Prime Minister Turnbull visits Melbourne, dragging Minister Dutton along to present a united front, in the hope of improving his waning popularity in the café capital of Australia.
DUTTON: Are you sure about this, Malcolm?
TURNBULL: Don’t be silly, Peter. There’s never been a more exciting time to be in Melbourne. I’ve planned a fabulous evening for us. Night footy, then a late supper at a fabulous restaurant.
DUTTON: Is that really necessary? Can’t we stay in and watch the footy on the telly and get an Uber takeaway delivered to the hotel?
TURNBULL: No votes in that. We have to get out among the hoi polloi. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.
DUTTON: I don’t feel good going out. This is Melbourne, Malcolm. There are dangerous, marauding African gangs trashing the joint everywhere.
Here, have a look at the paper’s front page — it says:
‘OUT OF CONTROL AFRICAN GANGS TERRORISE MELBOURNE.’
Dutton hands the paper to Turnbull. The PM quickly peruses its front page.
TURNBULL: Peter, you idiot! You’re reading your own quote! You’re jumping at your own shadow. What a joke!
DUTTON: Oh, yeah. Well, I don’t like the colour of my shadow. It frightens me.
TURNBULL: Don’t worry. We’ll have a great time. The footy will be a blast. My team, Sydney, against North Melbourne. We’d better go downstairs. Our car will be here any minute.
DUTTON: Car?! Just one car?!
TURNBULL: Of course!
DUTTON: Are you trying to kill me? One car won’t be enough to ensure we’ll safely get there. I’ll ring around and organise a convoy of half a dozen Federal Police cars to escort us.
TURNBULL: No can do. They’re all off raiding the homes and offices of State Labor organisers. We’ll be sweet, Peter. I promise.
DUTTON: I’m scared — really scared! Can you at least hold my hand when we go outside?
TURNBULL: Okay. If it will make you feel safe.
They go downstairs and wait in the foyer. Turnbull takes selfies with anyone within ten metres, while Dutton paces anxiously awaiting their driver.
The car arrives and they enter, Turnbull in the front, Dutton in the back. Turnbull winds the window down and smiles and waves to people as they drive past. No one notices him. Dutton hides on the floor of the back seat, shaking with terror.
DUTTON: Please hurry up and get there. Please! Are the African gangs out there, Malcolm?
TURNBULL: No. Not a one. Just relax.
They arrive at the stadium and are escorted to their corporate box. The teams run out onto the oval and Dutton finally begins to relax.
DUTTON: This is better. Tucker’s good and the beer is cold. More a Rugby League man, myself. A Bronco boy.
TURNBULL: The Sydney Suns — I mean Swans, have grown on me. Here we go!
The game starts and within seconds Dutton shrieks in horror.
TURNBULL: Peter. Peter! What’s wrong?
DUTTON: I knew it. Have a look. There, on the ground. I knew it! Even on the playing field, the African gangs are causing havoc.
The official match commentary is heard.
FOOTY COMMENTATOR: And the ball goes to North's forward line. How good is this?! Boy, oh boy! Aliir Aliir, up against North's Majak Daw. Two superb athletes from Sudan here on the big stage in Melbourne. Majak! What a mark!
DUTTON: [Shaking] You promised me, Malcolm. You said it would be alright. Well, it’s not. Look at them. Ganging up together like that. I’m leaving!
TURNBULL: They’re not ganging up. They’re playing against each other.
DUTTON: I don’t care what you say. They’ve formed a gang. They can’t help themselves!
TURNBULL: Okay, scaredy cat. We’ll go and have something to eat at a restaurant.
DUTTON: Good. There’ll be no one there because everyone’s too scared to go out. We’ll get a good table.
They leave the stadium and the driver takes them to Lygon Street. Turnbull chooses a restaurant and they go in.
DUTTON: Malcolm. There are too many people here — and some of the people in the street are African. I tell you, they’ll form a gang, come in here and rob us. You said there’d be no one here!
TURNBULL: Peter. You said Melburnians were too scared to dine out, not me.
DUTTON: But you agreed there is a big problem with African gangs in Melbourne.
TURNBULL: Oh that. You know me, Peter. I’d say any old shit if there’s a vote in it.
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