2GB’s headquarters at Macquarie Square is engulfed, currently, in a fog of despondency.
Business used to be booming, with all the expensive metal advertising billboards that surrounded the square resplendent with copious amounts of posters spruiking the wares of various businesses that were only too happy to jack up their prices and hand over the proceeds to 2GB’s shareholders.
Yes, they were the good old days, when Macquarie Square was known as the OK Corral – where any leftie who was stupid enough to venture thereabouts, ended up with an arse-full of buckshot. Now, however, it’s known as the Not-So-OK Corral, and the now-resident leftie goons, aka the Handbag Hit Squad, rule the roost.
So, in response to this changing of the guard, the advertisers have shot the crow instead and the billboards lay empty. In fact, the very expensive metal advertising hoardings around Macquarie Square have had to be taken down and sold as scrap, to pay for a few outstanding bills. They have been replaced with cheap balsawood panels, but still, they lay bereft of any income-generating ads. The square, really, has gone to the dogs, with tumbleweed blowing everywhere and property prices in the neighbourhood plummeting.
And this is of special interest to Tony Abbott. As everyone knows, Margie, the girls and he live just around the corner from Macquarie Square and their house is now worth only a fraction of what they paid for it when they took out that great big fat mortgage. Tones had hoped to have been installed in The Lodge by now, with his accompanying fat pay rise. So he is now reduced to cooking food in his kitchen and selling it from the rickety table he has placed on the weed-infested pavement outside his front door.
So, on this particular day, whilst Tones is slaving away in the kitchen, he hears the barking orders of Margie bellowing out from the lounge-room where she is watching, with the daughters, the footy on the telly.
Margie: Tony!!! I hope you’re working hard out there in the kitchen!!! There’ll be no re-runs of Downton Abbey for you if you don’t prepare all that food for us to sell!!! And you’ve got a long way to go, y’know, in making a success of that scam you’re trying to pull of pretending you’ve got a feminine side...If you’ve made any headway at all, it’s all down to me, y’know...all those TV and magazine interviews I’ve done, trying to save your sorry ass on Newspoll...
[Tones, dressed in his pink frilly apron and matching budgie smugglers, has had enough of these disrespectful taunts at his masculinity. He so wants to blurt out, “if you don’t shut your fat mouth, woman, I’ll whack you a few times around the chops with this wooden spoon I’m holding...grrrrrr...” Instead, realising he needs Margie’s ongoing cooperation in his cunning plan to manufacture a caring feminine side, he replies meekly through gritted teeth.]
Tones (sarcastically): Yes, dear...I can assure you I’m working extremely hard, dear...in fact, I haven’t worked so hard since that last door-stop interview I gave, when I only gave the reporter the chance to say, “Erm...Mr Abbott...” and I walked off to meet my pedicure appointment...heh...heh...
Margie: Well, if you don’t lift your game in there, mate, I’ll be cutting off more than your toenails...
[Tones has had enough of this girly cooking lark and decides the time is ripe for ending the Handbag Hit Squad’s hegemony in Macquarie Square once and for all. But, he knows this won’t be easy. The Handbag Hit Squad, comprising of Penny Wong, Nicola Roxon, Tanya Plibersek and led by that bloody witch Gillard, have already put paid to his first line of defence, Julie Bishop, Kelly O’Dwyer, Michelle Grattan and that bird Sophie Mirabella. With handbags at two paces, Julie and the other loyal girls didn’t stand a chance.
So, Tones is on to Plan B, and what a plan it is, even if he says so himself. Tones is going to bring in the heavy-hitters, those members of the Coalition who are strong of stature and carrying, literally, a lot of weight in the organisation. “Huh...just watch Gillard and her Handbag Hit Squad get the better of these guys...no way Jose”, Tones confidently says to himself.
However, there is one serious flaw in his latest plan: all the big hitters are blokes, and Tones doesn’t want it to backfire on him when the cyber-bullying lefties in the anti-social media say that all he is good for is organising his over-weight male goon squad to bash up a group of girls. All Margie’s good work in trying to manufacture a feminine image for him would have been to no avail. But, first, Tones has to get Margie’s permission to leave the kitchen.]
Tones: Erm...Margie, darling...I need to go down to the convenience store to get a packet of Johnnies...won’t be long...
Margie: Huh...I don’t think you’re going to need any for a while, mate...I’m going to have to do a lot more interviews on your behalf...and you know how they always give me headaches...
[Tones has to reassure Margie that what she means by a packet of Johnnies, is not what he had in mind. He explains to her that he needs some more desiccated coconut to sprinkle on the cakes he is making.
So, Tones gets his leave-pass and, stuffing four of his hardest rock-cakes in his chaff handbag, sets off for Macquarie Square. Once there, he gets on the mobile to the four heavy-hitters, reminding them not to forget to bring along their chaff handbags (Tonebags) containing the women’s clothing he had procured for them earlier.
Soon, four taxis, the suspensions of which seem to be struggling somewhat, stop at the square. They are so low to the ground, Tones reckons each contains a herd of hippos being transported to the local zoo. Immediately, Joe Hockey, Alan Jones, Ron Boswell and Scott Buchholz are disgorged. However, the health and safety of the taxis’ suspensions are still at risk.]
