Tough Pup meets some top dogs

Following the publication of his book, How To Be Macho: The Art Of Looking Tough While Wearing a Green Hat, Michael Clarke has been holding drop-in surgeries for those wishing to learn from the master:

Clarke: Good morning madam. Can I just say, I love your scarf. It really brings out the colour of your hair, where did you get it?

Clarke: Sorry, I mean, g'day babe. I'm Michael. I'm a tiger. Grrr.

Angela: I am President of Germany and will soon be attending trade negotiations with your prime minister. Please to give me insight into the mind of the Australian male.

Clarke: Yeah well, we Aussies like to do our trade negotiations a certain way. We negotiate hard, get in the other bloke's face, threaten to break his f*****g arm, then afterwards, we share a beer, a rubdown and a press release.

Angela: So tell me more about this arm-breaking. Shall I snap his radius or bludgeon his humerus? What if I just dislocate his shoulder? Does that count?

Clarke: Good grief no. You only threaten to break his arm, we're not animals

Clarke: I mean, you absolutely have to be prepared to break his arm, if it comes to it, you should never back down from the arm-breaking. What I'm saying is that you should heavily imply that you would, given the right circumstances, on behalf of the German people, break his f*****g arm, just don't actually break his f*****g arm.

Angela: Thank you, you have been very helpful.

Clarke: Well, that's very kind of you…

Angela: Shut up now, please.

Clarke: Yes ma'am.

Vlad: Good morning. I am Vlad. I come because I hear you are calling yourself tough guy. This is not acceptable. I am tough guy. You are little puppy.

Clarke: Mate, believe me, I'm tough.

Vlad: You cannot be tougher than me.

Clarke: Well, have you ever had your manicurist cancel an hour before the Allan Border Medal ceremony? Or bumped into Ian Bell at a hotel in Dubai and totally blanked him, like, boom, straight past him like he's not there? That's tough.

Vlad: I have no idea what you are talking about. Now what is this about arm-breaking?

Clarke: Oh you heard about that? Yeah, well, I don't mean to brag, but a little while back I threatened to break a bloke's arm. Went down pretty well with the Australian people.

Vlad: You threatened to break it? But you did not?

Clarke: Well no. But I would have done.

Vlad: No, you would not. You are little sissy.

Clarke: Well how many arms have you broken?

Vlad: One hundred and seventeen. In my second year at KGB school, I was sent on work experience to Interrogation Gulag 17, where I earned my Diploma In Advanced Limb Shattering. I hold the record for most bones broken in an afternoon. If you go to Gulag 17 you will see there is a little gold plaque with my name on it. Of course, if you go to Gulag 17, you will probably not return from Gulag 17.

Clarke: Wait, what are you doing?

Vlad: You know the secret to breaking a man's arm is to get him in a tight lock, so he cannot struggle, apply pressure here, and here, and then squeeze and squeeze until the agony becomes unbearable and….

Clarke: I think I'm going to be sick!

Vlad: Ha! You are little girl. In my country, we make you wear a dress. Goodbye little puppy, and no more tough-guy talk, okay?

Clarke: Jesus! How many more of these freaks have I got to see?

Professor D: Did you say Jesus?

Clarke: Er. Yes?

Professor D: You do know that in all probability, Jesus is a fictional figure of very little importance whatsoever?

Clarke: Yes, I do. I mean, no I don't. I'm not sure.

Professor D: Rather typical of the wishy-washy unscientific approach of the modern humanoid.

Clarke: Er, do you want to buy my book?

Professor D: Is it a logically constructed and rigorously researched work that will add to our understanding of our place in the universe?

Clarke: Well, there's a picture of me looking tough on the cover.

Professor D: You don't look tough. You look constipated.

Clarke: Mate, that's my toughest look.

Professor D: I've seen tougher-looking squirrels. Here's how you look tough. This is the face I pulled just after I threatened to break the Archbishop of Canterbury's f*****g arm.

Clarke: Blimey, that's a scary face!

Professor D: It is. To employ an outdated but serviceable simile in the youth vernacular, I is nails, innit.

Clarke: Do you think you could give me some advice?

Professor D: Certainly. My advice is to stop trying to conform to the demeaning stereotype of the Neanderthal Australian cricketer with this rather desperate over-compensation. And now, if you'll excuse me, you've wasted quite enough of my valuable time.

Clarke: To be honest, mate, he's right, I'm not really enjoying this tough-guy stuff.

Agent: Shut up Michael.

Clarke: Righto.