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            EXT. THE CAVALCADE-2  - DAY

            BACK TO:  The white Public Service limousine. Now traversing
            a wide open space. Tall buildings in the distance. 

            A view through the telescopic sights of a weapon. Aimed at
            the limousine. Crosshairs on the head of the man inside it.
            Through the rear window. 

            The HEAD of the P.M.

            EXT. THE ROOF-1.  - DAY

            A roof somewhere. Overlooking the white limousine. In the
            distance. An SAS Man lying. Black hooded outfit.
            Nasty-looking weapon. Sniper-rifle. Silenced. Aiming it. At
            the limousine. 

            On the SAS man's wrist.  An LCD watch. Exactly like Joe's.

            EXT. INSIDE THE LIMOUSINE-2.  - DAY

            P.M. Thinking.

                                P.M. (V.O.)
                      ..then there's the banks, got to bring
                      them into line, make sure money stays in
                      Country, and the Americans --- yes,
                          (beat)
                      them,... 
                          (beat)
                      and the Japanese.. 
                          (pause)
                      and our workers..........
                      can't lumber them with the GST.

            P.M. Concentrating. Over a radio-communicator

                                LEADER (V.O.)
                      Kill level!

                                ANCHOR (V.O.)
                      Kill level 99 per-cent.

                                LEADER (V.O.)
                      Go! Go! Go!

            SILENCE. Radio-communicator hiss.

            EXT. THE ROOF-2.  - DAY

            A pile of steaming human excrement, An SAS "naughty" weapon.
            Where ANCHOR had once been laying.

            Over the radio-communicator

                                LEADER (V.O.)
                      Backup! Go!

            SILENCE. Radio-communicator hiss.

                                LEADER (V.O.)
                      Shit!

            EXT. ANOTHER ROOF-1.  - DAY

            Another  roof  somewhere.  Overlooking  the  white limousine.
            As it proceeds. 

            A pile of steaming human excrement, An SAS "naughty" weapon.
            Where Backup had once been laying. 

            The distant SOUND of army boots.  Running. On roof concrete.
            Getting CLOSER.

            EXT. INSIDE THE LIMOUSINE-3.  - DAY

            BACK TO:  P.M. Thinking. Wont this make him popular with the
            "workers". His Public! Smile appearing as he imagines.

            EXT. THE ASYLUM-25. - DAY

            BACK TO:  Outside the Asylum gates.  The small bus shelter.
            The small wood paper-sellers booth. The  two billboards
            outside. Billboard notices TORN, OLD.  Not READABLE entirely. 

            A THOUGHT forming.

            The "AUSTRALIAN" BILLBOARD

            "THE .......... PUBLIC SERVANTS .............. AND

            The "SUN" BILLBOARD

            "................AUSTRALIANS!"

            EXT. ANOTHER ROOF-2.  - DAY

            BACK TO:	Another roof somewhere.  Overlooking the white
            limousine. As it proceeds. A pile of steaming human
            excrement, The SAS "naughty" weapon GONE. Leader aiming the
            weapon. At the rear window of the proceeding limousine.

            INT. INSIDE THE LIMOUSINE-4.  - DAY

            P.M. Thinking. Smile turning to a grin as he imagines. He
            sneezes. His head falling forwards. 

            The SOUND of a rifle firing. One shot. Distant. 

            The SOUND of a car-window shattering.

                                LEADER (V.O.)
                          (amazed)
                      Shit! 
                          (beat)
                      That dummy sneezed!

            BLACKNESS. 

            The SOUND of a heartbeat. FADING. 

            The SOUND of a second heartbeat. RECOVERING.

            EXT. THE ASYLUM-FINAL. - DAY

            BACK TO:  Outside the Asylum gates.  The small bus shelter.
            The small wood paper-sellers booth. The  two billboards 
            outside. Billboard notices  NEW. Now READABLE entirely. 

            Like a THOUGHT solidified. 

