ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
“One hundred and fifty billion,” said the weak-chinned suit.
“That’s with a ‘b’ not an ‘m’. That’s what Centrelink costs the Australian taxpayer each year. 8 in every 10 taxpayers give their tax straight to Centrelink,”
“It’s time to abolish it and force everyone into work. No excuses.”
Henri-Paul Hanneford’s sentiments were echoed by his coworkers from Rochford & Williams Investments as they sat around the long table down the Harlot & Concubine Inn.
The Financial District institution is often awash with local powerbrokers of an afternoon – and today was no different.
A veritable gaggle of private school boys, casual franking creditors and uptown homeowners were spilling out of the hotel this afternoon.
Even though the ASX 200 finished slightly down today.
However, none were as entertained as Henri-Paul and his mates while they played Devil’s Advocate this afternoon.
“Has anyone ever been inside one?” laughed Henri-Paul.
From the head of the table, an arm went up.
With a wry smirk, senior portfolio manager Hunter-Ponsford Gilbert-Hopscotch explained to his fellow colleagues that when he was back at university, he once tried to apply for AusStudy so he’d have a bit of pocket change.
“Turns out my father doesn’t do a very good job of hiding his assets!” he said to growing, violent laughter.
“Because they knocked me back! Citing that because we have a beach house, my parents were too asset rich for me to get the welfare!”
Henri-Paul’s eyes rolled back into his head with sheer ecstasy, wetting himself as he giggled uncontrollably.
“Then I said, ‘But sweetheart, it’s not my fucking beach house is it, now? It’s my fathers. I’m broke and I need money, isn’t this what this economic handbrake of a government agency is for? I’m hungry! Feed me! I don’t want to work!”
Nearing death, Henri-Paul and the other senior money men were finally able to catch a breath.
As the laughter slowly died down, Hunter-Ponsford smiled and shook his head.
“What a place,” he said.
“And…”
“Turns out when you have a baby, your wife needs to go there to get her maternity leave! As if labour isn’t degrading enough!”
Henri-Paul then had an enormous, joy-induced aneurysm and slumped headfirst into his rapid warming pint of draught Peroni.
More to come.
