I recently lost my job in PR. Well, I liked to call it PR, but basically I used to dress up as a squirrell and stand outside a garden-centre waving at passing motorists. I lost the job due to new management at the garden-centre. The new manager proved to be a very angry and demanding man. He told me that he Ate, slept, and breathed the garden-centre way of life, and I tended to believe him as he looked like his hair had been cut with a strimmer. He scrapped my squirrel position on his first day in office and swiftly demoted me to general-dogsbody. During quiet retail periods he would have me hold cast-iron garden-furniture above my head just so he felt he was getting his moneys worth. Such was my hatred for my new boss, I found myself having a reoccurring-dream in which I put something in his coffee, and when he wakes up he finds himself buried up to his neck in sand in some flat desert-plain with a pair of binoculars gaffa-taped onto his head. When he scans the horizon through the binoculors, he sees me, some two and a half mile away, running franticly towards him with a cricket-bat. (Feel free to use this fantasy on your own boss) My suspicions that he had a personal-vendetta against me were gently stirred one day when he viciously attacked me with a potted-cactus while screamingDIE! DIE! DIE! YOU FUNNY-SURNAMED BASTARD! I managed to protect myself during the assault with the use of two grow-bags, a Yucca plant, twelve garden-gnomes, and seventy-three bottles of Baby-Bio. I promptly filed a court-case against him for GBH/Unfair dismissal, and was eventually awarded compensation in the form of a five-pound Argos gift-voucher. I ran from the court-room victorious, and instantly purchased a Batman Thermos-flask. As gratifying as this was, I had a huge mortgage on a tiny grit-box and I had to find paid work fast. I replied to an Ad in the classifieds, Henchman required by expanding local Mafia boss. I landed the job, but I struggled with the whole gangland thing, especially the terminology. The boss (Don Cannelloni) called me into his office one day and informed me that the head of a rival firm (Don Calzone) had been claiming protection money on our turf. He then told me that it was going to be my job to take Calzone out. Three days later, I took Calzone to see the latest Harry Potter at the Showcase cinema. The following day, Cannelloni asked if I had taken care of him? I assured him that not only had I paid him in, but I also picked up the tab for his Pick n Mix, and dropped him off at his doorstep at the end of the night. Well, Cannelloni went absolutely BARMY! I was upset with my bollocking, but I took pride and consolation in the fact that I adapt quickly and learn fast. Then, just two weeks later, he tells me that his mother is flying in from Sicily at the weekend and he will be away on unexpected business, so would I take care of her and take her out? Well? When he got back, he went absolutely BARMY! Now with a £2m contract on my head, I knew I could never return to my grit-box again and was subsequently forced to go into hiding. This was to prove problematic, as I knew absolutely nothing about the treating and preservation of animal-pelts, and I also have a great love for animals. When one particular customer was actually savaged by one of my mink-coats, the irate husband decided he would express his dissatisfaction with the combined use of morse-code and a baseball-bat. I regained consciousness in Staincliffe Hospital some six weeks later, where I am now updating my blog using a lap-top I borrowed from a kindly visitor of the patient in the next bed. I will have to call it a day now, as the aforementioned visitor is stood at the foot of my bed repeatedly sighing, tutting, and looking at his watch.
I dont know whats up with the guy. He should be chuffed to bits! They let his dad go home three days ago?
Friday, 29 January 2010
Friday, 20 November 2009
Rabbits. Popular domestic pets. Timid, quiet, unassuming, unintelligent little creatures. Or ARE they?
In the summer of 2005 Dr Leopold Schnitzelgruber (formerly a celebrated marine-biologist) embarked on a four-year experiment which would test the intelligence and communication abilities of the common pet-rabbit. Using specially designed apparatus, Schnitzelgruber subjected ‘Frisky’ the rabbit to a constantly looped English language audiotape and monitored the animals reaction by sellotaping a pencil to Frisky’s forehead and sitting him in front of a typewriter. Unfortunately, after three years and six months, Frisky died. Schnitzelgruber remained adamant that the experiment was a success, mainly in order to secure continued financial-backing from the experiments sponsors IBM, who (upon being presented with the actual typings of the rabbit) didn’t consider ‘ZZNJRD@---9’ constituted any literal merit whatsoever and therefore ended the funding. Much to the bitter disappointment of Schnitzelgruber, who stormed out of the meeting shouting a torrent of abuse.