            The "AUSTRALIAN" BILLBOARD

            "THE OUTPLACEMENT OF TOP PUBLIC SERVANTS ALIENATES OUR
            AMERICAN AND JAPANESE ALLIES"

            The "SUN" BILLBOARD

            "WE'RE AUSTRALIANS! AT LAST!!!! THE P.M. FOR PRESIDENT! WE
            WANT YOU!"

            MUSIC. 

            EXT. A CEMETERY-1. - DAY

            A small country-town peaceful cemetery. An entry road. A
            separate exit. Gates in the distance. Historic tombstones. 
            Searching amongst them. For Joe's grave. 

            NO-ONE important HERE. Just WORKERS. Living. Dying. For what?

            EXT. THE ENTRY.- DAY

            We see; Two white limousines enter the cemetery gates.
            Proceed towards our position.

            EXT. A CEMETERY-2. - DAY

            We search the cemetery and find, under a tree. Joe's resting -
            place.  A recent funeral. FLOWERS. A small plaque.
            Crematorium style. 

            The SOUND of a limousine door closing.

            The WRITING on the plaque;
                                "IN LOVING MEMORY OF"

                                     "JOE SMITH"
                      "organically grown 1941, penetrated and
                      forcibly exploded 1994 aged 53"

            Before the rest of the writing can be read. A SHADOW. A
            STREAM of water, from O.S. Over the rest of the writing.
            Making it unreadable.

            EXT. NEVILLE'S COMPENSATION. - DAY.

            Neville stands. Nervously urinating over Joe's plaque. His
            remains. The flowers. Neville worried someone will see him.

                                NEVILLE (V.O.)
                      Bloody no - focussed, non - synergetic
                      little country bumpkin. Thought you'd fix
                      me, eh? Not in my league, little, dead,
                      BOY!

            Neville zips up. Turns. Nervously triumphant. Sneering smile
            on his face. Half-glasses, low on his nose. Walks to the
            second limousine parked close nearby. Behind the first
            limousine. 

            The SAS is coming MUSIC. A few bars. Low-level. 

            The first limousine driver is an SAS man. Dressed as a
            chauffeur. Radio communicator earpiece. Like a deaf - aid.
            NEVER facially seen. 

            Neville opens the second limousine rear door, gets in. The
            first limousine slowly purrs away. Towards the other cemetery
            exit. Followed by the second limousine. 

            From inside the limousines. D.M inquisitive.

                                D.M. (V.O.)
                      Why did you want to come to the funeral,
                      Ken?

                                KEN (V.O.)
                      I thought it a good PR exercise for us to
                      do it. Neville wanted to come to the
                      cemetery to find something he lost. 
                          (beat)
                      It was a good idea, wasn't it Les? If
                      Funnnel Web hadn't got it wrong and
                      forgot to tell the media. 
                          (beat)
                      Hello? Les?.... 
                          (beat, fed-up, expletive)
                      These rotten Telecom mobile car - phone
                      conferences!..... 
                          (pause)
                      should've got Optus....Hello?......Les?

                                LES (V.O.)
                      ..PR exercise,....hello?

                                NIGEL (V.O.)
                      ...PR exercise,...hello?

                                JOHN (
                      ...PR exercise,...hello

            Over a radio-communicator

                                LEADER (V.O.)
                      Anchor! Away!

            EXT. THE EXIT. - DAY

            The first limousine suddenly stops. The driver's door flying
            open.  The second limousine CRASHES into the rear of the
            first. 

            The SAS man gets out from the first limousine. Runs away.
            Very fast. His face NOT seen.

                                NEVILLE (V.O.)
                      PR exercise, PR exercise. What the!

            Over a radio-communicator

                                LEADER (V.O.)
                      Thumper commit!

                                THUMPER (V.O.)
                          (very enthusiastically)
                      Fucking - compliant - commit - I - will!

                                D.M. (V.O.)
                      What's going on?

            The SOUND of a grenade-launcher. 

            A pause. 

            The SOUND of a second one. 

            A Pause. 

            The SOUND of a whistling grenade. 

            A Pause. 

            The SOUND of a second one. Falling to the targets.

