(Ring ring. Ring ring)
Rudd: Hello, Australian Ambassador to the United States of America and 26th Prime Minister of Australia Kevin Rudd, at your service.
Albo: Kev, itsh Albo.
Rudd: Aaaaaalllbbooooo, me old China plate, great to hear from you! Are you in Washington? Come over to the embassy. The staff and I are about to start our daily meditation session. Then Kamala is going to drop by to talk about how transgenderism can cure climate change.
Albo: Yeah, that shounds very hectic, Kev, but I’ve got to get you to do shomething urgently for me.
Rudd: If it’s a meeting with Barack Obama, I’m afraid I’m out of luck, old son. Barry hasn’t spoken to me since I asked him to assassinate Donald Trump as a favour for our friend Malcolm. I’m starting to wonder if Barry is as gangsta as he makes out. Who knew Trump would be the one with the longer criminal record? Politics is full of dynamically diverging characters clashing within the paradigm of theoretical tangibilities and elusive contingencies. It’s a good thing people like you and I are in control, eh Albo?
Albo: Yesh, that’sh why I’m calling. I weally weally need you to get me a meeting with Trump. A meeting, a phone call, even a teksht would do. Actually, a texsht would be best. I’ll jusht tell the media it wash a long chat.
Rudd: Organise a text message from Trump? Mate, I’m about as likely to do that as the Bob Vylan is to be booked to sing the Star Spangled Banner at the opening of CPAC.
Albo: Kev, I weally weally need thish. My inabiwidy to get Trump on the phone ish all those white wing nut jobsh on Shky News are talking about. People are shtarting to think I’m not vewwy good at being Pwime Minishta…
Rudd: Can you hold that thought, Albo? The embassy therapist is here and the staff are waiting for me in the meditation studio. Also, if you really really need this meeting with Trump, as you say, then maybe I can come up with a solution while summoning the Zen muse. Did you know I do some of my best work when my brain is completely empty?
Albo: I wish I had time to do those things, Kev. But being Pwime Minishter is weally weally hard.
Rudd: Tell me about it. Anyhoo, gotta zip! Our therapist gets angry when we’re late!
Albo: Aw, gosh. Okay. I’ll jusht shit here and wait then. (To himself) Hmm, maybe I should have a go at thish meditation shtuff myshelf. Think, Albo. Think weally deep and mewwow thoughts…
(One hour later)
Albo’s Third Deputy Assistant PA: Um, Mr Prime Minister. Mr Prime Minister.
Albo (half awake): No, Donald, they are not sticks! Eh? What? Where am I?
Third Deputy Assistant PA: You are in the Prime Minister’s office, and the Ambassador to the United States is on line one.
Albo: I am? Phew. I was jusht dweaming that I paid for all the AUKUS shubs with cheap boomewangs and Donald Trump was calling me to shay none of them came back.
Third Deputy Assistant PA: The Ambassador seems to think he has an even better solution to your dilemma, Mr Prime Minister.
Albo: Well that’sh why heesh on the big bucksh. (Picking up the phone) Kev, I’ve been wacking my bwain and I just don’t know how I can get through to the Pweshident. What did you come up with in your masturbation session?
Rudd: Slow down, Prime Minister. That’s half the problem here.
Albo: Shlow down? Kev, I’ve got Jodie coming in here in half an hour to talk through interior decorations for the Copacabana house. I don’t have time to shlow down!
Rudd: Okay. Let me tell you this very slowly anyway. You. Don’t. Have. To. Worry. About. Trump.
Albo: Well, that’s a welief! Why not?
Rudd: Well, Albo, the deep silence of meditation has just spoken to me in the most profound way, a way in which I doubt it speaks to less profound practitioners. The silence was all I needed to hear. And it was then that I understood.
Albo: I don't know what you’re talking about but I think I like where thish ish going…
Rudd: That’s right, Albo. It’s the silence. Can you hear it?
Albo: Hear what?
Rudd: Exactly. That’s the solution.
Albo: Well, that’sh a welief.
Rudd: You don’t need to worry about Donald Trump, Albo. In fact, you don’t need to worry about anything.
Albo: Not even the colour of the tapsh on the jacuzzi in Copacabana? Because, Kev, that shtuff does my bloody head in.
Rudd: None of it will matter, Albo, because Julie Inman Grant will shut it all down.
Albo: Julie who?
Rudd: Inman Grant. Your chief censor… er, esafety commissioner.
Albo: Oh, yeah. Her!
Rudd: She will soon have the power to threaten anybody who criticises the government with fines and jail terms. You really think those right-wing nut jobs in the mainstream media will stand up to her when the going gets tough?
Albo: So, jusht to be clear, are you shaying that I don’t need to talk to Trump?
Rudd: Correctamundo, my friend.
Albo: Woo-hoo! Maybe being Pwime Minishter ishnt sho hard after all! (Jodie enters with decorating brochures.) Gotta go, Kev! More important matters require my ekshpert attention!