A fortnight later the laboratory was cleared of its apparatus. Upon moving Frisky’s hutch, several tiny envelopes and a minute diary were discovered. And so it transpired that Frisky had not only kept a day-to-day account of his life, but also enjoyed a secret two-year correspondence with his pen pal ‘Vic’, a Guinea pig from Wichita, USA.
There now follows what would have been Frisky’s last letter to Vic.....
Dear Vic,
I cannot express how much I look forward to your letters. My long days are empty and lifeless and I cling to your correspondence like driftwood in a stagnant sea.
I sat in the far corner of the hutch behind the food bowl this Wednesday and was instantly annoyed with myself for doing so, as I usually save that particular treat for Friday nights and birthdays, and as they say, you can’t burn the candle at both ends. Also, whilst on the subject of raw excitement, the laboratory staff left earlier than usual on Thursday night, and in their haste forgot to pull the window blinds down before leaving. What a night that was? I fell in love a million times over as I spent a whole night of rapturous passion hopelessly lost within the soothing bosom of a darling Moon. For this time and this time alone there would be no cage, no laboratory, no man-made restraints could hold me as I gazed in awe at this heavenly incandescence. This Sun as a ghost. This dazzling beacon of infinite wonder.
For a short while, it all made perfect sense.
Yours sincerely,
Frisky.
PS: Are you still having trouble with those raccoons?
In the summer of 2005 Dr Leopold Schnitzelgruber (formerly a celebrated marine-biologist) embarked on a four-year experiment which would test the intelligence and communication abilities of the common pet-rabbit. Using specially designed apparatus, Schnitzelgruber subjected ‘Frisky’ the rabbit to a constantly looped English language audiotape and monitored the animals reaction by sellotaping a pencil to Frisky’s forehead and sitting him in front of a typewriter. Unfortunately, after three years and six months, Frisky died. Schnitzelgruber remained adamant that the experiment was a success, mainly in order to secure continued financial-backing from the experiments sponsors IBM, who (upon being presented with the actual typings of the rabbit) didn’t consider ‘ZZNJRD@---9’ constituted any literal merit whatsoever and therefore ended the funding. Much to the bitter disappointment of Schnitzelgruber, who stormed out of the meeting shouting a torrent of abuse.
A fortnight later the laboratory was cleared of its apparatus. Upon moving Frisky’s hutch, several tiny envelopes and a minute diary were discovered. And so it transpired that Frisky had not only kept a day-to-day account of his life, but also enjoyed a secret two-year correspondence with his pen pal ‘Vic’, a Guinea pig from Wichita, USA.
There now follows what would have been Frisky’s last letter to Vic.....
Dear Vic,
I cannot express how much I look forward to your letters. My long days are empty and lifeless and I cling to your correspondence like driftwood in a stagnant sea.
I sat in the far corner of the hutch behind the food bowl this Wednesday and was instantly annoyed with myself for doing so, as I usually save that particular treat for Friday nights and birthdays, and as they say, you can’t burn the candle at both ends. Also, whilst on the subject of raw excitement, the laboratory staff left earlier than usual on Thursday night, and in their haste forgot to pull the window blinds down before leaving. What a night that was? I fell in love a million times over as I spent a whole night of rapturous passion hopelessly lost within the soothing bosom of a darling Moon. For this time and this time alone there would be no cage, no laboratory, no man-made restraints could hold me as I gazed in awe at this heavenly incandescence. This Sun as a ghost. This dazzling beacon of infinite wonder.
For a short while, it all made perfect sense.
Yours sincerely,
Frisky.
PS: Are you still having trouble with those raccoons?
Rejected script #2
'KINGS OF THE SCAR-FACED NOO-YOIK GODPARENTY CASINO-OWNING GOODFELLA MOBSTER TYPE CONTINGENT WHO WERE ALLEGEDLY AT THEIR MOST PREVALENT ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA'
TONY: Robert De Niro.
