Episode 67 – Ticky-Tacky

Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes all the same, there’s a pink one and a green one and another one for …

THE BOGUE & BOGUETTE SHOW!!!

(THE SCENE: It’s ten o’clock at night in the tortuous hellhole which happens to go by the name of “Glenmore Park”. All is quiet except for the occasional barking dog or a Ford Territory negotiating the Formula One-compliant three-and-a-half-mile long chicane called “Glenmore Parkway”. BOGUE has been kicked out of the tavern after getting into a fight with another patron and spending his entire fortnightly Newstart Allowance on bourbon & coke and the poker machines, and is now stumbling along from one cul-de-sac to another.)

BOGUE: (more off-key than Rebecca Black) “I left my heart to the shlappers around Khe Shanh” … (hiccoughs as he turns into yet another cul-de-sac) “And I shold my shoul with shigarettes” … (hiccough) … to — wooooah! (trips over and lands face first into the dish gutter) Fark me dead, loif doeshn’t get any worshe than thish … (gets up unsteadily and stumbles along) … “And I shold my shoul with shigarettes to a black mighty man” … (hiccough) … “I’ve had the Vietnam cold turkey, from the ocean to the Shilver Shitty” … (hiccough) … “And it’sh only shumfint or shumfint or other could undershtand” … (walks headfirst into a galvanised iron light pole) Wha? Wow … (hugs light pole) Hello, shweetie, how are you tonight, honeybunch? Beautiful night, innit? I musht shay that you’re a bit cold though, looksh like you could do with me warmin’ you up a bit! Hahaha!

(BOGUE stumbles onto the street, just as a car is passing. The driver swerves, brakes and honks his horn)

DRIVER: (winds down window and shouts out) Watch where you’re goin’,, you f#$kin’ fat drunk scumbag!

BOGUE: Oi! Who arst you fer yer opinion? Farkin’ tosser … (resumes his open-air karaoke) “Their livesh were all sho empty … And their legsh were alwaysh open, but their mindsh were alwaysh closed!” F#$k yeah! Shing with me, everyone! “And their heartsh were held in vast shuburban trainsh” … (BOGUE reels up his steep driveway, goes to his front door and tries to insert the key in the lock)

RESIDENT: (wearing T-shirt and boxers, opens door angrily) And what the hell do you fink you’re doin’?

BOGUE: What doesh it look like? Tryin’ to get into me own houshe! What the fark are you doin’ in my place? Who the fark are you?

RESIDENT: Mate, I reckon you need yer head checked. You got the wrong house, buddy!

BOGUE: What? Sho you’re tellin’ me that I don’t even know me own house when I see it? Lemme in or I’ll farkin’ smash ya! And I’ll report you to the coppsers fer trespassin’!

RESIDENT: No! You leave, or I’ll call the police! (tries to slam the door shut)

BOGUE: (shoulder charges the door and barges into the entrance lobby) Don’t try and tell me that I can’t even enter me own farkin’ house! Where’sh me mishus? What have you done with me bitch?

RESIDENT’S WIFE: (appears at top of stairs, in dressing gown) Is everything OK, honey?

(BOGUE looks up and sees a woman who quite patently is not BOGUETTE. He also notices that the furnishings are completely different to his own house)

BOGUE: Umm … yeah, it ish the wrong house. (wobbles back down the driveway without apologising) “Sho I walked acrosh the country from end to end” … (hiccough) “Tried to find a plashe to shettle down, where my mixed-up life could end” … (hiccough) … Fer fark’s shake, where the fark is me house? All these houshes look jusht like mine! (hiccough) “Held a job on an oil-rig, flying shoppers when I could” … (hiccoughs as he turns into another cul-de-sac) Fark, ish thish my shtreet? All theshe farkin’ shtreets look just the shame. Shutff it, I need to have a slash … (sees a 1998 Nissan Pulsar with P plates parked half on the nature strip, half on the bitumen, and decides its nearside door would make a good public toilet)

TEENAGER: (comes charging out of his front door and down the driveway) Oi! What the fark you fink you’re doin’? That’s me car!

BOGUE: Who gives a farkin’ tosh if it’s your car, I need to piss. The council oughta put in more public loos fer blokesh like me, I reckon!

TEENAGER: I don’t give a f#$k. Now go away, you drunk arsehole. Go piss on your own car. (turns to go back in, then turns around) Oi! Aren’t you that dickhead who got busted for vandalism over in Singapore?

BOGUE: Yeah, sho what if that wash me?

TEENAGER: (makes the L sign with his right thumb and forefinger on his forehead) Haha! Looooooser! (runs back into his house)

BOGUE: Fark you, you little smart-arshe c#$t! (kicks the Pulsar’s door, but he’s so drunk his foot slips and he falls over without leaving a mark) Yeah. You happy now, you little c#$t? You can get f#$ked. The whole world can go get f$#ked. (hiccough) So f#$k youse c#$ts! (gets up once again, and stumbles into the next cul-de-sac) Hmm, thish hash got to be me fifteenth shtreet or shumfint … maybe thish ish where I live! (hiccough) “And I’ve travelled around the world from ear to ear …” (hiccough) “And each one found me own lips, one more year the worse for wear …” (hiccough)

NEIGHBOUR: (opens second-storey master bedroom window) Oi! You’ll stop carrying on with your noise right now or I’ll call the coppers! People are trying to sleep here, we all have work early tomorrow morning!

BOGUE: Who the fark you fink you’re talkin’ to? I’ll do what I want. Call the farkin’ pigsh, like I care.

