If Rupert Murdoch’s voicemail was hacked:
BEEP: “Rupert, this is Wendi. Guess what? Piers Morgan called and he wants me to do a whole hour about me punching that pie-thrower at Parliament! I know you’d rather I give the interview to Fox but, darling, Piers and I go way back. Please be a love and say yes. I’ll be in my private fitting room at Harrod’s if you need to reach me.”
BEEP: “Dad, this is James. Sorry I wasn’t much help the other day when that nitwit attacked you with the cream pie. As you know, ever since I was a small boy I’ve had a deathly fear of pastry. Otherwise I would have hurled myself between you and that madman. Honest.
BEEP: “Mr. Murdoch, this is Hugh Grant. Yes, Hugh Grant the actor. Remember how your dirtbag reporters kept hacking my phones a few years ago while I was dating that super-hot socialite whose name now escapes me? Well, you shriveled old goat, guess what. Now I’ve got your voicemail code and I’m eavesdropping on all your personal messages. Ha!”
BEEP: “Mr. Murdoch, this is Dr. Entwistle, the urologist. We got your tests back today and I’d like to schedule an appointment at your earliest convenience.”
BEEP: “Ha, Rupert, I heard that! Hugh Grant here again and, speaking on behalf of all the celebrities whose phones got hacked by your hacks, let me just say that I hope your prostate gland is the size of a croquet ball!”
BEEP: “Rupert, this is Prime Minister David Cameron. I want to personally apologize for the inexcusable security lapse that allowed that impudent pie-thrower to smack you in the face the other day. (But bravo for Wendi, eh?) Listen, Rupe old boy, you understand that despite our close friendship and all the self-serving advice that you’ve given me since I took office, I must continue condemning your newspapers publicly every chance I get, in order to save my own political hide. Please know that I still consider you a dear chum … wait — this line is secure, right?”
BEEP: “Mr. Murdoch, this is Jude Law. Yes, Jude Law the actor. You might recall that I’m suing one of your papers for stealing my private phone messages. I just wanted to tell you how distressed I was to hear that your prostate apparently is now the size of a cantaloupe. Oh, and Hugh Grant says cheers.”
BEEP: “Mr. Murdoch, this is the executive assistant to Prime Minister David Cameron. The PM wanted me to inform you that it wasn’t he who left a somewhat careless message on your phone a few minutes ago, but rather a clever imposter who sounded exactly like him. The Prime Minister would greatly appreciate it if you erased the previous message as soon as possible, and this one as well. Thank you.”
BEEP: “This is a recorded message from the Downing Street Pharmacy. Your prescription for Cialis is ready to be picked up.”
BEEP: “Cialis! Rupert, you horndog! Eighty years old and still rattling the headboards. It’s Hugh Grant again. Isn’t this fun?”
BEEP: “Rupert, it’s Wendi. Oh my God, they want me to be on ‘The View’! Can you believe this? I’ll need the jet, darling, the big one. See you back in New York!”
BEEP: “Mr. Murdoch, it’s Jude Law again. I took the liberty of dropping by the Downing Street Pharmacy and getting your Cialis pills, which I intend to leave at the news desk of the Sunday Mirror, one of your archrival papers. I also informed the druggist that your prostate was now as big as a Frisbee, and he highly recommended Flomax. You should check it out.”
BEEP: “Rupert, this Prince Charles. Because of my family’s sad firsthand experience with tabloid phone-hacking, an actor acquaintance recently provided me with the code to your voicemail — hope it’s not a bother. Camilla and I watched the hearings the other day and were impressed by the right cross thrown by your wife at the pie-thrower. Also wanted to let you know that I, too, have heard good things about Flomax.”
BEEP: “Mr. Murdoch, this is Scotland Yard calling. We have reason to suspect that your private telephone numbers have been compromised — just kidding, Rupester! This is Hugh, again. I’m at Heathrow, where your lovely wife has kindly offered me a lift to New York on your jet. Small world, eh?”
BEEP: “Rupert, it’s Wendi. You’ll never guess who I just bumped into at the airport — and he’s even more handsome in person than he is in the movies! Call you later, darling.”
(Carl Hiaasen is a columnist for the Miami Herald. Readers may write to him at: 1 Herald Plaza, Miami, Fla., 33132.)
(c) 2011, The Miami Herald Distributed by Tribune Media Services Inc.