JOHNNY: Al Pacino.
FRANKIE: Joe Pesci.
PAULIE: Ray Liotta.
THE SCENE.
Everybody is sitting in a traditional Noo-Yoik Italian restaurant. It’s late one Monday evening and business is traditionally rare. A very old Italian man sits snoozing in a corner.
The main table of the restaurant is occupied by the film’s main characters. Camera zooms in to capture the conversation at the table.
TONY: ( Looking at Johnny as he shrugs and outwardly gestures with his arms) “Hey Johnny?”
JOHNNY: ( Looking annoyed and shrugging at Tony’s accusative tone) “Hey Tony?”
FRANKIE: (Shruggingly annoyed at the bickering of Tony and Johnny) “Hey Tony, Hey Johnny?”
TONY & JOHNNY: ( Shrugging in unison) “Hey Frankie?”
Suddenly Johnny pulls out a gun and aims it at the very old Italian man sat snoozing in the corner.
JOHNNY: (Shrugging) “Hey crony?”
CRONY: (Waking from his snooze, then shrugging) “Hey Johnny?
Suddenly Paulie enters the restaurant and is visibly disturbed by the dangerous levels of shrugging with which he finds himself confronted.
PAULIE: (Not shrugging, in order to de-shrug the situation) “Hey Frankie, hey Johnny, hey Tony, hey Crony?”
FRANKIE, JOHNNY, TONY and CRONY: (Shrugging) “HEY PAULIE?”
PAULIE: (Condescendingly un-shrugging) “Hey Frankie, Johnny, Tony, Crony?
From out of nowhere, a local confectioners suddenly turn up with a huge sugar-iced cake with an aerial sticking out of it.
EVERYONE: “HEYYYY!”
FRANKIE: ( Excited) “Hey Johnny, hey Tony, hey Crony?
JOHNNY: ( Excited) “Hey Frankie, hey Tony, hey Crony?
TONY: (Excited) “Hey Frankie, hey Johnny, hey Crony?
CRONY: (Asleep) “Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!”
Everybody temporarily forgets their differences and start to demolish the huge cake with an aerial sticking out of it.
SUDDEN SPECIAL GUEST APPEARANCE BY ANDY GARCIA AS BENNY.
BENNY: (Walking into the restaurant with a remote-control unit in his hands)
“Hey Frankie, Johnny, Paulie, Tony, Crony?"
FRANKIE, JOHNNY, PAULIE, TONY, CRONY: ( In unison) “HEY BENNY?”
BENNY: ( Pressing button on remote-control unit) “HEYYY...”
RESTAURANT: ‘KA-BOOM!”
The End.
'KINGS OF THE SCAR-FACED NOO-YOIK GODPARENTY CASINO-OWNING GOODFELLA MOBSTER TYPE CONTINGENT WHO WERE ALLEGEDLY AT THEIR MOST PREVALENT ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA'
TONY: Robert De Niro.
JOHNNY: Al Pacino.
FRANKIE: Joe Pesci.
PAULIE: Ray Liotta.
THE SCENE.
Everybody is sitting in a traditional Noo-Yoik Italian restaurant. It’s late one Monday evening and business is traditionally rare. A very old Italian man sits snoozing in a corner.
The main table of the restaurant is occupied by the film’s main characters. Camera zooms in to capture the conversation at the table.
TONY: ( Looking at Johnny as he shrugs and outwardly gestures with his arms) “Hey Johnny?”
JOHNNY: ( Looking annoyed and shrugging at Tony’s accusative tone) “Hey Tony?”
FRANKIE: (Shruggingly annoyed at the bickering of Tony and Johnny) “Hey Tony, Hey Johnny?”
TONY & JOHNNY: ( Shrugging in unison) “Hey Frankie?”
Suddenly Johnny pulls out a gun and aims it at the very old Italian man sat snoozing in the corner.
JOHNNY: (Shrugging) “Hey crony?”
CRONY: (Waking from his snooze, then shrugging) “Hey Johnny?
Suddenly Paulie enters the restaurant and is visibly disturbed by the dangerous levels of shrugging with which he finds himself confronted.