                                NEVILLE (V.O.)
                          (pleading in panic)
                      Ken?...Oh.......KEN!!!!.

            The FIRST limousine EXPLODES. In a huge fireball. 

            A Pause. 

            The SECOND limousine in the same manner.

            EXT. THE PLAQUE-1. - DAY

            We see:	Joe's burial plaque. Still wet with urine. 

            From the explosion. DEBRIS. Landing on the plaque. 

            Neville's half-glasses. Smashing on impact with the plaque.
            Frames bouncing. 

            The SAS is coming MUSIC. Over to Plaque scene end. Low
            background.

            A pause. 

            Suddenly. A pair of army-boots. Black SAS clothed legs. 

            Two-more pairs, black SAS-clothed legs. 

            Four-more pairs, black  SAS-clothed legs. 

            The  last  pair, chauffeurs boots, trousers. 

            A ring of EIGHT SAS Men around Joe's plaque. 

            Over a radio-communicator. Sadly.

                                LEADER (V.O.)
                      Wasn't our fault Joe. Someone set us up. 
                          (beat)
                      Shit on us,..... 
                          (beat)
                      Well, they wont be doing it again. 
                          (beat, then, with
                           determination)
                      NO - ONE WILL!
                          (beat, then, commanding)
                      Disengage!

            SEVEN SAS men exit. 

            Leader remains, face never seen. Takes something off from
            around his neck. On a chain. Kneels. Sensitively clears
            debris from the plaque with his gloved hand. Flicks the urine
            off his gloved - hand. Places the something carefully on the
            plaque. Stands. Salutes. 

            We See: On his wrist. A cheap LCD watch. Exactly like Joe's. 

            Leader turns and runs O.S.

            EXT. THE PLAQUE-2. - DAY

            We see:	The writing on the plaque

               "IN LOVING MEMORY OF JOE SMITH" organically grown 1941,
                    penetrated and forcibly exploded 1994 aged 53"

              "let us not dally on the thoughts of Wallies, for they are
                but masturbations of unfocussed underpinned ejaculated
               synergy.  Rather, let us ejaculate, with focus, on those
             wallies who force us into masturbation for their own desires
            and evil intent, with the hope that our seed will grow within
            them and make Australia a better place for us who try so hard
                                 not to be wallies"

                                "WALLIES for NEVER!"

            At the bottom of the plaque. A small medallion. On a chain.
            On the medallion the SAS symbolic motif. The wing - ed dagger
            -- The writing beneath it --

                                  "WHO DARES WINS"

            A LONG PAUSE.

                                KEN (V.O.)
                      We cannot have the "Company" name defaced
                      by this filmscript of yours......

            INT. THE BOARDROOM-6. - DAY

            The typical expensive Boardroom. 

            Ken and Les sit at it. Not very happy-looking. 

            Joe sits quietly to attention. Different coloured flannelette
            shirt. At the far end of the table. Looks like he's not
            listening. Dreaming.  Caught up in intense thought.

                                KEN
                      Joe!
                          (getting angry)
                      Nobody!
                          (calms, reluctantly)
                      We are talking to you!

            Joe still immersed in TOTAL mind. 

            Joe P.O.V.;  Ken is surrounded by veils of multitudinous
            silken-like threads vertically disappearing somewhere above 
            his head. 

            His right -hand or, an  ethereal duplicate pulls one of these
            threads. Les's head nods. The other end of the thread is
            attached to Les's head. Another thread, seemingly entering
            Les's head moves. Like a ventriloquists dummy Les speaks;

                                LES 
                          (nodding)
                       ...talking to you.

            Joe looks round the room. At the CURTAINS of threads, now
            cut, unattached to those now not there, all emanating from
            different parts of Ken's personage. 

            Joe looks up. All around him, like a sparkling aura, he sees
            the ends of threads trying to attach themselves to him,
            trying in-vain as they somehow evaporate if they get too
            close. 

            His view shimmers, the threads all around shimmer, disappear. 

