What do people think of a scene from a comedy script I've got in the works?

that's funny

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EXT DAY: Outside the house.

Opening shot, JIMMY and PAUL are about to enter the house that he is to live in. You can just make out his new flatmate, GREGG’s face pressed firmly against the outside window.

INT DAY: Front room of the house.

- PAUL and JIMMY enter the small living room. A typical student-style house that looks like it hasn’t been refurbished since the late sixties. Not truly ugly but could do with a lick of paint.

PAUL: -and this is the living room where you’ll be—

- GREGG bounds up to them eagerly. Reminiscent of an oversized toddler with Osh-Kosh dungarees and cherubic blonde locks, GREGG speaks in a squeaky high pitched voice

GREGG: Paul!

PAUL: Ah well hello there Graham!

GREGG: It’s Gregg

PAUL: Sorry, Gregg. Gregg, I’d like you to meet your new—

GREGG: Oh Paul, it’s been so long since you last stopped by. We have missed you so. Is this our new flatmate?

PAUL: Yes, yes indeed it is. Jimmy, I would like you to meet Jeremiah.

GREGG: Gregg.

- JIMMY extends his hand and they shake briefly. Pulling away, JIMMY realises he has a smear of jam on his hand. He wipes it on his trouser leg.

GREGG: (in a particularly high pitched voice) Paul, do you notice anything mmmm, different about me?

PAUL: Hmm… let me see… Is that a new hat?

GREGG: That’s my hair.

PAUL: Okay, okay, new dungarees?

GREGG: No.

PAUL: New shoes?

GREGG: No.
PAUL: You’ve had one of those… ha-hangovers?

JIMMY: Makeovers

GREGG: No!

MARTIN: (Piping up from a corner of the room, he has been sitting eyes glued to a video game all this time. Martin is scruffy, red-faced and speaks with a thick Ulster accent)
Oh for God’s sake it’s his voice! (he carries on with his game)

GREGG: That’s right, it’s my voice! I got it changed!

PAUL: Well it’s a good deal better now. You sounded positively frightening when you first moved in.

MARTIN: I’ll say. He sounded like a rhino trying to bellow his way out of a concrete mixer.

PAUL: Ah Jimmy, this is Martin.

JIMMY: Nice to meet you, I’m Jimmy.

MARTIN: (sarcastically, without looking up) It’s a pleasure.

PAUL: (to JIMMY) Best to leave him alone when he gets like this. Hot Toddy anybody?

EVERYONE: Uh, no thanks.

PAUL: Right well then I’ll leave you to it then. If you have any problems then give us a bell.

JIMMY: Right thanks. Oh one more thi—

(but PAUL is gone)

GREGG: He is always doing that. Would you like a sweet?

JIMMY: As long as it’s not Nutty Putty.

GREGG: (producing a packet of sweets) No. They’re strawberry flumps.

- GREGG pulls a sweet out the packet and attempts to feed the sweet to him with his sticky babyish hands. Jimmy backs off and reaches for a sweet out the packet.

JIMMY: Hmm… got any coffee drops?

GREGG: Upstairs. Wanna see my collection?

JIMMY: Later… I’ve got something I need to do first. (He looks longingly at his cafetiere, just about the only possession he brought with him). Where’s the kettle Gregg?

I can see this as a strange Spaced-type show more than LoG, mostly. And when I said you need jokes, I didn't necessarily mean the characters cracking one-liners, I just meant something to make anyone laugh, even to make anyone aware that they are watching a comedy. Here we have some promising odd characters, but it is still dangerously short of amusing aspects, for me.

INT. A SCHOOL HALLWAY, BUT FANCIER THAT MOST

We see our protagonist, HANK SPINOZA, putting away books in his locker, which is quite fancy. He is approached by good friend, KILLER PLATOON, who was named by a military industrial complex dude because his parents sold his naming rights. Maybe a later episode will shed light on this bizarre and humorous situation.

HANK: Sup Killer.

KILLER: HI DERE. So have you been eyeing Fashion Girl lately?

HANK: Not any more than usual, why?

KILLER: Dude, something happened to her over the summer.

HANK: Did she grow breasts?

KILLER: Even better. She got rich.

HANK: Ah, that modeling career is finally starting to take off for her?

KILLER: No, she landed a role in a Lifetime movie about anorexia.

HANK: I didn't know she could act.