NEIGHBOUR: Oh well, have it your way then. (closes the window angrily)

BOGUE: Yeah. He can go get farked. They can all go get farked. (retrieves a rolled-up copy of the Penrith Press from the letterbox and hurls it at the bedroom window) Yeah. Take that, buddy. (stumbles away) “And the lasht train outta Shydney’s almosht gone … Yeah, the lasht train outta Shydney’s almost gone …”

NEIGHBOUR: (opens window again) And it’s “plane”, not “train”, you mangy maggot! (slams window shut)

BOGUE: Oi! Who arst you to gimme advice! Farkin’ wanker! (hiccough) “And it’sh really got me worried, I’m goin’ nowhere and I’m in a quarry …” (hiccough) … “And the lasht train outta Shydney’s almosht goooooone!” (hiccough) Hang on, thish ish me houshe jusht up there. I’m sure of it … though it looksh like all the other houshes I’ve tried. (sees what he thinks is a dark shadow walking away from his house) Oi! Who the fark are you! What were you doin’ in me houshe! (the shadow seems to quicken up and disappear into the darkness) Don’t ever come ’round to me houshe again! (hiccough) Unnershtand? (walks up driveway) Now, let’sh shee if me key worksh thish time … (tries his car key) Nup … let’sh shee now … (tries the glovebox key) … Nup. How about thish … (tries his suitcase key) Nup. Maybe thish ishn’t my houshe. One more try then I’ll shee if it’s on another shtreet … (fourth time lucky) Woohoo! I’m home! (hiccough) Honeybunch, I’m home! Least you coulda done ish put shome lightsh on for me … (starts climbing the stairs but falls down) Oh fark … (hiccough) Let’s try … (tries to stand up but just collapses back on all fours) Oh well. I’ll have to crawl up the shtairs I reckon … (crawls up to the top, then crawls into the bedroom, where he climbs into bed without changing his clothes, and snuggles up next to BOGUETTE)

BOGUETTE: (yawns) You took yer time, sweetie.

BOGUE: Yeah, honeybunch, I’m shmashed. Time to get shome shleep, have to go to the job agenshy tomorrow. (rolls over and feels something strange and plastic and slippery on the sheets) Hmm … hmm … what’s thish?

TO BE CONTINUED … Next week! Same Bogue-time! Same Bogue-channel!

Episode 66 – Cap In Hand

(AUTHOR’S NOTE: Much of today’s episode was written by everybody’s favourite Cronulla Sharks fan, Ash the Glasser of C#$ts – particularly, the story of how Ryan made his millions. The rest was written by me.)

I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo, what the hell am I doing here? I belong instead in …

THE BOGUE & BOGUETTE SHOW!!!

(THE SCENE: It’s evening in RYAN‘s small two-bedroom flat in Werrington. He’s home from work and is sitting on the sofa watching one of the DVDs from a Doctor Who box set at a high volume. A bottle of Carlsberg is sitting on the coffee table in front of him, one arm is around his well-worn and beloved MICKEY Mouse stuffed toy while he is biting the fingernails on the other hand.)

RYAN: (holds onto MICKEY even tighter) Oh Mickey, I can’t watch! I honestly can’t watch! The Daleks are about to kill The Doctor! Oh no!

(The Daleks fire up their death rays, all pointed at The Doctor)

RYAN: Oh no, Mickey! This is just so unbearable! I hope The Doc–

(a series of thirteen massive knocks in rapid succession sounds from RYAN’s front door, reminiscent of a stampede of rogue elephants on the Serengeti)

RYAN: Shit. Oh shit! (turns the TV off, runs to the pantry where he stows MICKEY, and answers the door to find BOGUE standing there) Oh, it’s you. What the hell are you doing here?

BOGUE: Who were you just talkin’ to?

RYAN: Umm … err … I wasn’t talking to anyone! Honestly! Just … umm … thinking aloud …

BOGUE: Funny. I swear I could hear you talkin’ to somebody. Why did you just turn your telly off, were you watchin’ a porno or sumfint?

RYAN: Umm … no, I wasn’t, I was just watching … umm … it might have been a porno, umm … It’s none of your business! Now go away!

BOGUE: Mind if I come in?

RYAN: No. Now f@#k off! (slams door in BOGUE’s face)

BOGUE: (jams foot in door) Please, me bruvva. Please just let me in.

RYAN: And why should I?

BOGUE: Please … please … I just need to talk to ya. I won’t be more than five minutes.

RYAN: (folds arms, glares at BOGUE) The last time I saw you, you tried to kill me. You had your hands around my throat, strangling me. You think that I ever want to see you ever again? In your dreams, you scummy little pube plucker!

BOGUE: But … I didn’t mean it or nuffint! You made me do it, you made me angry, always calling me a pube plucker and shit …

RYAN: Oh, so it’s my fault that you don’t know how to control your anger? How old are you now? Thirty-four, right? You’re an adult now, time to take responsibility for your own behaviour. Now bugger off, I’ve had a long day at work and just want to relax and unwind, so leave me alone!

BOGUE: Please … I’m sorry, all roit?

RYAN: Yeah, you always say “sorry”. “Sorry this”, “sorry that”. You always have. But you’re not sorry. You’re never sorry. If you were truly sorry, you’d do something to change yourself and to improve yourself. For you, the word “sorry” is just a get-out-of-jail-free card. “Oh, if I say sorry, they’ll think I’m really sorry and they’ll forgive me.” Well guess what, you retarded shithead — that trick doesn’t work with me anymore. Now for the last time, bugger off.

BOGUE: But … but Ryan … I needja …

RYAN: Yeah well, I don’t need you!

BOGUE: Ryan … do you remember all the times that we played Alex Kidd on the Sega Master System?

RYAN: Umm … yeah … that was a pretty cool game, I guess …

BOGUE: Yeah, and what about Vegas Stakes?

RYAN: Hahaha, yeah, I always used to beat the f#$k out of you, because I came first at school in the probability exam in Advanced Maths for the School Certificate!

BOGUE: Hahaha …  but I always beat you at Super Monaco Grand Prix because you can’t drive for shit! And what about all the times we’d catch the bus to Westpoint in Blacktown on the weekends and look at all the stuff in the shops?

