...
[Arthur and Dave step outside to investigate and, sure enough, hanging onto a tree branch for dear life, is Arthur’s trusty minder, Joe “Terry McCann” Hockey.]
Terry (pleading): Help! Anyone! For pity’s sake, someone put the stepladder back – I can’t hold on here for ever!
Arthur: What the hell are you doing up the tree anyway, Terry?
Terry: I was putting up some coloured bunting to try and brighten the yard up, and some genius decided to remove the stepladder!
[Just to prolong Terry’s ordeal, Arthur ambles over to the office, slowly removes the ladders and returns, equally slowly, to the tree. He places them under Terry, who thankfully places his feet safely thereon.]
Terry: Phew! That was close! Jeeze, Arthur – I thought you were going to leave me swinging there in the wind for ever!
Arthur: No fear, mate...the only reason I saved you was to see the look on your face when I dock half your wages for vandalising my photo in the office...heh...heh...
Terry: Aw...get real, Arthur! I was only having a bit of fun – people are saying you are the love child of Sarah Palin and Donald Trump, aren’t they?
[Upon having his parentage called into question, Arthur stares menacingly at Terry, whilst simultaneously nodding his head in a decidedly non-rapturous fashion. Luckily for Terry, the ice is broken by the entrance into the car-yard of a potential customer – Barnaby Joyce.]
Barnaby: good morning, gentlemen...I seem to have run into a bit of bother with my four-wheel drive – actually, I wrote it off in a swollen creek...Any chance of a replacement?
Arthur: As much as it pains me to knock back some custom, old son, I think you need to head down to the Naval Dockyard instead and enquire about one of their surplus submersibles...hee...hee...
[If the day started off badly for Arthur, it didn’t get any better. Kevin Rudd dropped in, looking for a replacement for his old Mazda ute. However, when informed by Arthur that he only did Commodores, he promptly threw a wobbly and departed, saying he was going to report him to the United Nations. Julie Bishop was another sale-gone-wrong when she insisted on buying a Holden Replica, and nothing else. Again, she also did her nana, out-stared Arthur, and stormed out. But, the greatest disappointment for Arthur was the no-show, so far, of the Indos. He really needed their purchasing power. Then, as if all those prayers he had said when he was in the seminary had been just answered, he notices, driving up the street in their Bentleys, the Indos! He turns in rapturous anticipation to Dave, who had stuck around, not having any intention of leaving until he got his money back.]
Arthur: Halleluiah! The fatted calves cometh!
[However, much to Arthur’s devastation and disappointment, the Indos drive straight into Jooles’ yard, alight from their Bentleys and are immediately upgraded with their very own Rolls Royce Phantoms! A crestfallen Arthur turns to Dave.]
Arthur: Hmmm...it looks like you’re going to have to wait another while for your money, mate...
Dave: Yeah, looks that way, doesn’t it...And Rolls Royce Phantoms to boot...I think the only Rolls Royce you’re ever going to own, mate, is a Rolls Canardly...
Arthur: Yeah...it rolls down one hill and can-ardly get up the next...tell me about it...
