ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
With a slice of Vegemite toast dangling from his mouth, the Nightwatchman cried out to his Chief-of-Staff sitting downstairs in The Lodge’s foyer that he was coming, he was just running a bit late.
As he was striding through the living room of his Prime Ministerial residence, Scott failed to give himself enough room between the couch and the coffee table.
“Agh! Fuck me!” he cried as his shin made heavy contact with the corner of the orignal Noguchi.
“Motherfucker! Ahhhh Jesus wept! Fucking hell Bill! Argh, fuck you!”
“Ooooooooo! Fuck me roan. Ahhhhh Christ on a pushbike! Why? Ahhhh damn you to hell Bill Shorten! Damn you and your fucking nipple tape to hell!”
His Chief-of-Staff called upstairs to ask if he was OK, to which the Prime Minister said he was.
The Vegemite toast had
Scott then limped down the stairs, took his security briefing from his Chief-of-Staff and sat in the front of his comcar like a normal bloke.
More to come.