Tones: About time too!!! And what gives with the overloaded taxis – surely you’ve only got your Tonebag inside with your women’s clothing – they couldn’t weigh that much!!
[It takes all their strength for the four heavyweights to lift their chaff handbags out of the taxis. In disgust, Tones turns on Joe Hockey.]
Tones: How many times have I told you not to carry your budget black holes around in your Tonebag!! No wonder it’s so heavy – it’s sucking in all the matter from miles around, ffs!! Sheesh...just get your high heels, fish nets and push-up bra out, go behind the hoarding and get changed...
[Tones then turns on the hapless Alan Jones.]
Tones: And as for you...it’s all your fault we lost the advertising on the hoardings...So, why’s your Tonebag so heavy then?
[Tones doesn’t even wait for an answer, and immediately opens up Alan’s chaff handbag and spots, as well as his batch of women’s clothing, a whole array of car parts! There are hub-caps, ashtrays, a jack, window wipers and god-knows what else!]
Tones: WTF’s all this? No wonder your friggin’ Tonebag weighs a bloody ton!!
Alan (indignantly): Huh...you didn’t expect me to give my Merc back without a fight, did you? Next week, in place of all the ads that have been pulled from my show, I’m going to be auctioning all these – I reckon I’ll be on a right little earner...heh...heh...
[Tones, in disgust, orders Alan behind the blank hoarding to get changed. Ron Boswell and Scott Buchholz also make their excuses for having extraordinarily heavy Tonebags. Ron’s, for example, is chockers with wheat! He says he is siphoning it off, causing the supply to fall, thereby raising the price, when he will then release it onto the market, making an absolute killing! Tones, being bored by economics, hasn’t got a clue what Ron is on about, so turns to Scott, who maintains his chaff handbag is so heavy because he has imprisoned Campbell Newman inside. Instead of the bollocking the other three get, Scott gets a gold star from Tones.
Shortly afterwards, all of Tones’ heavy hitters are kitted out in their women’s gear, making a group of Poor Clare nuns look like four Kings Cross hookers. However, before Tones can order them to empty their chaff handbags of the burdensome contents within, and arm their Tonebags instead with a workmanlike rock cake, Joe can’t help aiming a few well-directed jibes at Alan.]
Joe: Hey, Alan...why can’t you learn to keep your big mouth shut at those flaky Young Liberal shindigs – if it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be in this mess...
Alan (pompously): Don’t pay any attention to these leftie accusations, my boy...they are purely canards...
Joe: Huh...talking of canards, Alan, I hear you next car is going to be a Rolls Canardly...
Alan (excitedly): Wow, Joe...that’s news to me! Is a Rolls Canardly their latest up-market model for celebrities like moi?
Joe: I don’t know about that, Alan...but I hear it’s been designed for you in particular – it rolls down one hill and can hardly get up the next...bwahahahaha...
[The others wet themselves laughing at Alan’s expense.]
Alan (highly indignant): Huh, mate....it’s a good job you haven’t got a mirror handy to see yourself...with those man-boobs and that push-up bra, you’re doing a good impersonation of Silicon Valley...heh...heh...
[Suddenly, from around one of the corners of Macquarie Square, appears the Handbag Hit Squad, wielding their fearsome handbags (except for Julia, who has forgotten hers again!)
Tones’ gang realises they are outflanked and despairingly try to lift their overladen chaff handbags to swing at Gillard’s mob, but to no avail. The Handbag Hit Squad is on top of them, making Tones wish their chaff handbags were full of weightless carbon dioxide instead.]
Julia: Well, well, well, girls...look who it is – the Tonebag Tit Squad...heh...heh...Let’s wreck the joint!!
[Before Nicola, Penny and Tanya have time to raise a handbag in mortal combat, Joe and the others take to their heels, leaving Tones on his own, angrily facing up to a handbag-less Julia who is standing in front of the balsawood advertising hoarding.
Tones swings a punch, which misses Julia, but makes a hole in the hoarding. He swings his other fist, which again doesn’t hit his intended target. Before Tones can extricate his fists, Nicola Roxon, most appropriately as Attorney-General, nips under the hoarding and clamps Tones in handcuffs. Tones is going nowhere.
Hours later, and night has well and truly fallen. Tones’ plaintive cries of, “Margie...help...I’m going to miss Downton Abbey on the telly...” go unheard and unanswered in the Abbott household where Margie and the daughters are busily trying to complete the cake-making task that Tones has ungraciously failed to complete.]
Daughter 1 (anguished): Dearest Mamma...it looks like daddykins will never make it into The Lodge...We’re doomed to having to make and sell lamingtons to pay the mortgage for the rest of our days...boo...hoo...
Margie: I hate to tell you this, dearie, but it’s even worse than that...
Daughter 2 (equally anguished): Oh, how could it be so, Mamma?
Margie: Have you ever tried to get people to buy lamingtons that don’t have any desiccated coconut on them?
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