ALBANESE (Reclining on a psychiatrist’s couch): Oh, shanks for shqueezing me in at short notish, Doc. It’s a bloody nightmare out there. What a relief to be in a plaish where I don’t have to talk about anything sherioush for a shange.
PSYCHIATRIST (frowning slightly): Well, I’m glad you appreciate the relative calmness in here, Anthony. I imagine your job has become quite stressful lately.
ALBANESE: Oh, not you too! That’s what everyone shaysh! I’m no shycho-canibalist, but everyone, including Jodie and that scheming number-cruncher Chalmers, sheems to shink I’m not up to thish job, that all this shocial incohesion in Australia, or whatever you call it, is my fault. Well, it’s not. It’s only shertain people who cause all thish anti-cohesion, but I’m not allowed to talk about them.
PSYCHIATRIST: It’s okay, Anthony. You’re free to speak your mind here. Nobody else is listening.
ALBANESE: Don’t be sho naive, Doc. I can’t tell you who is caushing all the problems in Aushtwalia because Moshad hash probably bugged that pot plant. And if I tell you what I really think, it will be broadcast by those bashtards at the AB-She before I’ve even charged this shession up on Medicare.
PSYCHIATRIST: The ABC? Don’t you mean Sky News?
ALBANESE: No, I mean the AB-She. Didn’t you see that traitor Michael Rolland shtitch me up last night? I wash furious. Did you know the Pwime Minshter can’t shack an AB-She journalisht for asking the wrong queshtions? I tell you what, as shoon as thish Jewish stuff has blown over, I’m going to change a few thingsh at the AB-She, that’sh for sure. Those uppity rightwing nut jobs will find out who’s bosh when I get Anika Wells to extend the Online Shafety Act to everyone under 80 watching Foweign Cowweshpondent and listening to Parchisha Karvelash.
PSYCHIATRIST: So it’s the Jews who you blame for your current level of, shall we say, anxiety?
ALBANESE: Shhhhhhhh! I told you! Moshad is listening!
PSYCHIATRIST: And this Mossad person — is he in the room right now?
ALBANESE: Yesh! I told you! He’sh in the pot plant! (Albanese jumps up, grabs the pot plant and hurls it out the window.)
SOMEONE OUTSIDE THE WINDOW: Ouch!!!
PSYCHIATRIST: So how do you feel now, Anthony?
ALBANESE: Shlightly better. But to be honesht it’sh like we’re not getting anywhere in this shession. Maybe it’sh no different in here after all.
PSYCHIATRIST: Well perhaps we can change things up a bit with a Rorschach Test. Tell me, what does this picture remind you of?
ALBANESE: Oh, goody. I love playing thish game. Okay, that’s clearly a pile of dead children in Gaza and an Ishraeli tank ish driving over them.
PSYCHIATRIST: And this one?
ALBANESE: That’sh me ac-shepting the Nobel Peash Pwize for turning weshtern Shydney into Shouth Baghdad. The background is a group of Labor voters waving shelebwatory shords. It’sh very realishtic, I’ve got to shay.
JIM CHALMERS (Rushing in, holding his head): Help! Help! Is there a doctor in the house?
PSYCHIATRIST: Yes, I’m a doctor. But who are you?
CHALMERS: Oh, thank God. I’ve got a gaping wound on my head. I might need surgery!
PSYCHIATRIST (inspecting Chalmers’ head): It’s just a lump. I’m sure you’ll be fine. How did you get this injury?
CHALMERS (pointing at Albanese): He threw a pot plant at me!
ALBANESE: Oh Jim, you’re shuch a dwama qween. You’d be a whole lot tougher if you’d just gwown up in Houshing Commission like I did. (Pointing at Chalmers and looking at the psychiatrist.) This is the one, Doc. He’sh the one who thinks I can’t be Pwime Minshter. What were you doing outshide my thewapisht’sh window anyway, Jim?
CHALMERS: I was calculating how many therapy sessions you’ve booked up on Medicare. You’re sending us broke, Albo! Charge any more of these sessions to Medicare and we’ll have to outsource our navy to China.
ALBANESE: We haven’t already?
PSYCHIATRIST: Well, James, while you’re here. Perhaps you can help us solve Anthony’s issues. Anthony, what do you think your role is as Prime Minister?
ALBANESE: Well, that’sh easy. My job ish to bring everyone together. That’sh what I do. I was brought up in Houshing Commission, you know.
PSYCHIATRIST (turning to Chalmers): And James, do you agree?
CHALMERS (furrows his brow, looks worried, then lets rip): Oh, for God’s sake, Albo! The country wouldn’t need bringing together if you hadn’t filled the place with hostile foreigners in the first place! There, I said it.
ALBANESE (eyes filling with tears): I know, Jim. I know. It’s those bloody Jews taking over all the best suburbs. They’ve ruined everything.
CHALMERS (still fuming): Albo, do you have any idea how much tax the Jews pay? If it weren’t for them propping up Medicare, the only therapy session you could get for free is talking to a meth addict at a bus stop.
PSYCHIATRIST (looking at his watch): Speaking of which, that’s the hour up, I’m afraid. And I think you two should make yourselves scarce before my next patient turns up. If Penny Wong sees you two in here together she’s going to tell everyone you’re both gay.
ALBANESE (scratching his chin and pondering): Hmm. Maybe that’s not such a…
CHALMERS (running from the room): Aaaarrggghhh!!