KILLER: She can't. She was the boom mic.

HANK: Oh.

KILLER: Anyway, so now I guess would be the best time to recall past memories when you and her were good friends, yes? So she will give us money for Rock Concerts!

HANK: I don't know, that was a long time ago.

***FLESHBACK***

We are in THE PAST. THE PAST is hazy. FASHION GIRL is not named FASHION GIRL, if you can believe it! Her name is Valencia (because her daddy is Dutch, so dutch=orange, yayyayay!) So HANK and VALENCIA are at a summer camp a several years ago before the ravages of puberty made them both weirdos (so, they're like 11). They are at a distance from the HAPPY CAMPERS who are around a CAMP FIRE

HANK: This sucks.

VALENCIA: I agree, let's be pals.

They smile.

***BACK TO THE PRESEEEENT***

HANK: After that, she went off and got into Fashion and she pretended like I never existed.

KILLER: Aw, don't cry, buddy!

HANK: (obviously not emoting) I wasn't--

KILLER: It's all right, don't let THE PAST suppress your outpouring of emotion.

HANK: Dude, I'm fine it's just--

KILLER: (stern-faced) Look. We're gonna get that bitch, so help me FUCKING GOD. And we'll show her the real meaning of KILLER -- AR AR AR AR AR AR AR!

HANK looks scared (his friend is barking for no reason!)

KILLER: Or maybe you can just rekindle the friendship and get some cash, please!

HANK: Dude, I dunno.

KILLER: Okay, so I'll just beat the shit out of her and steal her Prada bag and sell it to someone in the inner city, huh, how about that?

HANK: I don't like it when you've been drinking.

Insert FASHION GIRL who wears FANCY CLOTHES AND MAKEUP and has NO ASS.

KILLER: There she is, now's your chance!

HANK is shoved forcefully in HER direction.

HANK: Uh, hey Valencia!

***MANY GASPS***

FASHION GIRL stops dead in her tracks, as does everyone else in the scene. She looks scorned and is bleeding out of her eyeballs. Or maybe that's mascara running from the sweat cos it's awfully hot outside, hoo lawdy.

FASHION GIRL: (like one of those creepy robot alien things from AI, except not as benevolent!) I do not think you understand the gravity of your error in identity. I am the embodiment of fashion. I make fashion in the lavatory, I liquify fashion and drink fashion and I eat fashion on a bed of baby spinach and iceberg lettuce because I must make fashion for the lavatory later that day.

HANK: Valencia, I think you're taking this a bit--

FASHION GIRL: Silence, peon. (To someone off camera) Remove the waste.

SHADOWY FIGURE emerges from THE SHADOWS and removes HANK and KILLER (for some reason!) to a new, completely dark locale. From behind the darkness, there is FASHION GIRL.

FASHION GIRL: Hank, I thought my inexplicably bitchy distance from you was enough, but I'm not going to be friends with you, EVER.

KILLER: Oh, he doesn't want to be friends with you--

HANK: Now, wait, Killer--

FASHION GIRL: You...you don't want to be MY friend? But everyone wants to be my friend! There is a two-year waiting list to be my friend! I throw the best parties, have all the best connections--

SHADOWY FIGURE: Gives the best head, too.

FASHION GIRL: Why wouldn't you want to be my friend, Hank?

KILLER: Look, since you're totally loaded, we thought we could mooch off you and maybe get tickets to Rock Concerts! For fun times!

FASHION GIRL: Hank! How could you?

HANK: That isn't true!

FASHION GIRL: Take them back to the surface, Felicio!

SHADOWY FIGURE: (emerges from the darkness to reveal an average dude with average hair, complexion and sperm count.) Oh, thanks, now they know I'm your henchman.

FASHION GIRL: I'll have you demoted to office clerk if you give me lip again.

SHADOWY FIGURE, NOW FELICIO WTF: I'm--

FASHION GIRL: Come again?

FELICIO: I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!

FASHION GIRL: Bitch, what fucking Disneyworld ride do you think this is? It's sure as shit not Magic Mountain, it's the fucking Tower of Terror!

FELICIO: (weeping)

FASHION GIRL: Now get the fuck out of here and take these nobodies with you.

FELICIO: (sobbing and cowering) Yes'm.

TO BE CONTINUED......................

INT DAY: The hall outside JIMMY’s flat. The camera pans across to the flat opposite and goes through the keyhole of the flat next door.