            Joe attains the present,

                                JOE
                      Sorry, I got caught - up in my self -
                      talk. 
                          (grins)
                      But then, you lot wouldn't know about
                      that, would you?

                                KEN 
                          (ignoring, wavey - hand - like)
                      You may think you have done something
                      clever writing this play but you haven't.
                      It is of no concern to the Shareholder
                      how a small bunch of incompetents in
                      Donga-Donga are treated, after all you
                      get paid well, very , very well.

                                LES 
                          (nodding agreement)
                      ..well, very, very well.

                                JOE
                          (grinning, slowly)
                      Whatever I say, Mr. MacArthur-Park, it
                      will not matter. Your sort have a reality
                      which my sort, a "Corporate Captive",
                      cannot live in excepting as an inferior.
                      You fill your lives with sophisms,
                      sycophancy and subjugation of the workers
                      for your own ends. You believe you do a
                      good job because the amorphous structure
                      you are in control of works until you've
                      spent all the money which, incidently you
                      never had to earn, you were given it by
                      us, the taxpayers. Then you retire on a
                      pension more like a king's ransom! 

            Ken starts to comment.

                                LES
                          (interrupting)
                      No, Ken, let the bumpkin have his say.

            Ken looks daggers at Les.

                                JOE
                          (grinning)
                      You all promote the misleading idea of
                      generic management --- the consummate
                      professional whose education has prepared
                      you to step into any kind of business and
                      run it.
                          (beat, grinning more)
                      A myth! A myth of the "plug-in" executive
                      who hasn't the time or the inclination to
                      learn anything about the business they're
                      responsible for. You bring your business 
                      school theories to each problem,
                      "downsizing","rightsizing",
                      "downcosting", all the "in" words. "Slash
                      and burn" we call it, don't we Les?

            Les looks worried. Facially disassociates himself from the
            remark. Looks confused on unfamiliar ground.

                                JOE (cont'd)
                          (grinning more)
                      And when it goes wrong in practice you
                      panic, pass the buck, look for a
                      scapegoat. But should it go right?
                          (laughs, loudly)
                      We all know what happens then.

            Ken looks guilty. Fidgets around. Les looks from Joe to Ken
            not sure what to do.

                                JOE (cont'd)
                      And what's more although you call
                      yourselves "Australian" you're not. You
                      buy equipment abroad instead of letting
                      us design it here.......

            Ken looks angry. Les interjects.

                                LES 
                      Oh, what equipment?

                                JOE
                      There are many I could quote but take the
                      tank equipment, we only wanted fifty -
                      kay to refurbish it and what did you lot
                      do? Sent five bloody blokes to Germany,
                      that cost fifty - kay and probably
                      gathered you the same amount in frequent 
                      flyer points.....

            Les grimaces. Looks to Ken. Ken frowns.

                                JOE (cont'd) 
                          (distastefully)
                      Just to buy German equipment which, by
                      the way, are Israelly - owned and we'll
                      have to refurbish our own equipment
                      anyway since OUR army WANTS Australian!.
                          (beat, then sympathetic)
                      Oh, it's not just you lot, it's the whole
                      bloody Public Service and Government of
                      this Country. Arrogant Dysfunctional
                      Idiots the bloody lot! No-one listens.
                      Just tries to predict what the wally
                      above them wants and implements it
                      irrespective of the worker. Fire some,
                      make the "bottom-line" fit the budget and
                      if it doesn't?
                          (beat)
                      Then fire some more. Subcontract and hide
                      the overspend.  BUB supported over one
                      hundred workers on a twelve-million
                      dollar turnover. You lot can't even
                      support thirty on it, can you?
                      You know the Americans discovered slash
                      and burn arrogant hierarchical
                      denominator management doesn't work
                      nearly a decade ago but you won't do
                      anything about it, will you Les, in case
                      the wally above you, and the Big Wally
                      above him likes it that way?

            Les looks more worried. Facially disassociates himself more
            from the remark. Looks more confused on definitely unfamiliar
            ground. Ken effusing anger.

                                JOE
                      The MEW which you sent me on proved that.
                      It will never change, will it Les?