RYAN: Yeah, but I’d bugger off to Dick Smiths and the library while you would go down to the army disposals store and look at all the butterfly knives and nunchakus … Oh, and remember the time that I left you there on Main Street because you and your shithead mate called me a nerdy pr!ck and Steve Urkel, and you couldn’t remember how to catch the bus home and you ended up walking all the way home, the wrong way via Sunnyholt Road?

BOGUE: Hahaha, yeah, it’s funny when you fink of it, wasn’t funny at the time now!

RYAN: Bwahahaha! And when I got home, Mum wasn’t happy, and I just said, well if I can read a timetable and find my way home, so can he, and she went “But you’ve gotta understand that he’s not as bright as you!” I should have said “No shit, Sherlock!” Hahahaha!

BOGUE: Haw haw haw haw chortle chortle snort snort haw haw …. so, now can I come in?

RYAN: Yeah, sure!

(BOGUE comes in and sits with RYAN on the sofa)

BOGUE: Anyway, I need a favour …

RYAN: Oh, let me guess. I saw all the shit that happened on the M5 on the news, it’s been in the papers and everything. Let me guess, your name is now mud and you can’t find a job and you  need some money.

BOGUE: Give the bloke an award, he’s on the ball tonight, I reckon!

RYAN: What do you think I am, made of money? I’ve got some savings, but I’m trying to save up for a deposit on my own little townhouse somewhere. These flats give me the shits. I don’t want to live with junkie scum, the couple next door are always having fights and the cops are here every second night but the stupid little bitch doesn’t have the guts to leave him, then you have the refugees in the flat beneath me who always cook, well, God knows what they cook, but it stinks to high heaven …

BOGUE: Well, while you’re trying to save up for a house, me and me kids are close to losing ours.

RYAN: Well, can’t you just sell up and rent for a while until you find another job?

BOGUE: C’mon, you’re loaded … can’t you please please pretty please help yer own bruvva out?

RYAN: Me? Loaded? Bullshit! I take home less money a week than you did when you were working on the roads. That bitch Isabella cleaned me right out at the Family Court. I don’t have anything left, my most valuable asset is the Audi and that’s fourteen years old now …

BOGUE: Well, how did you ever afford the Audi in the first place if your job pays so shit?

RYAN: Do you want to know? Do you really want to know?

BOGUE: Yeah, sure.

RYAN: All right, settle in. You want a beer?

BOGUE: Yeah, cheers mate.

RYAN: (goes to the fridge and opens a green, embossed bottle of Carlsberg for BOGUE) Now … it’s kinda confidential.

BOGUE: Me lips are sealed, bruvva.

RYAN: Good. (settles down on the sofa and takes a sip from his bottle) OK, well, when I graduated uni I got hired by one of the big four banks. In their computer department. ‘Cause, you know, back then the banks were just getting into computers and stuff. Isabella and I got hired at the same time and did Orientation together even though she was in human resources. You know, she was cute back then. Like, she wasn’t as much of a cold bitch, you know? She still looked kinda … normal. And hot. Anyway, I was smitten. Asked her out after that first day.

BOGUE: What’d she say?

RYAN: She said no. Said she didn’t want to date people who she might have to fire or promote someday. I tried a couple of times but it didn’t work for a couple of years.

BOGUE: Well? What’s so secret about that?

RYAN: Well … (sighs and takes a drink) OK, I may as well tell you.  In 1998, I was  still working there, I … accidentally created a computer virus. For a program I was putting together. It was an accident but a nasty one. F#$ker spread through all the company’s computers and nearly destroyed the entire country’s banking system ’cause by then we had everything online. Somehow I managed to stop it from destroying everything. They had to fire me cause of the screwup, but … (shifty eyes) … Let’s just say I was well taken care of.

BOGUE: Like … how?

RYAN: (takes a deep breath and another long drink to finish his bottle) Back then, you know, people didn’t fully realise the danger of computerising everything, and antivirus systems basically didn’t exist – today, the virus I built would be flushed out by any computer. If news had gotten out that some computer geek had nearly brought the national banking system to its knees … it would have been catastrophic.

BOGUE: Yeah, so?

RYAN: So they paid me $3 million to leave quietly and keep my mouth shut.

BOGUE: (eyes nearly drop out of his head). You’re having me on, mate.

RYAN: (shakes his head). I wish I was. How else do you think I could afford an apartment in Bondi and an Audi?

BOGUE: I thought your job paid you heaps.

RYAN: Mate, I’m an IT geek for some shitty contractor in North Ryde. You made triple what I do in a year. I could never get another job as a programmer in the finance industry after that incident.

BOGUE: (smiling at the thought that he made more money than his college-educated brother) So what happened?

RYAN: Well, basically, once I got fired I got really pissed off that they were buying my silence. Figured I may as well make a scene on my way out. Rocked up to Isabella’s office – she’d just gotten promoted as well – told her “they fired me, but I’m rich now. See you at the Pyrmont Bridge Hotel in an hour.” She turned up, I told her what had gone down – you are the only other person I’ve ever told, by the way – and the rest is history. (another deep breath as BOGUE swilled back his Carlsberg) That’s why she cleaned me out in the divorce. I’m still legally bound by the contract I signed with them when I left that I can never publicly talk about that incident, so I couldn’t exactly fight to keep, well, anything that she asked for without explaining how a two-bit IT geek could afford it.

BOGUE: So let me get this straight. You have three million dollars…

RYAN: Well, not anymore – most of it’s gone and what little’s still there is hers…

BOGUE: And you never thought about helping us out? (gets up)

RYAN: Mate, we didn’t talk in nine years! How was I to know you needed financial help? Well, until that incident with the Member of Parliament got on TV. And by then the divorce was almost done and I had no money.

BOGUE: Urrrruguruurhgurhgurhgurhgurhgkurnt!

RYAN: Come on mate, relax. Plus. It’s not like you wanted to have anything to do with me anyway. If I had told you about the money, you’d have just pretended everything was cool when it wasn’t. At least now, we’re older, smarter, all that stuff.