HENRI is peeking through a hole in the wall into JIMMY’s flat. KRON, the goblin is preparing a disgusting meal.

HENRI: Zut alors! Zey ave a new flatmate!

KRON: Bit o’cat liver go nicely in dat.

HENRI: Kron! Look at zis!

KRON: Not now. Mmm this is gonna be disgUSTIN’! Hmmmm… (takes a big sniff of whatever it is he’s prepared) Mmmmm! Smelly! Oh yeh!

HENRI: C’est deguellasse!

KRON: Shaddap you! You’re not the one wot ‘as to eat this. Hmmm… what else can I put in ere?

HENRI: What is it zat you are eating exactement?

KRON: It’s me own recipe, wot I ’ave adapted from me own Grandmother.

HENRI: She taught it to you as an infant?

KRON: Nah, don’t be so fackin’ stupid. I adapted it from bits of ‘er. Look, ere’s a bit of ‘er elbow.

HENRI: (holding his nose) You are not serious?

KRON: Oh you bet. Lovely woman my Nan. She made a good friend, an’ a hearty meal. Now, wot ‘ave we got in ‘ere then?

- KRON opens the fridge door and pulls out a rank, green ovalur shape

KRON: An egg!

HENRI: Two eggs?

KRON: No jus’ one.

HENRI: What are you going to do wiz zem?

KRON: Well, I was thinkin’ o’ basting it on to me ol’ dear’s scalp, an’ then puttin’ it in a sandwich.

HENRI: What, both of zem?

KRON: No, jus’ one.

HENRI: What are you going to do with the other one then?

You don't necessarily need to know the answers to these questions, yet, but you will definitely need to know before you are through, because there are considerations of cost, setting and technical limitations for each of these.

As for the whole script, will the comedy derive from farcical elements, or will it rely more on keenly observed details of character? Are you aiming for a series of gags? How will it pace out and if it is a slow-paced humor, how will you keep interest up between the funny bits?

My problem with reading the small fragment you posted is that is appears to be aiming at a slower, broader effect and a fairly low-keyed humor. There's not a lot of humor developed in so short a scene and not much to critique. You've got Paul acting dotty for a short time - well and good - and Jimmy acting, well...

Jimmy is problematic. Why in the name of all that's holy does he just spill his guts to the first stranger who says howdy to him? Then a few lines later he is acting somewhat mistrustful and reserved? Is this due to extreme immaturity and hysteria? Does this set up some later humor, or did you just not know how to transition Paul into the scene?

If you want to end up with a good, strong script based on characters and plot (as opposed to a series of sharp, funny gags that paper over your characters' inconsistencies with farce), then you need to examine each turn in the plot to see if you've established a believable basis for it in your characters. The basis can be far less well-developed and less nuanced than in a drama, but you have to offer at least a scrap of motivation and consistancy. Not knowing what Jimmy has said and done before this, it's hard to know what he's doing here.

If you think you are writing farce or sketch humor, go back and make it about 200% funnier and weirder. Watch the Marx brothers or Abbott and Costello.

On further thought, the best thing would be to just go ahead and write as much as you can of this script, for as long as it holds your interest. Don't worry about finishing it. Don't worry about the details. Just write a bunch of scenes as funny as you can make them. Scriptwriting is a very technical craft, but you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear and what's more important at this stage in your writing is having ideas and learning to develop them into scenes.

Write a lot. Just have at it.

Bit of background, the entire script will reference a lot of popular 80s movies like Big, TeenWolf and Gremlins and stuff.

I don't want to tell you not to go through w/ your idea. But I write/perform sketch comedy and also see quite a bit of it. I also work writing screenplay coverage, a lot of which are broad comedies. I've seen TONS of stuff in this vein and not only there a lot of it, but it's generally TERRIBLE. Unless these sorts of references are useful, I would suggest avoiding them. Writing jokes around references--esp. 80s refs--rarely works.

-- J.D. (aubade8...) (webmail), August 27th, 2005.

That's why you don't show anyone! Until you've worked on it awhile, anyway. And certainly don't post it to an internet message board, gah...

