The Speechwriter Martin McKenzie-Murray (top fiction books of all time .txt) 📖

to fuck off to the corner.

‘Prime Minister, thanks for joining us tonight.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘If I can begin quite bluntly, Prime Minister: no one likes you.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘You’re reviled.’

‘You might have noticed, Stella, that little more than two years ago, the party I lead attracted the highest popular vote in a quarter of a century.’

‘But within your own party, Prime Minister, you’re deeply unpopular. I’ve heard — and this is a direct quote from a cabinet colleague of yours — that you’re as popular as a turd in a wetsuit.’

‘Frankly, Stella, I think that comment should’ve been prefaced with a trigger warning. I’m a little shocked that it wasn’t. Faecal matter in wetsuits is no laughing matter. It can cause infection, not to mention great discomfort and embarrassment.’

‘The issue, Prime Minister, is the apparent dysfunction of your Cabinet.’

‘Well, who said this?’

‘The comment was given on the condition of anonymity.’

‘Well, if this person has a problem, he or she should have the courage of their convictions and put a name to their juvenile provocations.’

‘Is your Cabinet dysfunctional?’

‘I’ll say this, Stella. I am very popular. I can do karaoke. I’ll fill a room. You should see it. I’m just — I get in the moment, and people respond to that. They can feel the excitement.’

‘Do you have a signature tune, Prime Minister?’

‘I do them all.’

‘You must have a favourite.’

‘I won’t get bogged down in specifics, Stella.’

‘So your Cabinet is functioning well, is it?’

‘It purrs like a kitten.’

‘If I could move to North Korea, Prime Minister—’

‘I wish you would.’

‘That’s funny, Prime Minister. Less funny is the repeated testing of nuclear weapons, in defiance of treaties, and an increasingly hostile rhetoric that has recently defined Australia as an enemy. Are you concerned?’

‘The recent nuclear test, Stella, which I agree was in defiance of an international treaty, was also a calamity. Not only do the North Koreans badly languish in technology, but they are a nation of midgets.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘They’re very short, Stella. Generations of starvation. So bereft are they of nutrients that they have become stunted. They are a stunted people.’

‘The average height of North Koreans is surely no protection against their government developing nuclear weapons, though, Prime Minister.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘I wouldn’t have thought so. Defence analysts are saying they could have a nuclear-tipped intercontinental ballistic missile within two years.’

‘How would they reach the launch button, Stella? I think we have bigger problems closer to home.’

‘Such as?’

The PM’s eyes were becoming quite red. ‘Sharks.’

‘Sharks?’

‘Our waters are teeming with the things.’

‘You’re saying that the federal government will develop a shark policy?’

‘If we have to.’

‘Like what?’

‘I won’t get bogged down in specifics, Stella.’

‘Have you discussed this with Cabinet? I’m at a loss here, Prime Minister. This isn’t a federal issue, is it?’

‘Cabinet purrs, Stella. Like a kitten.’

‘Prime Minister, if I can turn to another issue. Today, you released an apology to water-polo players. There are some critics who say that since your election, you have abandoned difficult issues of national importance, and are too ready to engage matters that are beneath your office.’

‘Who are these critics?’

‘The pages of newspapers are filled daily with such criticism, Prime Minister. Often fed by your own party. Surely you aren’t oblivious to it?’

‘Well, I don’t preoccupy myself with the opinion pages, Stella. I’m too busy painting monkeys.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I’m too busy governing. I’m sorry, I’m not sure why I said that.’

‘And what of water polo?’

‘Well, I misspoke, and those wet, ball-throwing people deserved an apology. I’m big enough to admit error.’

‘Thank you for your time, Prime Minister.’

He removed his earpiece and turned to me: ‘Is that door on fire?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Hmm.’

‘You did well, Prime Minister.’

‘I suddenly feel quite strange. Are you sure that door isn’t on fire?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Where the fuck did sharks come from? I don’t have a shark policy. Why would I have a shark policy? Cabinet won’t like this.’

‘Sir, you did well. It was Disraeli-esque.’

‘Disraeli?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Disraeli didn’t do much TV in the nineteenth century, did he, or are you one of these millennial clowns who think YouTube was available in Eden?’

‘I just mean that you were eloquent, Prime Minister. It was like music.’

‘You think so?’

‘An exotic birdsong.’

‘Really?’

‘And aside from the mellifluousness of your tongue, you also struck the hammer of truth.’

‘Go on.’

‘To wit: North Koreans are short, sharks do infect our waters, and you are captivating in a karaoke room. Each one is a resonant truth.’

‘Hmm.’

‘An eloquent leader is a rare one.’

‘True.’

‘And a leader of unbending intellectual courage is rarer still.’

‘I’ve always thought so.’

‘But an eloquent leader who also possesses an unbending intellectual courage is …’

‘Go on.’

‘… divine.’

‘Tell that to the illiterate swine of my Cabinet, mate.’

‘They’re ungrateful.’

‘And ignorant.’

‘Sounds hard, Prime Minister.’

‘You have no idea. I’m Sisyphus, pushing hardened, spherical excrement up a steep fucking hill.’

‘Why did Sisyphus persist, sir?’

‘Fucked if I know.’

I didn’t expect to find the trust of the Prime Minister so quickly, but the combination of craven flattery and LSD was yielding immediate reward. For, yes, you’ve guessed it, the PM was tripping balls, thanks to yours truly. His coffee was laced with acid.

‘I’m going to call an early election this week, Thomas.’

‘Toby.’

‘I’m going to call an early election this week, Toby.’

‘I’ve heard, sir.’

‘What do you think?’

‘It’s a bold move, but one equal to your larger boldness, sir.’

‘Too right.’

‘Have you told Cabinet yet, sir?’

‘What the fuck do you think?’

‘I think their counsel would be unhelpful, and their approval redundant.’

‘That was rhetorical. But, yes. Though I’ll have to let those grasping cunts know before we go live with this. We have to start cranking up the machine. While we do that, I want you to write my announcement speech.’

‘What about Patrick?’

‘Phillip’s dead to me. You answer to this guy.’

‘Yes, sir. What are we fighting this on?’

‘Growth. Truth. Sharks.’

‘Sharks?’

‘I might have painted myself into a corner there. But I’ve been thinking. It makes sense. Our coastal folk are pissed with them, Thomas. Our leather-skinned battlers — they’re infuriated. And I don’t blame them. Their liquid playground has been invaded by toothy goons. Killers. They’re scared, Thomas. Why wouldn’t they be? But listen: it’s not