Australian Television.
Jul. 7th, 2010 10:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
davywavyVoiceover: Deep in the heart of the Australian outback, men work long hours in harsh conditions; whether in mines or sheep stations or pursuing wildlife for documentaries, life is hard, the hours are long and the necessities are few and far between. These brave men who strive to make Australia great are preserved in their thankless endeavors by a heroic group of airmen who ensure that, whenever the hardships of the outback take their toll, help and support is only a radio call away. This show is dedicated to the tireless efforts of these airmen; piloting across the trackless desert wastes to bring those few, simple supplies which make the difference between existing and truly living.
The Australian Television Corporation proudly presents the second thrilling episode of:
The Flying Pornographers.
Titles
Scene: Exterior shot: Perth, Western Australia. A large aerodrome with a sign outside reading "The Royal Australian Flying Pornography Corps; Patron HRH Prince Harry."
Interior shot: Flying Pornography HQ. Bruce, a surfing Pornographer, is talking to Bruce the grizzled, wise old chief Pornographer.
Bruce: …so you see, Bruce, what you do is you wax up your board and get out onto the rip curl. Strewth, it really makes a man feel alive to…
Enter Bruce, a young pornographer, walking uncomfortably.
Surfer Bruce: What‘s up you with, Bruce?
Young Bruce (scratching): It’s my nadgers, Bruce. They’re fair itching fit to burst.
Surfer Bruce: By crikey, Bruce, sounds like you’re down with a dose of the clap!
Young Bruce (still scratching): That’s exactly what I am, Bruce. You see…I gave it to myself deliberately.
Surfer Bruce and Chief Bruce (Together) Blimey, you did what?
Young Bruce (Sitting but not crossing his legs): Yep. Infected myself with the clap in the name of medical science.
Chief Bruce: Now, Bruce, I know you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Why did you go and do a thing like that? Why, according to statistics, any Australian man can expect to contract gonorrhea fifteen or twenty times in his life as a matter of course. What possessed you to infect yourself without good cause?
Young Bruce: You said yourself to me once that the conquest of the outback was only made possible by the Flying Pornography Corps. Where men are alone in the wilderness, only we can bring the fruits of Australian civilization to them. But what if a man cannot partake? What if his nethers are burning with an unquenchable chafing? Why, Australian culture as we know it would collapse!
Chief Bruce: But that doesn’t tell me why you infected yourself?
Young Bruce: Well, Bruce, back in the 1980’s a couple of Australian Blokes – Dr Barry and Dr. Robin – infected themselves with Helicobacter Pylori to investigate the epidemiology of ulcers, and won the Nobel Prize for Medicine. As a flying pornographer, what else could I do? Someone had to understand the transmission of VD, in order to save Australia!
Chief Bruce: Come off it Bruce! Everyone knows that the consistent factor in the transmission of VD has long since been proven as the Sheila.
Young Bruce: In that case, Bruce, I’ve got a mystery for you. A few days ago I was talking to Dingo Ridge Sheep station on the radio. It seems that every man there has come down with the clap, and there isn’t a Sheila within a thousand miles of the place.
Chief Bruce: Now don’t come the raw prawn…
Young Bruce: Straight up!
Chief Bruce: Get me Dingo Ridge on the blower. This is a mystery!
Cut to: Interior, Dingo Ridge Sheep Station. Men in vests and bush hats sit around uncomfortably. Flies circle listlessly in the overheated air. The radio buzzes, and a sheep shearer called Bruce walks stiffly to answer it.
Shearer Bruce: Dingo Ridge here.
Chief Bruce (over the radio): Hallo? Hallo? Dingo Ridge? This is the RAFPC at Perth here. We hear you’ve got a medical emergency!
Shearer Bruce: Medical emergency is an understatement. Every man in the station is suffering from Cupids Itch. Just us up here and four million sheep – no Sheilas at all!. I mean, foot and mouth is an occupational hazard, but VD? Unheard of.
Chief Bruce: Give me your full situation.