(ps. Hi Colin!!)

i like d.latin's posts on ilm quite a bit, but i can't say i like this script much. i can feel the writer straining to come up with something amusingly deranged in each line, then conjuring up some boringly polite piece of surrealism, and writing it up with a smug, self-satisfied expression on his face. i may sound like an arse saying this, but i can't see the piece improving much with extra work/practice or whatever. i feel that this type of bizarro whimsy is not dog latin's strength, and he should concentrate his efforts elsewhere, as he is a good writer.

Haha, British comedy is the best in the WORLD, though. I think it's actually proven by science.

-- Hurting (Hurtingchie...), August 27th, 2005 8:54 PM. (Hurting) (later) (link)

I immediately regret posting this. This is the usually the kind of thing I write to say "Hey, I've written something!" and file away someplace.

is that paul newman doing acting in a movie. does he do to those things in a movie.

I felt when I was reading your scene that it was vaguely Reminiscent of Harry Potter. Like his character Jimmy, is suddenly all grown up because of some weird spell but he’s still a child mind inside – but sharp as a whip and hasn’t learned he possesses magic skills perhaps? But these magic powers and skills are evident to others with similar gifts, hence the old Haggrid type guy Paul was drawn to him to help him out? He recognizes Jimmy as a magic being and takes him to the house where other magic misfits are? I can’t write for sh#% but that is what I took from your scene. I may be way off base, but ignore me and keep working on it.

I say, good on you for even trying this - comedy is fucking hard to write.

It's hard to know whether comedy would work simplay by reading a script. You could have a script so full of jokes that reading it would have you in hysterics but when acted out feels heavy-handed and overloaded with gags. On the other hand, say something like Friends doesn't actually have a lot of joke-jokes in it. If you were to read the script, a lot of Phoebe and Chandler's lines would be lost on the page as it's down to the delivery rather than the joke itself.

A lot of the stuff I'm trying to get down on the page is stuff I find funny in my head. For instance I know how Paul would speak in this muffled, slightly southern English hiccup; Gregg's voice is not disimilar from Vic & Bob's characters who used to interview people in silly wigs and glasses; Martin would have an OTT sarcastic Gerry Adams accent where everything is spat out, whether he is trying to be nice or not. That kind of thing doesn't show through on the page. I guess once I've written my first draft of this episode I should go back and really try and make the voices come through.

How would you achieve that, getting what you hear in yr head on screen? Would you hope to pitch to actors/comics you love who you think'd do it justice? Its interesting to think about cos it seems a lot of new comedy spawns from comics themselves - they write and then perform their own material (look at people like Dylan Moran, Paul Whitehouse, Steve Coogan etc). Would you want to be involved in the acting too?

No jokes??? Laurence Thingy-Bowen IS BALD!!!

Anyway, for those confused by the last bit I posted, here's what I just tapped out. I think it makes a bit more sense. The "two eggs" thing will be a recurring joke but only referenced occasionally. I guess it's very dead parrot of me but I find it kind of funny.

INT DAY: The hall outside JIMMY’s flat. The camera pans across to the flat opposite and goes through the keyhole of the flat next door.

HENRI is peeking through a hole in the wall into JIMMY’s flat. KRON, the goblin is preparing a disgusting meal.

HENRI: Zut alors! Zey ave a new flatmate!

KRON: Bit o’cat liver go nicely in dat.

HENRI: Kron! Look at zis!

KRON: Not now. Mmm this is gonna be disgUSTIN’! Hmmmm… (takes a big sniff of whatever it is he’s prepared) Mmmmm! Smelly! Oh yeh!

HENRI: C’est deguellasse!

KRON: Shaddap you! You’re not the one wot ‘as to eat this. Hmmm… what else can I put in ere?

HENRI: What is it zat you are eating exactement?

KRON: It’s me own recipe, wot I ’ave adapted from me own Grandmother.

HENRI: She taught it to you as an infant?

KRON: Nah, don’t be so fackin’ stupid. I adapted it from bits of ‘er. Look, ere’s a bit of ‘er elbow.

HENRI: (holding his nose) You are not serious?

KRON: Oh you bet. Lovely woman my Nan. She made a good friend, an’ a hearty meal. Now, wot ‘ave we got in ‘ere then?

- KRON opens the fridge door and pulls out a rank, green ovalur shape

KRON: An egg!

HENRI: Two eggs?

KRON: No jus’ one.

HENRI: What are you going to do wiz zem?

KRON: Well, I was thinkin’ o’ basting it on to me ol’ dear’s scalp, an’ then puttin’ it in a sandwich.

