Mind if we call you ‘Bruce’ to keep it clear?
I would rather go on calling you Mrs S-C-U-M, Mrs S-C-U-M.
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Lovely Spam! Wonderful Spam!
Lovely Spam! Wonderful Spam!
Good idea, Lord!
Well, being a member of the Conservative Party, all I can do is drone on and on, never letting anyone get a word in edgewise, until I turn blue in the face and start to foam at the mouth and fall over backwards.
What are they in it for, these old hoodlums, these layabouts in lace?
Long John Silver disappears. A pause. Two boxers appear. They circle each other. On one’s head a bowler hat appears, vanishes. On the other’s a sterve-pipe hat appears. On the first’s head is a fez. The stove-pipe hat becomes a stetson. The fez becomes a cardinal’s hat. The stetson becomes a wimple. Then the cardinal’s hat and the wimple vanish. One of the boxers becomes Napoleon and the other boxer is astonished. Napoleon punches the boxer with the hand inside his jacket. The boxer falls, stunned. Horizontally he shoots off stage. Shot of cat, watching unimpressed. Napoleon does one-legged pixilated dance across stage and off, immediately reappearinng on other side of stage doing same dance in same direction. He reaches the other side, but is halted by a traffic policeman. The policeman beckons onto the stage a man in a penguin skin on a pogostick. The penguin gets halfway across and then turns into a dustbin. Napoleon hops off stage. Policeman goes to dustbin, opens it and Napoleon gets out. Shot of cat, still unmoved. A nude man with a towel round his waist gets out of the dustbin. Napoleon points at ground. A chair appears where he points. The nude man gets on to the chair, jumps in the air and vanishes. Then Napoleon points to ground by him and a small cannon appears. Napoleon fires cannon and the policeman disappears. The man with the towel round his waist gets out of the dustbin and is chased off stage by the penguin on the pogostick. A sedan chair is carried on stage by two chefs. The man with the towel gets out and the penguin appears from the dustbin and chases him off. Napoleon points to sedan chair and it changes into dustbin. Man in towel runs back on to stage and jumps in dustbin. He looks out and the penguin appears from the other dustbin and hits him on the head with a raw chicken. Shot of cat still unimpressed. Napoleon, the man with the towel round his waist, the policeman, a boxer, and a chef suddenly appear standing in a line, and take a bow. They immediately change positions and take another bow. The penguin appears at the end of the line with a puff of smoke. Each one in turn jumps in the air and vanishes.
We have a lot of trouble with these oldies. Pension day’s the worst - they go mad. As soon as they get their hands on their money they blow it all on milk, bread, tea, tin of meat for the cat.
Hello again, and welcome to the show. Tonight we continue to look at some famous deaths. Tonight we start with the wonderful death of Genghis Khan, conqueror of India. Take it away Genghis.
Rotten. Rotten. You’re no bloody use at all. You’re an utter bloody wash-out. You make me sick, you weed!
It’s my considered opinion that they’re nesting.
Oh, yeah, she’s a virgin, definitely.
Hmmmmm. Thinks - this sounds like a job for… Bicycle Repair Man…but how to change without revealing my secret identity?
Oh, I am afraid our life must seem very dull and quiet compared to yours. We are but eightscore young blondes and brunettes, all between sixteen and nineteen and a half, cut off in this castle with no one to protect us! Oh, it is a lonely life: bathing, dressing, undressing, making exciting underwear…
Well, what about those juniper bushes over there?
Mr Nesbitt has learnt the value of not being seen. However he has chosen a very obvious piece of cover.
Yes, well, of course they come here for the two o’clock matinee, all the old bags out in there, especially if it’s something like The Sound of Music. We get seats ripped up, hearing aids broken, all that sort of thing.
I am not wearing a toupee! They just told me to come in here to find the manager’s office, to complain about my ant!
The whole problem of these senile delinquents lies in their complete rejection of the values of contemporary society. They’ve seen their children grow up and become accountants, stockbrokers and even sociologists, and they begin to wonder if it is all really… (falls through an open manhole cover) Arggh!
In a way, in a way … hum … moping, I must remember that. Now, what’s to be done?