Shearer Bruce: Well, we’ve got forty blokes in singlets and shorts sharing a one-room dormitory, and every man-jack of us has symptoms you wouldn’t care to tell your mother about. Unless something is done darn quick, the consequences could be catastrophic.
Chief Bruce: Forty of you sharing a single room, eh?
Shearer Bruce: I don’t like your tone of voice, Bruce. Sounds like you’re suggesting something Un-Australian.
Chief Bruce: Nah, nah, mate. But…don’t suppose you’ve got any Poms working there? That would explain a thing or two? Or maybe some blokes from Cairns. They’re all like that up there.
Shearer Bruce (Angry): Now listen up there, Bruce. You might have your big-city Perth ideas about life in the outback but we’re proper Australians. Forty blokes in a single roomed shack sharing one dunny. What could demonstrate Australian masculinity better than that? Now figure out this problem and let us get back to our sheep, Fosters and pornography!
Cut to: Interior RAFPC HQ, Perth.
Chief Bruce: Now don’t get mad, there…
Young Bruce: Wait! (Grabs the radio mouthpiece) Say that again!
Shearer Bruce (Over the radio): I said, we’re forty single men in a single roomed shack sharing one dunny. What could be more Australian than that?
Young Bruce: Of course…that’s it!
Cut to: Norway, six months later. Young Bruce is receiving the Nobel Prize for Medicine from Alfred Nobel. Young Bruce has a black eye.
Alfred Nobel: I hereby award this year’s Nobel Prize for Medicine to Bruce for his pioneering work in the transmission of the French Disease. Strewth, Bruce, Bonzer work there.
Young Bruce: Cheers, Alfred!
Alfred Nobel: So what was the vital clue in your discovery?
Young Bruce: When the blokes at Dingo Ridge told me how they lived, it was obvious. They couldn’t have got it off a Sheila – it must have been a warm toilet seat!
Alfred Nobel: Brilliant scientific deduction there, Bruce. The medical science pertaining to nadgers and suchlike has been furthered immeasurably by your insight. Thanks to you, men all over the world leave the seat up and infection rates have plummeted.
By the way, how’d you get the black eye?
Young Bruce: Oh, I told my girlfriend I got the clap off a warm toilet seat, and she hit me with a pan.
Titles.
The Australian Television Corporation proudly presents the second thrilling episode of:
The Flying Pornographers.
Titles
Scene: Exterior shot: Perth, Western Australia. A large aerodrome with a sign outside reading "The Royal Australian Flying Pornography Corps; Patron HRH Prince Harry."
Interior shot: Flying Pornography HQ. Bruce, a surfing Pornographer, is talking to Bruce the grizzled, wise old chief Pornographer.
Bruce: …so you see, Bruce, what you do is you wax up your board and get out onto the rip curl. Strewth, it really makes a man feel alive to…
Enter Bruce, a young pornographer, walking uncomfortably.
Surfer Bruce: What‘s up you with, Bruce?
Young Bruce (scratching): It’s my nadgers, Bruce. They’re fair itching fit to burst.
Surfer Bruce: By crikey, Bruce, sounds like you’re down with a dose of the clap!
Young Bruce (still scratching): That’s exactly what I am, Bruce. You see…I gave it to myself deliberately.
Surfer Bruce and Chief Bruce (Together) Blimey, you did what?
Young Bruce (Sitting but not crossing his legs): Yep. Infected myself with the clap in the name of medical science.
Chief Bruce: Now, Bruce, I know you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Why did you go and do a thing like that? Why, according to statistics, any Australian man can expect to contract gonorrhea fifteen or twenty times in his life as a matter of course. What possessed you to infect yourself without good cause?
Young Bruce: You said yourself to me once that the conquest of the outback was only made possible by the Flying Pornography Corps. Where men are alone in the wilderness, only we can bring the fruits of Australian civilization to them. But what if a man cannot partake? What if his nethers are burning with an unquenchable chafing? Why, Australian culture as we know it would collapse!