(Another knock at the door)

RYAN: Man, it’s all happening here tonight. Maybe we can turn this into a party! (goes to answer door)

(RYAN opens the door, revealing ISABELLA, his ex-wife — a lean, tall, eagle-nosed brunette with beady, jet-black eyes that could drill through diamonds, a ponytail so tight you can see the veins popping on her forehead, and wearing high heels and a red-and-black pantsuit with lapels so wide, if they were on her back she’d be the first human being in history to achieve flight without powered assistance.)

RYAN: Oh … what are you doing here?

ISABELLA: (shoves papers into RYAN’s hands) Ryan, you have been served. I’m here to reclaim your Audi. Now make it easy on yourself, hand over the keys …

RYAN: What? What’s all this about?

ISABELLA: I went to the Family Court this afternoon and obtained an exploratory interlocutory promissory estoppel injunction, altering the previous judgment last year.

RYAN: But … but I thought this shit was finalised nearly twelve months ago now. Nobody told me about another court hearing!

ISABELLA: Well, now that I’ve been promoted to Senior Deputy Vice Executive Director of Human Resources & Capability for all of New South Wales and the ACT, I can afford an even better lawyer. You can’t even afford new shoes, by the looks of you. Tough shit, loser!

RYAN: But … but how am I supposed to get to work from all the way out here?

ISABELLA: Your problem, not mine. Now, if you don’t hand over the keys, that’s contempt of court, and I’m sure that you won’t want that?

RYAN: (starts weeping) But … but … it’s my car! I bought it even before we started going out together! It was never in your name at all!

ISABELLA: Hahahaha. Can you prove that? Nope. You forgot to take all your own paperwork when we split.

RYAN: (cries) But … but … splutter splutter … it’s my Audi! My pride and joy!

ISABELLA: Oh, stop your crying and get over it. You are pathetic! You have always been pathetic! Why the hell I ever married you, I don’t know. Because you are just a WORM! A mere worm, and I never refuse an opportunity to crush you under these heels. You hear me? You are just pathetic!

RYAN: Yes … yes … you’re right … I am just pathetic …

BOGUE: (leaps out of the sofa and charges towards ISABELLA) Urgghrughgurhghruughrughruhgkurrghnt! You leave me bruvva alone! You hear me, you stuck-up bitch? NOBODY treats me bruvva like that, y’unnerstand, you selfish $lut?

ISABELLA: Oooh … oooh … eek! Oooooh oooooh! How beastly! (runs away and gets in her car back to Bondi, having failed to repossess RYAN’s precious Audi)

THE END

Episode 65 – Love On The Dole

As swimmers into cleanness leaping, let’s dive into another episode of …

THE BOGUE & BOGUETTE SHOW!!!

(THE SCENE: The entertainment area-cum-rumpus room of BOGUE and BOGUETTE‘s McMansion in Glenmore Park shortly after midday on a weekday. BOGUE is sitting in the middle of a cream-coloured velour modular sofa flanked on each side by his former workmates MATTY and JOEL.All three are unkempt, haven’t shaved for several days and are drinking Victoria Bitter straight from the 750mL “longneck” bottles which they are resting on their ample guts. They are watching television on BOGUE’s flash home theatre projection system.)

BOGUE: (flicking through all the channels with his Foxtel IQ remote control) Fark this fer a joke. Fifty channels and there’s nuffint on.

MATTY: Yeah, mate. It’s bullshit. Farkin’ hell, we pay, what, fifty, sixty bucks a munf for this shit. Sure, there’s good stuff on at prime time – but what about now?

JOEL: Yur, mate. Yur. No bloody consideration for people outta work at all.

BOGUE: Yeah, ain’t that the troof!

(AIDEN, BRAIDEN, JAIDEN and KAIDEN, who are home due to pupil-free day, come charging down the stairs and flood into the rumpus room like a flock of particularly noisy and aggressive geese, with AIDEN, BRAIDEN and JAIDEN landing blows on each other while KAIDEN runs to the corner and sucks on his thumb while cuddling a stuffed toy)

BOGUE: Oi! Kids! Stop yer bloody carryin’ on, you little deadshits. The good thing about being outta work is that I get to watch youse little pr!cks like a hawk all day, every day. Now go back up to yer rooms now and leave yer old man and his mates alone, for Christ’s sake!

(AIDEN, BRAIDEN and JAIDEN comply, while KAIDEN is still in the foetal position in the corner, rocking)

KAIDEN: I want my Mummy … I want my Mummy … when’s Mummy coming home … I want my Mummy …

BOGUE: Well, Kaiden, yer Mummy ain’t home, is she? Deal with it. Now go back upstairs – now! (holds remote control above his shoulder, as if about to throw it)

KAIDEN: (runs up the stairs) Waaaaaaah! I want my Mummy … I want my Mummy …

(BOGUE resumes his channel surfing while the three just sit there catatonically, looking stunned and vacant while sipping on their beers)

MATTY: (after a lengthy period of silence) So, Joel. We know ol’ mate here got lured out by the Panfers match on telly. I bet he feels pretty bloody stupid now, hey? Didn’t we say Penriff would get smashed?

BOGUE: Hey, I didn’t get to see a single second of the game! I spent four hours in the holding cells at the Campbelltown cop shop. F#$kin’ lyin’ cheatin’ c#$ts, them cops are!

JOEL: So, what did they use to get you to give in, Matty?

MATTY: Mate, the cops were there on the overpass, waving a Macca’s bag with an El Maco in it. Christ, I hadn’t had one of them since I was, like, 15! That got me out for sure.

BOGUE: Yeah, and did you end up getting it?

MATTY: Nup. They put me straight into the back of the paddy wagon, just like they did with you.

JOEL: Yeah well, the cops said that the boss was gonna pay double our entitlements if we left right away. I believed it! I coulda used double entitlements. Instead, we got nuffint.