HENRI: What, both of zem?

KRON: No, jus’ one. ‘Ere, you aven’t thrown away the scraps from inside the plug’ole like you always do? I tol’ you to leave ‘em for me.

HENRI: What are you going to be doing wiz ze other one then?

KRON: There ain’t another one! There’s only one egg!

HENRI: Oh…okay…

KRON: Now shaddap! I’m tryin’ to concentrate… Mm let’s ‘ave a look at this then… (sniffs the food) Cor yeh! (in absolute rapture) Mmmm! Oh, oh, oooh! Oh my GOD dat is foul! Hmm… jus’ a dash o’ mildew for seasoning…

HENRI: You know, too many eggs can be bad for your cholesterol. Are you sure you want to be using both of ze eggs?

KRON: Now listen to me ya French buffoon! If I ‘ear one more word abou’ my eggs I’m gonna make a scramble out of YOU. Comprendez vous?

HENRI: But you said zere is only ze one egg—

KRON: There IS only one egg!

HENRI: Well zen what ‘appened to ze other one?

KRON: I… Grrrr! Look, don’t they ‘ave a sayin’ where you come from that “one egg is un oeuf”?

HENRI: Well yes exactement, zo why do you insist on using two eggs when just one egg will suffice for any man?

KRON: Listen my lih’ul Gallic pal. Wha’ I ‘ave between my thumb and index finga (he holds up the egg, it is dripping with green slime) is a single ovum. Un oeuf. Ein ei. Un huevo. ONE BLEEDIN’ EGG!

HENRI: (as if he has understood the concept) Two eggs, fine.

KRON: Righ’, I’ve ‘ad enough o’ this. C’mere! I’m gonna make your eggs into Spanish omelette!

HENRI: (screams in terror)
- We see Kron as he approaches Henri with a whisk in his hand, his fangs gnashing. The screen goes black and we here a terrifying scream and the sound of blood against kitchen lino.

- The screen brightens again to reveal HENRI lying on the floor unconscious. KRON stands above him with the whisk still in his hands. There are signs of a struggle and a watery leakage from HENRI’s trouser leg but no blood. There is a green splat on the white kitchen cupboard though.

KRON: Aw now look what you made me do! I’ve gone smashed my very last egg! YOU UTTER SHIT HENRI! WHA' AM I GONNA— oh no look ‘ere’s another one never mind.

Erm isn't Friends the most overtly joke heavy sitcom around? Possibly ever? It's like watching fucking ping pong!

How did Caroline Aherne pitch the Royle Family or Ricky Gervais's The Office?

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INT NIGHT: The living room.

It is evening in the house. MARTIN is stretched out on the sofa eating chips and watching the end of “My Giddy Aunt”. JIMMY comes down stairs, empty coffee mug in hand.

JIMMY: Martin I—

MARTIN: Ssshhh!

JIMMY: (half whisper) Sorry, sorry. What are you watching?

MARTIN: The adverts.

JIMMY: Right I— er… Listen, have you seen Gregg anywhere?

MARTIN: He’s probably rearranging his sweetie collection or something.

JIMMY: Ah, I heard about that… Does he really collect sweets?

MARTIN: Are you going to harass me all evening or are you going to leave me be?

JIMMY: Alright alright, I was just wondering if you’ve kept Thursday’s paper?

MARTIN: Aye, I think Gregg was looking at it earlier. It’s over there by his toys.

(Jimmy looks to the other end of the room. There are a number of children’s toys scattered on the floor that he had not noticed before)

JIMMY: Here we are… Oh God, the jobs section is covered in jam! I can’t even read it.

MARTIN: That’ll be Gregg’s doing so it will.

JIMMY: How am I going to get a job if I can’t see the jobs section?

MARTIN: Job? Hah!

JIMMY: Don’t you work?

MARTIN: I do this and that…

JIMMY: This and that?

MARTIN: It’s for me to know and for you to find out. Now please leave me alo—

- A new advert is coming on screen and we hear a familiar voice.

MARTIN’S VOICE: Do you ever get those days when you wake up feeling sluggish and tired?

JIMMY: Martin… but that’s your voice!

- We see the television screen. Martin is superimposed on a white background. He walks towards the camera and continues in his scathing Ulster drawl.

MARTIN ON TV: You wake up with that heavy bloated sensation that stays there for the rest of the day. That uncomfortable feeling where—

JIMMY: That’s you!