PAULIE: (Not shrugging, in order to de-shrug the situation) “Hey Frankie, hey Johnny, hey Tony, hey Crony?”
FRANKIE, JOHNNY, TONY and CRONY: (Shrugging) “HEY PAULIE?”
PAULIE: (Condescendingly un-shrugging) “Hey Frankie, Johnny, Tony, Crony?
From out of nowhere, a local confectioners suddenly turn up with a huge sugar-iced cake with an aerial sticking out of it.
EVERYONE: “HEYYYY!”
FRANKIE: ( Excited) “Hey Johnny, hey Tony, hey Crony?
JOHNNY: ( Excited) “Hey Frankie, hey Tony, hey Crony?
TONY: (Excited) “Hey Frankie, hey Johnny, hey Crony?
CRONY: (Asleep) “Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!”
Everybody temporarily forgets their differences and start to demolish the huge cake with an aerial sticking out of it.
SUDDEN SPECIAL GUEST APPEARANCE BY ANDY GARCIA AS BENNY.
BENNY: (Walking into the restaurant with a remote-control unit in his hands)
“Hey Frankie, Johnny, Paulie, Tony, Crony?"
FRANKIE, JOHNNY, PAULIE, TONY, CRONY: ( In unison) “HEY BENNY?”
BENNY: ( Pressing button on remote-control unit) “HEYYY...”
RESTAURANT: ‘KA-BOOM!”
The End.
MY FAULTY KEYBOARD.
My keygoards gone faulty, I’d gest have it mended.
One of the keys is now misrepresented.
Cos when I press ‘G’, I instead get a ‘G’,
and it’s guggering up all my poems you see?
The gloke who I gought it from turned kind of funny,
when I took it gack to him demanding my money.
He called me a ‘Mucker!’...
OH GLOODY HELL!
It looks like the ‘M’ key is maulty as well!
My keygoards gone faulty, I’d gest have it mended.
One of the keys is now misrepresented.
Cos when I press ‘G’, I instead get a ‘G’,
and it’s guggering up all my poems you see?
The gloke who I gought it from turned kind of funny,
when I took it gack to him demanding my money.
He called me a ‘Mucker!’...
OH GLOODY HELL!
It looks like the ‘M’ key is maulty as well!
JACK: The world’s very first superstar entertainer. No other actor has had such a profound effect on the fabric of civilisation. Not even Chuck Norris. Now, for the first time anywhere, I bring to you the story of Jack and his meteoric rise to global domination...
1521: Jack is born to humble farmer John Horner and wayward wife Josephine.
1529: Eight-year-old Jack is discovered by an amateur poet who finds him sitting in the corner of a room eating a pie.
1530: ‘Little Jack Horner’ poem is put on general release and receives favourable critical revues.
1530: Upon finding his wife in the haystack with hired farm-hand Joseph Spratt, John Horner leaves, never to return.
1530: After the success of ‘Little Jack Horner’ Jack is approached by another local poet with ideas of an action/adventure poem.
1531: ‘Jack be nimble, Jack be quick’ poem released to rapturous critical appraisal.
1532: Jack’s mother marries Joseph Spratt and Jack also changes surname.
1533: Jack is visited by Jeff Spangle, a poetry Impresario from London with all the right connections.
1533: Twelve year old Jack moves to London on the behest of Mr Spangle, and co-habits with Mr Spangle’s sister Jane and her twelve year old daughter Jill.
1534: Jack and Jill get on like a house on fire, inspiring Jeff Spangle to suggest they form a double act for a drama project of his own.
1535: ‘Jack and Jill went up the hill’ released and the world gets it’s first real taste of ‘Jack mania’. Offers of work come pouring in from all the big poetry-moguls. Media coins the phrase ‘Jack the lad’.
1536: Romance blossoms between Jack and Jill as Jack makes the transition from poems to full-length feature stories. ‘Jack and the beanstalk’ cleans up at the bookstores, followed by ‘The house that Jack built’, and ‘Jack the giant-killer’. An array of related merchandise hits the shops to meet the demands of a public gone ‘Jack’ crazy. The Jack-knife, the Jack-boot, the Jackhammer, the Jack-pot (a drinking mug bearing Jack’s likeness) all of which sell millions and bolster Jack’s steadily swelling personal fortune.