BOGUE: Bugger. And poor old Cliff, the cops had to drag him out and restrain him, he didn’t go down without a fight … good on him.

JOEL: Yur. How about we all pay a visit to him in Silverwater Remand Centre this weekend? I reckon he needs a bit of cheering up.

BOGUE: Yur. See how we go. We’ve only got about a quarter-tank left in both our cars. We’ve sold one of our tellies on Gumtree, that’s paid for this fortnight’s mortgage repayment.

(Another silence which seems like an eternity, while BOGUE goes through every television channel known to the human race, even the ones in Arabic and Greek aimed at migrant communities)

BOGUE: Fark. I still can’t believe there’s nuffint on.

MATTY: Yur. I can’t believe it either. So mate, how’s the job-huntin’ goin’?

JOEL: It’s all bullshit. I went to one labour hire mob the other day, they took one look at me, saw that I used to work for the motorway contractor, they went “Oh yes, umm, errr, umm, we’ll see if we can, ummm, find sumfint for ya!” But they knew that we took part in industrial action. Kept calling them but haven’t heard back from ‘em. It’s bullshit, they’ve been givin’ work to ten people I know down at the tavern who wouldn’t know their own arses from a pointy end of a shovel!

BOGUE: Yur. Same deal with me. It’s different for me though – everybody knows who I am because of what happened in Singapore an’ shit. And everyone saw the TV coverage of the strikes too. One construction mob told me, “Nup, we’re never hirin’ shit-stirrin’ commie c#$ts like you, so don’t even ask.”

MATTY: Yur, it’s bullshit. All bullshit, mate. When’s the revolution gonna begin? I can’t wait.

JOEL: You know what? I’d be a commie if they didn’t love p00fs and abos so much.

BOGUE: Yeah. Stuff that fer a joke. A bunch of bleeding-heart do-gooders molly-coddling them bludging blackfellas who do nuffint but sit on their fat arses all day drinkin’ and shit.

MATTY: Mate?

BOGUE: Yur?

MATTY: Waddaya fink we’re doin’ now?

(BOGUE wrinkles his brows, squints his eyes, looks off into the distance)

BOGUE: (a minute later) Yeah. True that.

(another eternity passes with another twenty channels which didn’t pass muster)

MATTY: It’s bullshit, mate. It’s all bullshit. Life’s all bullshit. We’re rool blokes. At least we stood up for our rights. Just fink of it that way. We didn’t take life’s bullshit lyin’ down.

BOGUE: Yur, but not talking life’s bullshit lyin’ down don’t pay the bills. Farkin’ hell. The mortgage. The Foxtel. The Bigpond. The electricity. Rego, insurance, petrol for both me cars. Then you got me bitch always naggin’ me all the time for money to spend wiv her girlfriends. All the time! It grinds ya down and you end up just openin’ your wallet just to shut ‘er up and get some peace and quiet!

MATTY: Yur, mate. Same here. Same here.

JOEL: (inspects beer bottle) Yur. I miss me cans of bourbon and coke. Never thought I’d be drinking longnecks of VB. That’s what you get fer being a rool bloke and standin’ up to life’s bullshit, mate.

(The front door opens and slams shut and BOGUETTE runs through to the rumpus room. She is hysterical and crying and her entire face is covered in smeared mascara, eyeliner and foundation.)

BOGUETTE: I was going to call him Slaiden! (sobs copiously and runs upstairs to the bathroom which she locks herself in)

MATTY: Mate, what was that all about?

(BOGUE just stares into empty space, jaw slackened)

JOEL: Mate, you all roit?

(BOGUE continues staring, unblinking)

MATTY: (waves palm up and down six inches in front of BOGUE’s eyes) Hello? Anyone home?

(BOGUE does not respond)

JOEL: (shakes BOGUE’s shoulder) You still alive, mate?

(BOGUE explodes into a gigantic ball of tears, an incomprehensibly massive Niagara Falls of grief and mourning)

JOEL: (puts arms around BOGUE’s shoulder) Mate … mate … it’s all roit, mate … we’re mates …

(BOGUE continues crying)

MATTY: (puts BOGUE’s heads on his shoulder) Shhh, buddy, shhh … Life can’t be that bad, mate … You got yer mates! There there now, shhh …

THE END

Episode 64 – But Their Chains (Part 3)

O Captain! my Captain! Our fearful trip is done, so at long last we can watch …

THE BOGUE & BOGUETTE SHOW!!!

(THE SCENE: It’s the second night of the sit-in on the M5 motorway construction site in Campbelltown. Various strikers are dotted around the site. Some workers are manning the picket line facing a line of State Protection Group officers who are just itching to receive the order to smash the strike and cleave some livers in twain; some workers are curled up in the drivers’ seats of the heavy plant trying to get some sleep; others are huddled around a campfire in a used forty-four gallon drum such as BOGUE, his mates MATTY and JOEL, the new apprentice TYLER and the Grand Old Man of the highway construction industry, CLIFF.)

BOGUE: (rubs hands together over the fire and shivers) Brrrrrr, I’m freezin’ me arse off here.

CLIFF: Oh, stop yer whingin’, you big girl’s blouse. You’ll be shiverin’ if you lose yer house and home and have to sleep at a bus stop somewhere.

SITE MANAGER: (calls out weakly from the bulldozer bucket, still raised twelve feet off the ground) Please … please … I’m so … so cold. Somebody …  let me down so I can stand near the fire … please …

MATTY: Awww, shut up, boss! We’ve given you a fire blanket, we fetched the jumper which you had in your car, what more do you want?

SITE MANAGER: Please … please please pretty please, it stinks so much up here … I shat in the Macca’s paper bag which you gave me, but I’ve run out of empty Mount Franklin bottles to piss in … please, take this crap down and throw it away and give me some more bottles and another bag. Please?

JOEL: Nuh-uh. You’ve made your bed, now lie in it, pal!

