Masked Crusaders Of The Southern Plain

Sydney Morning Herald

Friday March 28, 2008

Chris Henning

Scene: Wouldn't you like to know where this is happening, you loathsome little pinko smarty-pants? Typical Herald reader! Well I'm not going to tell you. Oh OK, here's a hint. You're somewhere in the Sutherland Shire. See if you can find the address in Das Kapital, you nosy little creep. Harharhar. This is private property. Push off or I'll set the dogs on you.

Your reporter: I'm sorry, readers, we seem to have been taken over by some sort of pressure group. I'll just describe what I can see, shall I? We're outside a luxurious McMansion in Sylvania. Half truths has been told a Liberal Party branch meeting is going on inside, but the curious crucifix-shaped barbecue in the front yard makes us wonder about this. Let's take a look. (We sneak up beside the house and peer in.) There's a meeting of some sort. Oh look, there's the local member. It must be a branch meeting. Let's see how the Opposition's political thinkers believe they will win our hearts and minds. (We can see about eight middle-aged men standing around in a circle, wearing masks. Several carry whips and cudgels. At the centre of the circle kneels Scott Morrison, MP for Cook. He is blindfolded, stripped to the waist and handcuffed behind his back.)

First man: I call the meeting to order. First agenda item. That's you, scum. (He prods the MP with the toe of a well-polished boot.) Call yourself a Liberal? You nauseate me. You're not even a branch member. Harharhar.

Second man: Yeah. Harharhar. Want me to kick 'im, Nigel?

First man: (Whacks second man.) Don't call me Nigel. My name is Gonzor, Lord of the Troons.

Second man (Whining): A million pardons, Lord Gonzor!

Morrison: Look, I know we don't agree on all points, but I think you have to admit that, as local Liberal MP I have a pretty strong case for joining this branch.

Gonzor: I'll be the judge of that, worm! Grovel before great Gonzor or die!

Third man (to fourth man): Ooh isn't he masterful? I love the masterful ones. I long to be (extended sigh) dominated.

Morrison: Look, Nigel, we really can't waste time on -

Gonzor (furious, whips him): What did you call me worm?

Morrison (resigned): Oh for Pete's sake. All right. Look here Mighty Gonzor, Lord of the Shire and Most High Troon of Miranda Fair, let's not waste time on this -

Gonzor: Silence, filth! I have listened long enough to your snivelling. (He snaps his fingers. Drums beat in a hypnotic rhythm. Lord Gonzor pulls a lever, the floor opens and Morrison falls screaming into the greasy waters of the canal development, where he is devoured by crocodiles.)

Gonzor: Agenda item two! Schools policy. All pupils to be caned thoroughly each morning.

(We leave quietly.)