Chief Bruce: But that doesn’t tell me why you infected yourself?
Young Bruce: Well, Bruce, back in the 1980’s a couple of Australian Blokes – Dr Barry and Dr. Robin – infected themselves with Helicobacter Pylori to investigate the epidemiology of ulcers, and won the Nobel Prize for Medicine. As a flying pornographer, what else could I do? Someone had to understand the transmission of VD, in order to save Australia!
Chief Bruce: Come off it Bruce! Everyone knows that the consistent factor in the transmission of VD has long since been proven as the Sheila.
Young Bruce: In that case, Bruce, I’ve got a mystery for you. A few days ago I was talking to Dingo Ridge Sheep station on the radio. It seems that every man there has come down with the clap, and there isn’t a Sheila within a thousand miles of the place.
Chief Bruce: Now don’t come the raw prawn…
Young Bruce: Straight up!
Chief Bruce: Get me Dingo Ridge on the blower. This is a mystery!
Cut to: Interior, Dingo Ridge Sheep Station. Men in vests and bush hats sit around uncomfortably. Flies circle listlessly in the overheated air. The radio buzzes, and a sheep shearer called Bruce walks stiffly to answer it.
Shearer Bruce: Dingo Ridge here.
Chief Bruce (over the radio): Hallo? Hallo? Dingo Ridge? This is the RAFPC at Perth here. We hear you’ve got a medical emergency!
Shearer Bruce: Medical emergency is an understatement. Every man in the station is suffering from Cupids Itch. Just us up here and four million sheep – no Sheilas at all!. I mean, foot and mouth is an occupational hazard, but VD? Unheard of.
Chief Bruce: Give me your full situation.
Shearer Bruce: Well, we’ve got forty blokes in singlets and shorts sharing a one-room dormitory, and every man-jack of us has symptoms you wouldn’t care to tell your mother about. Unless something is done darn quick, the consequences could be catastrophic.
Chief Bruce: Forty of you sharing a single room, eh?
Shearer Bruce: I don’t like your tone of voice, Bruce. Sounds like you’re suggesting something Un-Australian.
Chief Bruce: Nah, nah, mate. But…don’t suppose you’ve got any Poms working there? That would explain a thing or two? Or maybe some blokes from Cairns. They’re all like that up there.
Shearer Bruce (Angry): Now listen up there, Bruce. You might have your big-city Perth ideas about life in the outback but we’re proper Australians. Forty blokes in a single roomed shack sharing one dunny. What could demonstrate Australian masculinity better than that? Now figure out this problem and let us get back to our sheep, Fosters and pornography!
Cut to: Interior RAFPC HQ, Perth.
Chief Bruce: Now don’t get mad, there…
Young Bruce: Wait! (Grabs the radio mouthpiece) Say that again!
Shearer Bruce (Over the radio): I said, we’re forty single men in a single roomed shack sharing one dunny. What could be more Australian than that?
Young Bruce: Of course…that’s it!
Cut to: Norway, six months later. Young Bruce is receiving the Nobel Prize for Medicine from Alfred Nobel. Young Bruce has a black eye.
Alfred Nobel: I hereby award this year’s Nobel Prize for Medicine to Bruce for his pioneering work in the transmission of the French Disease. Strewth, Bruce, Bonzer work there.
Young Bruce: Cheers, Alfred!
Alfred Nobel: So what was the vital clue in your discovery?
Young Bruce: When the blokes at Dingo Ridge told me how they lived, it was obvious. They couldn’t have got it off a Sheila – it must have been a warm toilet seat!
Alfred Nobel: Brilliant scientific deduction there, Bruce. The medical science pertaining to nadgers and suchlike has been furthered immeasurably by your insight. Thanks to you, men all over the world leave the seat up and infection rates have plummeted.
By the way, how’d you get the black eye?
Young Bruce: Oh, I told my girlfriend I got the clap off a warm toilet seat, and she hit me with a pan.
Titles.
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Date: 2010-07-07 12:12 pm (UTC)