1537: Jack writes, produces, directs, and stars with fiancée Jill in ‘Jack Spratt would eat no fat’, a domestic drama poem about the couples eating habits. It is ecstatically received by his overwhelmingly adoring public.
1538: Jack marries Jill on his seventeenth birthday and a euphoric nation turn up to witness. A motion is passed in parliament and the British union flag is renamed ‘The Union-Jack’ as a mark of respect.
1540: After a two year silence, rumours start to emerge that Jack has quit the world of showbiz.
1541: In a sudden and unexpected public announcement, Jack gives Jeff Spangle the sack and decides to create his own independent publishing company (Jackanory).
1542: Jack grows long hair and a goatee beard.
1543: Jack learns to play the sitar.
1544: Jack officially changes his name to Jehuknah P’tangwa F’tangwallawalla.
1545: After an eight year hiatus, Jehuknah P’tangwa F’tangwallawalla releases ‘Open up your inner-eye Daddio!’ on the Jackanory label. A three-book concept-trilogy, starting with the experimental-jazz poem ‘Hey nonny nonny, b’ding, p’tang, fernoony-fernoony’. A nation is alienated almost overnight and the backlash starts here.
1546: Jackanory release ‘Le philosophe de F’tangwallawalla’. It bombs.
1547: Jackanory rush release ‘Jack’s Greatest Hits’ in a desperate attempt to capitalize on former glories. It sells poorly, reflecting the publics shift towards the new ‘tongue-twister’ trend of which Peter Piper is a rising star.
1548: Jackanory becomes insolvent and Jack loses everything. He and wife Jill discover they are soon to be parents. Jeff Spangle surprisingly takes pity on the couple and offers Jack the position of A&R man to Peter Piper. It proves to be a highly profitable pairing.
And they all lived happily ever after.
1521: Jack is born to humble farmer John Horner and wayward wife Josephine.
1529: Eight-year-old Jack is discovered by an amateur poet who finds him sitting in the corner of a room eating a pie.
1530: ‘Little Jack Horner’ poem is put on general release and receives favourable critical revues.
1530: Upon finding his wife in the haystack with hired farm-hand Joseph Spratt, John Horner leaves, never to return.
1530: After the success of ‘Little Jack Horner’ Jack is approached by another local poet with ideas of an action/adventure poem.
1531: ‘Jack be nimble, Jack be quick’ poem released to rapturous critical appraisal.
1532: Jack’s mother marries Joseph Spratt and Jack also changes surname.
1533: Jack is visited by Jeff Spangle, a poetry Impresario from London with all the right connections.
1533: Twelve year old Jack moves to London on the behest of Mr Spangle, and co-habits with Mr Spangle’s sister Jane and her twelve year old daughter Jill.
1534: Jack and Jill get on like a house on fire, inspiring Jeff Spangle to suggest they form a double act for a drama project of his own.
1535: ‘Jack and Jill went up the hill’ released and the world gets it’s first real taste of ‘Jack mania’. Offers of work come pouring in from all the big poetry-moguls. Media coins the phrase ‘Jack the lad’.
1536: Romance blossoms between Jack and Jill as Jack makes the transition from poems to full-length feature stories. ‘Jack and the beanstalk’ cleans up at the bookstores, followed by ‘The house that Jack built’, and ‘Jack the giant-killer’. An array of related merchandise hits the shops to meet the demands of a public gone ‘Jack’ crazy. The Jack-knife, the Jack-boot, the Jackhammer, the Jack-pot (a drinking mug bearing Jack’s likeness) all of which sell millions and bolster Jack’s steadily swelling personal fortune.
1537: Jack writes, produces, directs, and stars with fiancée Jill in ‘Jack Spratt would eat no fat’, a domestic drama poem about the couples eating habits. It is ecstatically received by his overwhelmingly adoring public.
1538: Jack marries Jill on his seventeenth birthday and a euphoric nation turn up to witness. A motion is passed in parliament and the British union flag is renamed ‘The Union-Jack’ as a mark of respect.