MARTIN: (visibly embarrassed) Ummm… it’s someone else… he just looks like me.

MARTIN ON TV: You suffer, your colleagues suffer, not to mention your nearest and dearest.

- There is a quick shot of a couple in bed at night. The woman wakes up with a disgusted look on her face and is fanning her nose. This is followed by the sound of a baby crying from the other room.

MARTIN ON TV: (continuing) Do you ever get on the bus to work and count the moments till you have to get off cos you just can’t wait to let one blow? (shot of man on bus with his face screwed up and then back to Martin) Well I don’t. And if you think YOU know what I’m talking about- (camera switches angle and Martin turns to face it. He continues in a stage whisper) like trapped wind and atrocious farts, then maybe you’d better listen up – and listen up close. (He produces a packet from his pocket and there is an extreme close up), but not TOO close. I don’t wanna be smellin’ your guts (camera pans back). Chew Grennie tablets every day to stop flatulence and other undesirable smell-related problems.

- Another quick shot of the couple in bed with the woman cuddling up to her husband.

MARTIN ON TV: So your loved ones can relax without you guffin’ the place up with the stench coming out of your ARSE.

- The advert ends and we’re back in the living room. Jimmy is staring, mouth open at Martin.

JIMMY: I- I. On TV.. That was you- tha- Ugh! What a horrible advert!

MARTIN: Isn’t it? It works remarkably well though – fear-marketing. Grennie’s sales went up 200% since they got me on the box.

JIMMY: You must have made a killing!

MARTIN: Aye, two grand and free chips for life from down the road.

JIMMY: Two grand? But there stock went up---

MARTIN: You have no idea how much I love chips. Chips and beans… I love beans! Sometimes, I think I love them just as much as chips and I LOVE chips.
One time at Christmas my Pa booted me out the house for calling him a geriatric gobshite, so I went to Mandy’s Fryer and had chips with Christmas gravy. Mmmmm…

JIMMY: (slightly saddened due to having lost his own father) I guess that is better than spending Christmas with your family.

MARTIN: I’ll say! In fact, you can get addicted to chips. There’s a chemical in them called potattium that gets released into your blood stream (boasting) and that’s what I’M addicted to.

JIMMY: Well, it’s past my bedtime. I ought to at least try and sleep bu--

MARTIN: I’m going to go get some more chips from Mandy’s fryer then after that when you’re all safely tucked up in bed, I think I should like to go to a rough pub and get in a fight with a BIG UGLY GIRL. She’s kind of my girlfriend but she always pretends she doesn’t know me.

JIMMY: Uh – huh. You have fun doing that. G’nite.

MARTIN: ‘Nite.

- JIMMY climbs the stairs and switches off the light. MARTIN, left in the dark, lets off a fart.

MARTIN: Grennie tablets – useless!

[INT DAY MR CHU’S BACKROOM]

MR CHU is in the backroom of his restaurant. He is an old traditional Chinese man based on Mr. Miyagi from Karate Kid and speaks like an anime character. The room itself is full of oriental knick-knacks and assorted junk. A small television sits in the corner on a shelf. This whole scene is a reference to the opening scene in Gremlins II (I think it’s that one). MR CHU is watching the sumo wrestling.

MR CHU (typical Oriental Banzai-accent): Yes! Come on! Ye-he-es! Well done Fatty! You have won!! Hahahahahaha!

(Shot of television showing sumo wrestler holding a massive cup)

MR CHU: Something to put all your food in, huh Fatty?

Enter KEN MAXWELL. He is wearing a beige macintosh and is soaking wet. He is clearly in a hurry.

KEN MAXWELL: You’ve got to help me out!

MR CHU:
There’s such a thing as knocking you know! Huh? You very rude man! I wonder if you would do that in your own home? (short pause) What would your family say? They would be shocked by such behaviour! Uhhhhh..

KEN MAXWELL: So sorry, but it’s my son’s birthday tomorrow. I’ve been rushing around to get him a present for when I get home and you’re just about the only place open. I take it you don’t have an England football strip for sale?

MR CHU: Eh? Hahahaha! Look around you! This not a shop, it is a restaurant! And this room is my office! I not sell engorend footborr strip to you! Now go!

KEN: But…

MR CHU: Leave me!

KEN: Please!

CHU: Go now!