            Les looks totally scared. Bodily pleads with Ken that he's
            not in any way agreeing. Ken calms.

                                KEN 
                      It is of no concern to the Big Wally, er, 
                          (grimaces)

            Joe grins at this Freudian slip.

                                KEN (cont'd)
                      ...The Shareholder how an incompetent in
                      Donga-Donga is treated, after all you get
                      paid well, very , very well......

                                LES 
                          (interrupting, nodding
                           agreement, very relievedly)
                       ..well, very, very well.

                                KEN 
                      We are continuing to increase our
                      predicted profit each year and that is
                      ALL that matters. We made thirty - six
                      million dollars profit last financial
                      year. So how does the opinion of minions
                      such as yourself matter? We must be doing
                      it right, musn't we?
                          (grins, achievement, works up
                           to crescendo)
                      And we've got that one - twenty - million
                      - dollar job. In a few years we will have
                      completed our assigned task and go Public
                      irrespective of what Macquarie thinks.
                      That is all that matters. We'll find some
                      idiot who'll buy us at twice what we're
                      worth.

            He pauses, arrogantly looks around for the words,
            condescendingly, slowly

                                KEN (cont'd)
                      To put it quite simply, as the
                      Shareholder has said, the Government has
                      created "A Winner".
                          (smiles, sickly triumphantly)

                                LES 
                          (nodding, smiles, sickly
                           triumphantly)
                       ....a Winner...

                                KEN
                          (pause, looks around,
                           hopelessly)
                      Now, 
                          (beat)
                       ..this play of yours. 
                          (beat)
                      ..If it were broadcast it wouldn't set us
                      back, 
                          (beat, obviously lying)
                      ...much, so....... 
                          (shakes his head, then
                           aggressively at Les)
                      We thought we'd offer you about,...

            Les stares downwards. Joe starts grinning.

                                KEN (cont'd)
                      You tell him Les!
                          (looks away, as if in pain)

                                LES 
                          (surprised, looking up)
                      Well.. 
                          (beat, then not sure)
                      It was a million, wasn't it Ken? Or was
                      it two? Or four? Or was it a number four 
                      iron?

            Les looks hopeless. Ken shakes his head. Looks like the floor
            is about to swallow him up.

                                KEN
                          (loud, angry)
                      You bloody fool Les, can't you do
                      anything right?

            Les purses his lips. Looks downwards. At the cheap LCD watch
            on his wrist. Exactly like Joe's. Then slightly upwards at
            Ken. Hatefully. 

            Joe thinks. His affirmation. Hypnotically.

                                JOE (V.O.)
                      I -- am -- a -- business- entity....

                                JOE
                      Make it five,...... 
                          (beat)
                      ....after tax.

            Joe sneers, waves hands, wavey - hand - like. 

            One hundred dollar-bills commence to rain down on him from
            above.

            END TITLES MUSIC. 

            ENDING:

                                KEN (V.O.)
                      But, then, little minion, maybe we'll
                      just fire all of you, after all you get
                      paid well, very very well. 
                          (lapses into insane giggling)
                      Don't they Les?
                          (pause, questioning)
                      Les?
                          (pause)
                      What are you doing Les?

            The SOUND of human excretion. 

            MUSIC. 

            COROLLARY:

                                JOE (V.O.)
                          (slow and deliberate)
                      What a good affirmation. They've done
                      that to me, to all of us, for years now. 
                          (beat, then very slowly,
                           hypnotically)
                      I ....will ....not ....take ...shit
                      ...from ..a ...wally,  I will give
                      wallies SHIT!

                                                                     END
                ANY RESEMBLANCE TO PEOPLE, 
                COMPANIES, CORPORATIONS OR 
              GOVERNMENTS, LIVING, DEAD OR 
             IN THE FUTURE, OR ABOUT TO BE 
                      REFURBISHED, RESOLD, 
                     RESTRUCTURED, or just 
                    REINCARNATED IS PURELY 
                             CO-INCIDENTAL.
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