1540: After a two year silence, rumours start to emerge that Jack has quit the world of showbiz.
1541: In a sudden and unexpected public announcement, Jack gives Jeff Spangle the sack and decides to create his own independent publishing company (Jackanory).
1542: Jack grows long hair and a goatee beard.
1543: Jack learns to play the sitar.
1544: Jack officially changes his name to Jehuknah P’tangwa F’tangwallawalla.
1545: After an eight year hiatus, Jehuknah P’tangwa F’tangwallawalla releases ‘Open up your inner-eye Daddio!’ on the Jackanory label. A three-book concept-trilogy, starting with the experimental-jazz poem ‘Hey nonny nonny, b’ding, p’tang, fernoony-fernoony’. A nation is alienated almost overnight and the backlash starts here.
1546: Jackanory release ‘Le philosophe de F’tangwallawalla’. It bombs.
1547: Jackanory rush release ‘Jack’s Greatest Hits’ in a desperate attempt to capitalize on former glories. It sells poorly, reflecting the publics shift towards the new ‘tongue-twister’ trend of which Peter Piper is a rising star.
1548: Jackanory becomes insolvent and Jack loses everything. He and wife Jill discover they are soon to be parents. Jeff Spangle surprisingly takes pity on the couple and offers Jack the position of A&R man to Peter Piper. It proves to be a highly profitable pairing.
And they all lived happily ever after.
Thursday, 29 October 2009
The X-FILES Movie (My rejected script)
THE SCENE:
A group of trees in the middle of Central Park, N.York. Midnight. After an anonymous tip-off Mouldy Spunker and his long-time partner Drama Skully find themselves standing at the foot of one of the larger trees, heads up, using a flashlight to illuminate this most curious of cases...
MOULDY SPUNKER: (Holding the flashlight, stood with his neck arched back as he looks up into the tree.)
“It’s true, there is a cow in this tree!!”
DRAMA SKULLY: (Also looking up.)
“Yes! And if I’m not mistaken, it’s wearing a pair of Ralph Lauren underpants.”
M.S: (As near as he possibly comes to looking slightly giddy.)
“Obviously this proves the existence of captured alien life-forms at the secret military-base. AND, it could be our closest lead yet to the whereabouts of my missing sister Dave!”
D.S: (Turning her head towards Mouldy and looking like she is just about to tell him that there is a scientific explanation for all of this.)
“There is a scientific explanation for all of this.”
COW IN TREE: “Moo!”
M.S: (Looking mildly annoyed with Skully.)
“Can’t you see that’s exactly what they want you to think? Look, I’ve seen plenty of spooky stuff, and this as got to be the spookiest.”
D.S: (Looking all ‘matter-of-fact’.)
“There was a well documented case in Ohio when a domestic cat was found in a tree wearing a Versace cummerbund. Tests proved it was a direct result of excessive pesticide coverage of local agricultural crops.”
M.S: (Annoyed.)
“LOOK! It’s SPOOKY and THAT’S THAT!”
D.S: (Also annoyed.)
“I think you’ll find it’s scientific!”
M.S: (Raising his voice.)
“It’s SPOOKY!”
D.S: (Shouting.)
“It’s SCIENTIFIC!”
M.S: “SPOOKY!”
D.S: “SCIENTIFIC!”
M.S: “SPOOKY!”
D.S: “SCIENTIFIC!”
M.S: “SPOOKY!”
D.S: “SCIENTIFIC!”
M.S: “SPOOKY!”
D.S: “SCIENTIFIC!”
COW IN TREE: “Moo!”
M.S: (Putting his fingers in his ears.)
“It’s SPOOKY! HMMMMMMMMMMMMMM NOT LISTENING, NOT LISTENING, NOT LISTENING!”
D.S: (Looking furious for a second, then composing herself.)
“ANYWAY! I know something that’s a lot spookier than all of this.”
M.S: (Taking his fingers out of his ears and showing genuine interest in a change of subject.)
“Oh yeah! What’s that then?”
D.S: (Smugly.)
“Someone having a sister called DAVE!”