KEN (grovelling): Pleeease! Haven’t you got anything I could give him? He’s seven tomorrow and it’ll break his heart if I don’t give him a present. Please! I have the money, here! (produces a wad of notes).

(Silence)

MR CHU: Hmph! Very well. I have one thing I can sell you… Huh?

CHU produces a box from under his desk

KEN (disappointed): A cafetiere…

CHU: You very foolish man! This no ordinary cafetiere! This state-of-the-art coffee maker with milk-steamer. I give you very good price. Unwanted Christmas present. I was going to return it to Argos tomorrow. Mint Condition. £150 Ono.

KEN MAXWELL: Ono?

(We see the price tag: £150 ONO. MR. CHU waves a cheap Casio digital stop watch on a string in front of his face)

CHU (appearing next to his ear and whispering slowly): Ooooonnnnoooo…

(KEN looks entranced)

KEN (copying Chu as if hypnotised): Oooooonnnnoooo!

KEN hands over the money to CHU.

CHU (sinister laugh): Pleasure doing business with you sir. Your son will be very pleased!

KEN (conscious again but still glazed): Yes. Jimmy will be pleased with this.

CHU: Beware Kenneth-san! You must use the cafetiere very wisely! There are things you should know! HAHAHAHA!

KEN: What things? Tell me!

CHU: The drink it brings may be hot to touch! Please use caution!

KEN: Yes, I will. Anything else?

CHU: Hmmm? Let me see... There was something else yes... Oh, I can’t remember now. Go on, get out of my office!

CHU shoves KEN and the cafetiere out the door and closes it. Sitting back in his chair, CHU starts laughing to himself maniacally and staring into the camera.

[OPENING CREDIT SEQUENCE HERE]

INT DAY: The bus station canteen.

The camera slowly focuses on JIMMY, a man in his mid-twenties sitting alone at a table in the canteen. It is pouring down outside and the canteen is bleak. Empty coffee cups and cig-butts litter the table around him. He is sobbing with his head in his hands.

PAUL, a kindly but rather dotty aging bus-driver approaches from behind and lays a hand gently on his shoulder.

PAUL: Ooh! Oh-oh dearie me! Oh dear well whatever could be the matter?

JIMMY: (between sobs) My- my dad kicked me out the house! I drank some coffee and I (gasp) and I a-a-and I—I’ve got nowhere left to go.

PAUL: Well that is terrible news. Terrible, awful news!

JIMMY: He says I’m too old to live with him and I should go out and get a job and somewhere else to live.

PAUL: Well people do tend to say a lot of things these days I suppose. I mean it really is quite confusing. They say “Hello” and “How are you?” and “How’s the family?” and “You’re looking awfully well, have you lost weight?” and “Why thank you yes, I joined the gym in February as it happens” and “Have you spoken to Elsie? I haven’t heard from her in a little while.” And—

JIMMY: (interrupting) I’m cold… Where can I get coffee?

PAUL: Yes they say that too. They say “I’m cold, it’s freezing in here” and “is your boiler on the blink?” and “No, I think the radiator needs bleeding but I’ve lost the key” and –

JIMMY: Please?

PAUL: Sorry, you want a coffee? I’m afraid the machine is broken, and I’ve got nothing to offer except hot toddies…

(JIMMY looks grieved)

PAUL: Oh but look you must be starving! (Starts rifling through his many jacket pockets) Let’s have a look here, I might have something to cheer you up- aha! No, no that’s no good, let’s have another look… Hmmm… bit of string… some lint… a toy soldier… my keys… this thing… some tissue… a bottle cap… a squeaky rat… whatever this is…. that… this… ooh and a pen… a doctor’s appointment card… these… that… ah, ah here we go! You can have THIS!

(There is a pause while Paul pulls a small packet of something or other out of his sleeve. It looks unappetising.)

PAUL: (as if reading from the packet) It’s called Nutty… Putty…

(PAUL looks approvingly at JIMMY who himself looks unswayed)

PAUL: It’s made out of a sheep’s placenta…

(another awkward pause)

PAUL: Try it! It’s great stuff!

JIMMY: My Dad told me never to accept sweets from strangers.

PAUL: Well that may be true, but look at me. I’m not strange am I?

