Verily I say unto you, that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than to avoid watching the latest episode of …
THE BOGUE & BOGUETTE SHOW!!!
(THE SCENE: It’s 3pm on a weekday on the street outside the state primary school where BOGUE and BOGUETTE’s children AIDEN, BRAIDEN, JAIDEN and KAIDEN spend their days pretending to pay attention to their teachers. BOGUETTE is standing next to her Suzuki Swift parked near the school entrance waiting for her children. The school bell rings and hundreds of kids pour out of the gate in the cyclone fence, four of which are AIDEN, BRAIDEN, JAIDEN and KAIDEN.)
BOGUETTE: Hi, kids! How was your day?
BRAIDEN: Not bad. Now let’s go home, I’m hungry!
BOGUETTE: Well, you shouldn’t be, sweetie. I gave you three Le Snaks, four LCM bars, a King Size Chunky Kit Kat, two Chocolate Up & Gos and a five-buck note in case you got hungry and needed to go to the canteen …
BRAIDEN: I know. But I’m still hungry!
BOGUETTE: OK, I’ll make you sumfint when we get home. And how was your day, Kaiden?
(KAIDEN stares at the ground, shrugs his shoulders and fidgets)
JAIDEN: Yeah, I got four out of ten on a spelling test for the first time ever!
BOGUETTE: Congratulations, young man! You done well! And you, Aiden!
AIDEN: Not bad. Played some footy during lunch and stuff. I tackled this dickhead from Year Three, you should have seen him fly! I wish Daddy was there to see it for himself!
(A short, dumpy, yellow-toothed harridan, NIKKI, the same age as BOGUETTE, with unkempt wavy shoulder-length red hair, a mauve tank top and frayed denim shorts, knock-off Havaianas and a tattoo of a butterfly on her left shoulder blade, comes barging up the footpath towards BOGUETTE and stabs her finger in BOGUETTE’s gut angrily)
NIKKI: Oi! What’s this I hear about your stupid filthy fat f#$%ing brat here spreadin’ rumours an’ shit about me being a $lut! Me daughter Chloe’s always comin’ home in tears because of you!
BOGUETTE: Well, gee whiz, maybe if you weren’t such a dirty-arsed $lut who hangs out at the leagues club every noit spreadin’ your legs wide open to whoever asks, me boy Braiden wouldn’t be spreadin’ rumours about ya – but they ain’t rumours because they’re true. So there!
NIKKI: Yeah, and who do you fink you’re callin’ a $lut. You slag! I’m not the one who slept with just about every farkin’ boy in our year back when we was at high school and even kept a tally in the back of your student diary!
BOGUETTE: Hey, I’m not the one who’s had four kids while bludgin’ on the single mother’s pension all to different fathers! At least I have a husband!
NIKKI: Yeah, and what a great husband he is! The whole of farkin’ Astraya saw him on the telly, holding that politician hostage. Yeah, a rool great role model!
BOGUETTE: Oi! You leave me hubby alone! At least I got a man to stand up for me and me boys. You got nuffint!
NIKKI: I’d rather have no husband than a good-fer-nuffint loser like him!
BOGUETTE: Well, you’re just jealous, you’re just jealous because Sean was going out with me back in Year Eight. And you spent half the time after he dumped ya in the school counsellor’s office talking about how much you wanted to bleed yourself to get rid of the pain. Get over it!
NIKKI: Get over it? Why the fark should I get over it? I ain’t gettin’ over nuffint! Not while there’s a single last breath in me body. You hear me?
BOGUETTE: No, you hear this, bitch! I got better fings to do with me life than to toss and turn throughout the night about some bloody pissant boyfriend trouble fifteen or twenny year ago. Go down to Bunnings, buy some timber, build a bridge and get over it, you stupid dumb $lut! C’mon kids, let’s go.
(BOGUETTE opens the doors of her Suzuki Swift so the kids can get in. She has her back turned to NIKKI)
NIKKI: Why, you little …
(NIKKI rushes up behind BOGUETTE and pushes her face first into the Suzuki Swift, her chin landing squarely on the edge of the nearside door)
BOGUETTE: You .. you farkin’ … BITCH!!! (pulls at NIKKI’s hair)
NIKKI: You let go of me, you tramp! (slaps BOGUETTE’s cheek)
(Dozens of school children, their parents and even the LOLLIPOP MAN all gather around BOGUE and NIKKI in a large circle, chanting “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”)
BOGUETTE: Who do you fink you’re callin’ a tramp, you filthy wh0re! (wrestles NIKKI to the ground, where they roll about on the footpath clawing at each other)
(Part of the crowd surrounding the fight part way, and the school principal MS SIMCOE enters, all five feet one inch of her)
MS SIMCOE: (in a voice that could shatter a Perspex window) You two will get up off the ground this very instant!
BOGUETTE: Umm … (gets up off the ground and brushes grass off her)
NIKKI: Err … (gets up off the ground and straightens her tank top straps)
MS SIMCOE: How disgraceful! In my thirty-one years working in public education in the western suburbs, I have rarely seen anything so disgraceful! You are parents. You are supposed to be role models for your children. Look at how you’re behaving. Absolutely disgraceful! Shame on you – (points at BOGUETTE) – and shame on you! (points at NIKKI)
BOGUETTE: But … but she started it!
MS SIMCOE: I don’t want to hear it! Take responsibility for your actions, young woman! I have half a mind right now to call the police and have you two arrested for assault and affray. You should be disgusted in yourselves. Is this the kind of behaviour you want your children and all the other children here to repeat? Fair dinkum!
NIKKI: (looks down at the ground, slightly swaying from side to side) I’m s… s… sorry, miss.
MS SIMCOE: As you should be! Now, take your children, and go home and get out of my sight!
BOGUETTE: (looks down at the ground, slightly swaying from side to side) Yes … yes, miss.
MS SIMCOE: Pathetic! All right everyone, move along. Now!
(the crowd disperses and BOGUETTE’s Suzuki Swift screeches out of the parking spot and onto the street)
JAIDEN: (in the back seat) Mummy, what’s a wh0re?
BOGUETTE: Umm … err … umm … it’s like, umm … well, umm … I’ll let you know when you’re a bit older.
AIDEN: Naaah, Jaiden, it’s someone who’s a Prime Minister. That’s what Dad always shouts when Julia Gillard’s shown on the telly.