COW IN TREE: “Moo!”
M.S: (Emotionally wounded.)
“There is NOTHING spooky about having a sister called Dave. It’s purely a scientific attempt on the part of my parent’s at dispelling the masculine preconceptions of people with the name Dave. So THERE!”
COW IN TREE: “Moo!”
D.S: “It’s bloody SPOOKY! That’s what it is!”
M.S: “It’s scientific!”
D.S: “It’s spooky!”
M.S: “Scientific!”
D.S: “Spooky!”
M.S: “Scientific!”
D.S: “Spooky!”
M.S: “Scientific!”
D.S: “Spooky!”
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, that old bloke who wears a raincoat and smokes loads and loads of cigarettes appears.
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES: (Wearing a raincoat and smoking loads of cigarettes.)
“Got a light?”
COW IN TREE: “Yes! But don’t you forget where you got it from! I’m always losing lighters that way! Costs me an arm and a leg it does sometimes!”
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES:
“Wow!”
D.S: (Shocked.)
“My God! It’s unbelievable!”
M.S: (Really smug.)
“I told you it was SPOOKY!”
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES: (Turning to face Mouldy.)
“What?”
M.S: (Dismissively.)
“I was talking to my partner!”
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES: (Shrugging.)
“Oh!”
D.S: (Still in shock, turning towards Mouldy.)
“I...I...I didn’t mean that about your sister!”
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES: (Turning to face Drama.)
“What?”
D.S: (Dismissively.)
“I was talking to Mouldy!”.
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES: (Shrugging.)
“Aah!”
COW IN TREE: “Antidisestablishmentarianism!”
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES: (Turning to face cow in tree.)
“Pardon?”
M.S: (Looking annoyed.)
“He said Antidisestablishmentarianism! Are you deaf or something?”
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES:
“No!”
D.S: (Also looking annoyed as she turns to face that old bloke who wears a raincoat and smokes loads and loads of cigarettes.)
“For a character with such a long name you don’t really say that much do you?”
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES: (Defensively.)
“So?”.
M.S: (Catching Drama’s drift.)
“Yeah! And you seem to feature quite heavily in the last couple of pages yet your character doesn’t seem to be adding very much to the story! Not that there’s much of a story, when I come to think about it!”
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES: (Avoiding eye contact.)
“Mmh!”
D.S: (Slowly walking towards that old bloke who wears a raincoat and smokes loads and loads of cigarettes.)
“In fact, when I think about it, it’s just as if you were placed here by an author who was desperately trying to fill some page space and..."
Suddenly Drama is KIDNAPPED!
M.S/ COW IN TREE/ THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES: (All looking shocked.)
“BLOOMIN HUMMER!” (In unison.)
...TO BE CONTINUED.
THE SCENE:
A group of trees in the middle of Central Park, N.York. Midnight. After an anonymous tip-off Mouldy Spunker and his long-time partner Drama Skully find themselves standing at the foot of one of the larger trees, heads up, using a flashlight to illuminate this most curious of cases...
MOULDY SPUNKER: (Holding the flashlight, stood with his neck arched back as he looks up into the tree.)
“It’s true, there is a cow in this tree!!”
DRAMA SKULLY: (Also looking up.)
“Yes! And if I’m not mistaken, it’s wearing a pair of Ralph Lauren underpants.”
M.S: (As near as he possibly comes to looking slightly giddy.)
“Obviously this proves the existence of captured alien life-forms at the secret military-base. AND, it could be our closest lead yet to the whereabouts of my missing sister Dave!”
D.S: (Turning her head towards Mouldy and looking like she is just about to tell him that there is a scientific explanation for all of this.)
“There is a scientific explanation for all of this.”
COW IN TREE: “Moo!”
M.S: (Looking mildly annoyed with Skully.)
“Can’t you see that’s exactly what they want you to think? Look, I’ve seen plenty of spooky stuff, and this as got to be the spookiest.”
D.S: (Looking all ‘matter-of-fact’.)
“There was a well documented case in Ohio when a domestic cat was found in a tree wearing a Versace cummerbund. Tests proved it was a direct result of excessive pesticide coverage of local agricultural crops.”