SITE MANAGER: Please … please …

CLIFF: Hey, nuffint’s stoppin’ ya goin’ home, you can leave any time you want. Just don’t expect us to help ya along the way!

SITE MANAGER: Yeah, like I’m going to jump all that way. I’ll break my neck.

BOGUE: Oh, boohoo! Too bad, so sad!

TYLER: (to BOGUE) Hey man, aren’t you that guy who went to Singapore and got caned for vandalism and some other stuff?

BOGUE: Yup, that’s me.

TYLER: Oh, wow! Awesome! Tell me, what was it like gettin’ caned?

BOGUE: Oh, it was painful. Bloody painful, let me tell ya! Blood and bits of flesh flyin’ everywhere, man. Not that I cried or nuffint. I took it like a man, believe me! After the first stroke, I just shouted back, “C’mon, hit me harder, you mangy nip scumbags! Give it yer best shot!”

MATTY: Yeah sure, mate, sure! You cried like a big baby!

BOGUE: No, I didn’t. Honest!

JOEL: (with a falsetto voice) “Waaaah! Waaaah waaaaah! Oh, you beastly horrible prison guards, please don’t hit me too hard! I beg of you!”

BOGUE: No, I didn’t act like that! I didn’t cry at all. Honest! Well, maybe a little bit. But not like what you’re sayin’.

MATTY: Yeah, there was us Aussies, defending Singapore against Hitler back in World War I, and look what kinda fanks we get. Bloody ungrateful dog-eating slanty-eyes, I’m tellin’ ya!

JOEL: Too bloody right, mate! No gratitude at all.

BOGUE: (looks at the time on his phone) Oh, it’s time for the news, you still got yer trannie wiv ya, Cliff?

CLIFF: Yeah, sure.  Not sure how much batteries I have left after listenin’ to the races all day though. (retrieves ancient transistor radio from his pocket and turns it on, which is currently receiving the hourly news bulletin on 2KB)

NEWSREADER: And the roadworkers’ sit-in on the M5 in Campbelltown is entering its second night, with no sign of resolution in sight. Striking workers are still occupying the construction site, with one of Australia’s busiest roads still blocked by a line of heavy earthmoving equipment parked across the carriageways tied to an overpass with chains. Workers on the picket line told 2KB’s news team that they will not move until entitlements owing are paid into their bank accounts. The transport and construction unions have announced they will defy a Fair Work Australia order against secondary industrial action, and will call a stop-work meeting across the state on Monday morning, with workers expected to approve the ACTU’s call for a wave of sympathy strikes and boycotts. Meanwhile, the state transport minister has asked all motorists to reconsider their need to travel south-west of Sydney, and Roads & Maritime Services report twenty kilometre-long lines of bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Camden Valley Way and Campbelltown Road. CountryLink trains to Canberra and Melbourne have been booked out, while Qantas has recorded a massive surge in passengers on their Sydney to Melbourne flights. Interstate truck drivers are being urged to use alternative routes via the Princes Highway and the Olympic Highway. Now here’s the sport with …

BOGUE: Woohoo, help is on its way!

MATTY: Awesome! All the other unions are gonna stand shoulder-to-shoulder with us! It’s a revolution, baby!

TYLER: Woohoo! Man, all the chicks are gonna love me when I tell ‘em that I took part in the revolution!

JOEL: Fuck yeah! This is the revolution, me brothers! (calls up to the bulldozer bucket) Oi! Did you hear that, you arsehole? All the other workers are gonna join us. This is the revolution!

SITE MANAGER: Yeah right. Yeah bloody right. Revolution? Hahaha. You’ll never beat us, suckers!

CLIFF: You haven’t learnt nuffint in the past two days, it sounds like. When the workers stick together, we’ll never be beaten!

SITE MANAGER: Hahaha. We’ve got the money. We’ve got the guns. See those cops in riot gear standin’ just outside the gates? They’re not on your side, believe me. They never will be. We’ve got the politicians in our pocket, and there’s nothing you can do about it!

CLIFF: Hey, you’re the one stuck in a bulldozer bucket way up in the air shittin’ in hamburger bags. The shoe’s on our foot from now on! Anyway, it’s time for me favourite show, the Stan Jones Show on 2KB, the best talkback host of all time! Let’s listen …

STAN JONES: Hmm, so did you just hear the news. The strikers, a pack of mongrels if I ever saw one, the whole lot of them, on the M5 motorway in Campbelltown. Their sit-in is now entering its second night. Can you believe it? I mean. Can. You. Believe. It. Scumbags. Absolute scum of the earth. Stopping ordinary, decent, average, hard-working Aussies getting home to their kiddies. Clogging up the lifeblood of the nation. Truckies, decent hard-working truckies living on Battler Street, having to go hundreds of miles out of their way chewing up diesel and their precious time, just to bring you your groceries and your petrol and your morning paper. These strikers are the lowest of the low, a bunch of thugs and bullies. Well, they reckon that they’re campaigning for their entitlements. Do you know what I reckon they’re entitled to? They’re entitled to a few years as a guest of Her Majesty in Long Bay. That’s their entitlement right there, I reckon. And we have Mavis from Padstow on the line. Good evening, Mavis!

MAVIS: (in croaking, ancient voice) H-h-h-hello?

STAN JONES: Hello Mavis, you’re on the air!

(ten seconds of silence)

STAN JONES: Hello Mavis, we’re right to go.

MAVIS: S-s-s-sorry, one of my … one of my hair curlers just fell out. Y-y-yes, I agree, I feel so so sorry for these poor people trying to get home. Back in my day, the mounted police would have crushed these strikers to death under the horses’ hooves. But now, the police just let them all get away with it. It … i-i-i-it stinks!

