As wreckers go, Anthony the Anarchist is so bad, he would make Dennis the Menace look like Bob the Builder. In fact, Paul Keating summed up his wretched wreckability quite well (see five minutes into the link below).
As it happens, the High Priest-cum-Chief Executioner, George “Brandy Balls” Brandis, had both the Witch, Gillard, and Craig “Would you credit it” Thomson, in a chaff bag ready to organise their stoning when Anthony and his fellow anarchist acolytes in the assembled mob jumped the gun and spoiled it, fatally for Brandy Balls especially. You see, Anthony claimed he saw John Howard’s trakky-daks peeking out from underneath Brandy Balls’ cassock and shouted, “Rat! Rat!” The ensuing fuselage of lumps of coal promptly ended the Rodent’s and Brandy Balls’ earthly existences and, contemporaneously, put paid to the theory that carbon is weightless.
So, having scored an enormous own-goal with the unfortunate deaths of Brandy Balls and the Rodent, Anthony the Anarchist sets off to make restitution by finding, for the Coalition, the Holy Grail of Australian politics, the keys to the kingdom of Canberra, which the Witch, Gillard, had cunningly concealed.
Now, Anthony’s quest takes him to Fremantle in Western Australia. Having congratulated the local squire, Sir Colin, on being able to raise great new big taxes in the form of stratospheric rises in water and electricity charges, whilst conning the local media into turning a blind eye, Anthony sets up camp on Fremantle wharf and makes plans to search the environs for the whereabouts of the illusive keys to the kingdom of Canberra. His foremost hunch is that they are hidden somewhere within the austere, forbidding walls of the 19th century convict-built Fremantle Prison, which is clearly visible on a height not far from his base-camp on the wharf.
However, his mental planning for his assault on the Prison is interrupted by the shrill cries of one of his sentries, Ban Morrison, who is jumping up and down on the spot, pointing out towards the ocean and screaming, “STOP THE BOATS!” at the top of his voice. The object of Ban’s manic attack is a large liner sailing into the harbour with some old bird standing at the bow waving to all and sundry. Anthony and his anarchist mates assume it is full of illegals, so arm themselves with lumps of coal purloined off a nearby barge and hurl them at the ship, quickly taking out the waving lady. However, they are duly set upon by a horde of handbag-wielding and Union Jack-waving old biddies from Peppermint Grove.
Old dears: You absolute bounders! You’ve brained Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth...Don’t you fools know she was coming to Perth for the CHOGM meeting...You’re nothing but a rat-bag crowd of ne’er-do-well leftie commos – get them girls!
[Anthony quickly decides that discretion is the better part of valour, so falls back on another one of his infamous stunts. He leaves his fellow anarchists to fend off the vicious handbag-wielding amazons and, removing the mighty Shovel of Dobell that he had borrowed from Lady Kathy Jackson, from its scabbard, rushes headlong up the port towards the gates of Fremantle Prison, guessing that the Holy Grail, the keys to the kingdom of Canberra, can be found hidden therein. Unfortunately for Anthony, however, he doesn’t realise that, nowadays, Fremantle Prison isn’t any longer a redoubt to incarcerate hardened English footpads or mutinous Irish rebels. These days, you pay at the gate for a guided tour of the vacant cells, and to view the now-unused whipping frame and gruesome gallows. And, also, today there are a few conferences being held which, as an ardent anarchist, are of no value to Anthony. Now screaming his war-cry, with his fearsome shovel brandished high above his head, Anthony sprints towards the gates of the Prison.]
Ticket clerk: Good afternoon, sir...if you haven’t got a concession card for having a great big fat mortgage, that’ll be five dollars please...
[Anthony, shrieking like a banshee who, before heading out on a date with Frankenstein, discovers a zit on her nose, pummels the unfortunate ticket clerk with the Mighty Shovel of Dobell and races into the interior of the Prison, eyes darting hither and thither, trying to identify the probable location of the keys to The Lodge. He decides that one of the little cells on the top tier is the most likely resting place so, walloping any tourists and primary school students on educational visits, over the head with his formidable shovel, he fights his way up the stairs of the main prison block.
At the top of the first flight of stairs, Anthony notices that the authorities have removed the dividing walls between some of the tiny cells, to form some bigger areas that now function as conference rooms. Anthony storms into the first one and confronts its occupants, four old blokes in cardigans. He cleaves each of their skulls with his deadly Shovel of Dobell and moves on in search of the illusive keys. However, if he had taken time to question them first, he would have discovered that they were in fact on his side – they were the only four economists in Australia who think his Direct Action Plan isn’t worth jack-shit.
Anyhow, Anthony the Anarchist bursts into the next room and, again, sunders the occupants’ skulls from their shoulders with fearsome whacks from the mighty Shovel of Dobell. He then moves on down the corridor, wreaking havoc as he proceeds. However, he is abruptly stopped in his tracks by the fearsome figure of Wilson Tuckey standing in his way on the balcony. Ever since getting the heave-ho at the 2010 election, Iron Bar has been working at the Prison as a security guard.]
Iron Bar: You idiot! You’ve just be-headed Lord Monckton and the only three scientists in Australia who agree with you that global warming is a load of crap!
[For his troubles, Iron Bar gets sconed with Anthony’s shovel, who continues to battle his way through the ever-decreasing throng of tourists, day-trippers and school groups. Anthony is so blinded with frenzy, he even scythes through a table-full of fund-raisers who are trying to solicit donations for mesothelioma sufferers, slashing their banners depicting the face of Bernie Banton.
However, an intrepid group of schoolies pull out their pea-shooters and pepper Anthony so much, he beats a hasty retreat out of the Prison and back into the environs of the port city. By this stage, Anthony has come to the conclusion that the keys aren’t in fact in Western Australia after all, so he decides to hoof it along the Great Eastern Highway and see if the Witch Gillard has in fact hidden the keys to The Lodge somewhere in Adelaide instead.
A few days later, somewhere on the endless straight road that traverses the stark Nullarbor Plain, the weary Anthony looks up from his unforgiving and pitiless perambulation and spots, in the distance coming towards him, what looks like a convoy of trucks.]
Anthony (ecstatically): Yippee! It’s the Orange Convoy of No Confidence returning to Perth after its very successful Crusade against the Gillard infidels...
[Anthony, confidently and imperiously, stands in the middle of the road waving the convoy down. Unfortunately for him, however, it doesn’t stop. Nearby, two hungry crows notice the carnage and hop over to tuck in.]
Crow 1: Huh...don’t you just hate roadkill...It gets squished so much, there’s never much left to feed on...
Crow 2: Yeah...tell me about it...After those CT, MRRT and NBN road-trains finished with this guy, we’ll get more of a feed from the poor bastard’s shovel...sheesh...