M.S: (Annoyed.)
“LOOK! It’s SPOOKY and THAT’S THAT!”
D.S: (Also annoyed.)
“I think you’ll find it’s scientific!”
M.S: (Raising his voice.)
“It’s SPOOKY!”
D.S: (Shouting.)
“It’s SCIENTIFIC!”
M.S: “SPOOKY!”
D.S: “SCIENTIFIC!”
M.S: “SPOOKY!”
D.S: “SCIENTIFIC!”
M.S: “SPOOKY!”
D.S: “SCIENTIFIC!”
M.S: “SPOOKY!”
D.S: “SCIENTIFIC!”
COW IN TREE: “Moo!”
M.S: (Putting his fingers in his ears.)
“It’s SPOOKY! HMMMMMMMMMMMMMM NOT LISTENING, NOT LISTENING, NOT LISTENING!”
D.S: (Looking furious for a second, then composing herself.)
“ANYWAY! I know something that’s a lot spookier than all of this.”
M.S: (Taking his fingers out of his ears and showing genuine interest in a change of subject.)
“Oh yeah! What’s that then?”
D.S: (Smugly.)
“Someone having a sister called DAVE!”
COW IN TREE: “Moo!”
M.S: (Emotionally wounded.)
“There is NOTHING spooky about having a sister called Dave. It’s purely a scientific attempt on the part of my parent’s at dispelling the masculine preconceptions of people with the name Dave. So THERE!”
COW IN TREE: “Moo!”
D.S: “It’s bloody SPOOKY! That’s what it is!”
M.S: “It’s scientific!”
D.S: “It’s spooky!”
M.S: “Scientific!”
D.S: “Spooky!”
M.S: “Scientific!”
D.S: “Spooky!”
M.S: “Scientific!”
D.S: “Spooky!”
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, that old bloke who wears a raincoat and smokes loads and loads of cigarettes appears.
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES: (Wearing a raincoat and smoking loads of cigarettes.)
“Got a light?”
COW IN TREE: “Yes! But don’t you forget where you got it from! I’m always losing lighters that way! Costs me an arm and a leg it does sometimes!”
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES:
“Wow!”
D.S: (Shocked.)
“My God! It’s unbelievable!”
M.S: (Really smug.)
“I told you it was SPOOKY!”
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES: (Turning to face Mouldy.)
“What?”
M.S: (Dismissively.)
“I was talking to my partner!”
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES: (Shrugging.)
“Oh!”
D.S: (Still in shock, turning towards Mouldy.)
“I...I...I didn’t mean that about your sister!”
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES: (Turning to face Drama.)
“What?”
D.S: (Dismissively.)
“I was talking to Mouldy!”.
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES: (Shrugging.)
“Aah!”
COW IN TREE: “Antidisestablishmentarianism!”
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES: (Turning to face cow in tree.)
“Pardon?”
M.S: (Looking annoyed.)
“He said Antidisestablishmentarianism! Are you deaf or something?”
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES:
“No!”
D.S: (Also looking annoyed as she turns to face that old bloke who wears a raincoat and smokes loads and loads of cigarettes.)
“For a character with such a long name you don’t really say that much do you?”
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES: (Defensively.)
“So?”.
M.S: (Catching Drama’s drift.)
“Yeah! And you seem to feature quite heavily in the last couple of pages yet your character doesn’t seem to be adding very much to the story! Not that there’s much of a story, when I come to think about it!”
THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES: (Avoiding eye contact.)
“Mmh!”
D.S: (Slowly walking towards that old bloke who wears a raincoat and smokes loads and loads of cigarettes.)
“In fact, when I think about it, it’s just as if you were placed here by an author who was desperately trying to fill some page space and..."
Suddenly Drama is KIDNAPPED!
M.S/ COW IN TREE/ THAT OLD BLOKE WHO WEARS A RAINCOAT AND SMOKES LOADS AND LOADS OF CIGARETTES: (All looking shocked.)
“BLOOMIN HUMMER!” (In unison.)
...TO BE CONTINUED.
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