STAN JONES: Absolutely. Ab. So. Lute. Ly. And it’s five past seven, good evening Beryl from Pendle Hill–

CLIFF: (switches off his transistor radio in disgust) I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it. (gulps) I’ve listened to Stan Jones for thirty-odd year now. I’ve always been his number one fan. And … and … (solitary tear trails down his left cheek, catching a reflection off the flames in the forty-four gallon drum) … I don’t farkin’ believe it. I never thought he’d turn against blokes like me. Fark it. (vehemently hurls his transistor radio onto the bitumen where it shatters in a thousand pieces) Fark it!

BOGUE: (puts arm around CLIFF’s shoulder) Mate. He never was on our side. Ever. The whole media, don’t matter if it’s the Tele which you always read, or Stan Jones on the radio, or Today’s Affair Tonight on Channel 8 … the whole game’s stacked against blokes like us. Always has been. They pretend to be our friends, but in reality they’re just pieces of shit.

CLIFF: (weeps gently) Yeah, you know what? You’re right. You’re bloody right. I just couldn’t see it before, that’s all.

(BOGUETTE arrives, standing at the railing on the side of the overpass above the sit-in. She’s flanked by two police officers and is carrying a police loudspeaker)

BOGUETTE: Sweetie, just please come home.

BOGUE: (startled, turns around and shouts up at the overpass) Bloody hell, honeybunch, what are you doing here?

BOGUETTE: I’ve come to tell you, that if you leave now, the cops aren’t gonna arrest ya.

BOGUE: Yeah, and if you believe that, you’re dumber than I thought, you retarded bitch!

BOGUETTE: (after one police officer whispers into her ear) Oh, and the company has promised that all those who leave voluntary and stuff will get their entitlements in full. We could use some of that unused annual leave you got saved up!

BOGUE: What? You really believe that? Nup, we’re all stickin’ together down here. We get our entitlements first, THEN we leave!

BOGUETTE: But how am I supposed to afford to go down to ProfessioNoyle and Buzzilian Butterfloy if we don’t get your unused leave?

BOGUE: Fer fark’s sake, go and get your own job and pay for your manicures and shit yerself, you bludging bitch! I’m sick of you bludgin’ off me day in, day out ever since you lost that job at the mobile phone shop. Pay for these things yerself!

BOGUETTE: But honey, it must be so cold out there! There’s a nice warm bed waitin’ for ya at home … I’ve got the electric blanket turned up to three notches.

BOGUE: Christ, you don’t get it, do ya, woman? This is the revolution, bitch!

BOGUETTE: But I don’t want a revolution, I just wanna get me nails done!

BOGUE: Fer Christ’s sake, just go home and look after me kiddies until we’ve won. I just wanna stay here and fight with me mates.

BOGUETTE: But … but … there’s a nice juicy T-bone steak just itchin’ to be cooked in the fridge. It’s sooooo thick too! It’s gotta be at least two inches thick, maybe three! Oh yes … so meaty … so juicy …

BOGUE: Nup, there’s nuffint you can do to convince me to leave me mates. I don’t care if the T-bone’s a foot thick!

BOGUETTE: And I’ll let you have a go at me rear end every night too.

BOGUE: Hahaha. You promised that last time, it never happened. Nup. That shit don’t work with me now, bitch. Now bugger off, I’m enjoyin’ some quality time with me mates.

BOGUETTE: But … sweetie … the Penriff Panfers are playing the Melbourne Storm tonight …

BOGUE: (ears prick up) … Really?

BOGUETTE: Yes, and kick-off’s in half an hour! If we hurry home, you’ll still catch most of the first half …

BOGUE: Shit, I forgot about that …

BOGUETTE: And it’s on Fox Sports HD, so you’ll be able to watch it in high defintion on the home theatre system in the entertainment room!

BOGUE: Wow, awesome! (heads towards the site gate)

CLIFF: Mate, don’t do it! Don’t do it!

BOGUETTE: (reciting what one of the police officers whispered in her ear) And you know that it’s a do-or-die game … the Panfers are near the bottom of the ladder, if they pull off an upset against the Storm, Penriff might keep their finals hopes alive!

BOGUE: Man, Cliff, I can’t miss this … it’s make or break for the Panfers!

JOEL: You heard Cliff, don’t do it! Remember, one in, all in!

TYLER: Yeah, what did we chant before? “The workers! United! Will never be defeated!”

BOGUE: But … it’s the Panfers we’re talkin’ about here!

BOGUETTE: (policeman whispers in her ear again) Yes, you know just how much you love the Panfers … and you know that you’ll never forgive yerself if the boys in black or pink or purple or whatever bloody colour they’re playing in this week pull off an upset against the unbeaten Storm …

MATTY: Mate, it’s the Panfers. They couldn’t pull off an upset win against the West Dubbo under-12s at the moment. You know it’s not gonna happen, so you may as well just stay here wiv yer mates.

BOGUE: Yeah, but … but it might happen! (takes a few more steps to the site gate)

CLIFF: Mate. If you walk through that gate – first, the cops will bash ya, to make an example of you to everyone else. And you won’t get your unused annual and long service leave either. It’s just a bribe, an empty bribe! If you walk through that gate, that means you’re a farkin’ retarded softcock!

BOGUE: I’m not a retarded softcock. But it’s me Panfers! (walks through the gate, despite the jeers and boos and hisses of his co-workers, into the loving arms of the New South Wales Police)

THE END

Episode 63 – But Their Chains (Part 2)

Lady Madonna, children at your feet, wonder how you manage to watch …

THE BOGUE & BOGUETTE SHOW!!!

(THE SCENE: It’s still lunch break on BOGUE’s motorway construction site. CLIFF is standing at the centre of a semi-circle surrounded by about twenty of his fellow road gang members, including BOGUE and his mates MATTY and JOEL as well as the new apprentice TYLER.)

CLIFF: (grizzly, hairy, tanned, tattooed arms folded; glaring at the crowd) So fellas, are you in or what?

JOEL: Hmm, Cliff mate, you gotta give us some time to fink about these things …

CLIFF: Well, it’s now or never. This will probably be our last shift. So we gotta take a stand now, or forever hold our peace!

MATTY: Yeah, it’s easy for you to say. You’re sixty-free now, you get the age pension in a couple of years and you can live on your super until then.

BOGUE: Yeah, Matty’s roit. If we go ahead with this half-arsed plan of yours, Cliff, we’ll never work in the industry again.

JOEL: Too bloody roit, mate! It’s easy for you to talk, old bloke. You don’t have a mortgage or a whole bunch of young kiddies to feed.

CLIFF: Yeah, and if we don’t go ahead right now, you won’t be able to feed your kiddies because you won’t be getting your entitlements to tide you over until you find sumfint else.

MATTY: Yeah, and what about young Tyler ‘ere? He’s only worked here five hours, he doesn’t have any entitlements yet.

CLIFF: Well, what do ya reckon, Tyler? You wanna prove that you’re a man, or are ya still just a boy?

TYLER: (shifts nervously) Umm, yeah, I’m a man now! Of course I am! I’m in.

BOGUE: Naah, I’m still not convinced, old bloke. You been hangin’ around them union dickheads too long.

CLIFF: I don’t farkin’ believe it. In this country, you never let yer workmates down. What are youse c#$ts, a buncha chickens? (bends his elbows out and puts his hands under his armpits and does a chicken-wing gesture) Bokkk! Bok-bok-bok!

BOGUE: Umm … I’m not chicken!

JOEL: No, we ain’t chicken, mate, but … umm …

CLIFF: What’s gonna happen when you go home to yer sheilas tonight? What are they gonna say? “Oh boohoo, I married a softcock who’s not even man enough to fight for his rights!” Is that what you want?

MATTY: Umm … well, if you put it like that … yeah … umm …

CLIFF: And I can guarantee youse wimps that if you chicken out on yourselves and yer workmates, you’ll be flogging yer logs all by yerselves for the next six months!

BOGUE: Well … if you put it like that … well, umm …

JOEL: All roit, I’m in.

MATTY: Yeah, me too.

CLIFF: All roit, one in, all in! Are we all in? Hands up if you’re in.

(The entire crowd indicates their agreement by raising their hands)

CLIFF: All roit, let’s go. Matty – you got your traffic controller’s ticket, you take the ute down to the Narellan Road exit, change the message on the northbound VMS to Detour – Next Exit, put some hi-viz bollards across the road. Then do the same for the southbound carriageway at the Campbelltown Road exit. Joel – go fetch a whole heap of chains and slings from the tool shed. Tyler – you go with Matty, help him out. (speaks to BOGUE) You, you can help me move the plant into position with me. (indicates to others) Now, we need a dozen people to man the picket line at the site gate. A dozen volunteers … (no volunteers are forthcoming) … A dozen big, strong men who aren’t a bunch of pussies? (a dozen volunteers instantly emerge) Good on yas. The rest of youse, youse can help out around the yard. C’mon, let’s go everyone!

(The workers start on their allotted tasks. Once MATTY and TYLER put the bollards at Narellan Road into place, the traffic from the south clears off, allowing BOGUE and CLIFF to start driving plant out of the site yard and onto the motorway. BOGUE drives a Bobcat while CLIFF is driving a heavy-duty bulldozer.)

SITE MANAGER: (storms out of demountable site office and sees CLIFF manoeuvring the bulldozer onto the traffic lanes) What the fuck? What the fuck is all this about? (runs out onto the motorway in front of CLIFF’s bulldozer, waving his arms frantically) Hey, Cliff! You will stop this fucking nonsense this very instant, or I swear there’ll be fucking hell to pay!

(CLIFF drives his bulldozer forward towards the SITE MANAGER)

SITE MANAGER: Holy shit, the c#$t’s gonna run me over! (runs away in a zig-zag fashion, but he is no match for CLIFF with his forty years of experience driving road plant, who catches up to him. The SITE MANAGER trips over in his haste, and CLIFF scoops him into the bulldozer’s bucket and raises him twelve feet into the air)

CLIFF: Hahaha, take that, you mangy mongrel!

SITE MANAGER: (bangs his fists on the side of the bucket) You will let me back down right now, you filthy old son of a whore! That is an order! I am your boss, you will do as I say! You understand me?

CLIFF: Nuh-uh. You’re stuck in a bulldozer bucket two stories off the ground. Believe me, boyo, it ain’t no time for you to be dictating terms. The shoe’s on the other foot now, buddy, and I gotta say, it’s a pretty comfortable shoe too. I don’t feel like giving it back, to be perfectly honest.

SITE MANAGER: (stands up in the bucket) Cliff! Please … please please pretty please, I didn’t mean to get you offside or anything. Please, please, please let me back dow– whoa!

(CLIFF starts driving the bulldozer in figure-eights and raising the bucket up and down at the same time, giving the SITE MANAGER a more spine-chilling ride than anything ever found at Australia’s Wonderland. He then parks the bulldozer near an overpass. BOGUE drives his Bobcat and parks it next to CLIFF’s bulldozer. Other workers then drive assorted bits of heavy, bright yellow equipment onto the M5, parking them in single file across the entire width of the motorway)

SITE MANAGER: Oh boohoo … boohoohoohoo … what did I ever do to deserve this … please …. I didn’t do anything wrong! It wasn’t me, it was the board of directors who made me give you all the sack. Honest! Oh, booboohoo …

BOGUE: (gets out his wallet and retrieves a fifty-cent piece and throws it up into the bulldozer’s bucket) Oi! There’s fifty cents, go call someone who cares, you mangy dog’s arsehole!

JOEL: (drives a ute with its tray full of chains and fasteners) All roit, now let’s start tying these babies together! Man, these overpass pylons are perfick, we can loop the chains through them too … believe me, the M5 won’t open until we get what we’re entitled to!

TO BE CONTINUED … Next week! Same Bogue-time … Same Bogue-channel!