(very long pause)

PAUL: Hm? Well fine, don’t have it then. I’ll save it for later. You may be in luck though. One of my tenants has disappeared without trace and I’ve got a room free. There’s no point in leaving it empty so you can stay there until you find your bearingsh. Here, I’ll give you a lift in my bus. Come with me.

EXT DAY: Outside the house.

Opening shot, JIMMY and PAUL are about to enter the house that he is to live in. You can just make out his new flatmate, GREGG’s face pressed firmly against the outside window.

INT DAY: Front room of the house.

- PAUL and JIMMY enter the small living room. A typical student-style house that looks like it hasn’t been refurbished since the late sixties. Not truly ugly but could do with a lick of paint.

PAUL: -and this is the living room where you’ll be—

- GREGG bounds up to them eagerly. Reminiscent of an oversized toddler with Osh-Kosh dungarees and cherubic blonde locks, GREGG speaks in a squeaky high pitched voice

GREGG: Paul!

PAUL: Ah well hello there Graham!

GREGG: It’s Gregg

PAUL: Sorry, Gregg. Gregg, I’d like you to meet your new—

GREGG: Oh Paul, it’s been so long since you last stopped by. We have missed you so. Is this our new flatmate?

PAUL: Yes, yes indeed it is. Jimmy, I would like you to meet Jeremiah.

GREGG: Gregg.

- JIMMY extends his hand and they shake briefly. Pulling away, JIMMY realises he has a smear of jam on his hand. He wipes it on his trouser leg.

GREGG: (in a particularly high pitched voice) Paul, do you notice anything mmmm, different about me?

PAUL: Hmm… let me see… Is that a new hat?

GREGG: That’s my hair.

PAUL: Okay, okay, new dungarees?

GREGG: No.

PAUL: New shoes?

GREGG: No.
PAUL: You’ve had one of those… ha-hangovers?

JIMMY: Makeovers

GREGG: No!

MARTIN: (Piping up from a corner of the room, he has been sitting eyes glued to a video game all this time. Martin is scruffy, red-faced and speaks with a thick Ulster accent)
Oh for God’s sake it’s his voice! (he carries on with his game)

GREGG: That’s right, it’s my voice! I got it changed!

PAUL: Well it’s a good deal better now. You sounded positively frightening when you first moved in.

MARTIN: I’ll say. He sounded like a rhino trying to bellow his way out of a concrete mixer so he did.

PAUL: Ah Jimmy, this is Martin.

JIMMY: Nice to meet you, I’m Jimmy.

MARTIN: (sarcastically, without looking up) It’s a pleasure.

PAUL: (to JIMMY) Best to leave him alone when he gets like this. Hot Toddy anybody?

GREGG: No thank you Paul, but I’ll have a strawberry shake.

JIMMY: (suddenly very eager) Yes please. Strong black coffee please!

MARTIN: Cup of tea, three sugars.

PAUL: Right, I’ll get the kettle on. (He moves to the open-plan kitchen and we can see him scuttling around, muttering to himself, dropping bits of crockery with the odd “Whoops a daisy” thrown in for good measure).

GREGG: Would you like a sweet?

JIMMY: As long as it’s not Nutty Putty.

GREGG: (producing a packet of sweets) No. Strawberry flumps.

- GREGG pulls a sweet out the packet and attempts to feed the sweet to him with his sticky babyish hands. Jimmy backs off and reaches for a sweet out the packet.

JIMMY: Hmm… got any coffee drops?

GREGG: Upstairs. I can show you my collection if you want.

JIMMY: You collect coffee drops?

GREGG: I collect everything – liquorice allsorts, karate belts, traffic lights, sherbet dips, flying saucers…

- The camera leaves them talking and switches to PAUL preparing the drinks in the kitchen.

PAUL: (singing to the chorus of “Lovely Day” by Bill Withers) Just a drop of milk, tee-tee tee-teeeee, couple o’spoons of sugar, and I know it’s going to be – a lovely cup of teeeeeaaa, cup of tea, cup of tea, cup of tea, a cup of teeeeaaaa. Just give it a stir, tum tum tee-tee…

- We go back to the previous conversation in the living room. GREGG is still talking about his sweet collection.

GREGG: …jelly beans, starbursts, candy cane, fruit pastilles, sugar tablet…

PAUL: (entering with a tray of drinks) Here we are! Here’s your tea Martin. Strawberry shake for Alan here…

GREGG: It’s Gregg!!

PAUL: Ho! Sorry Gregg. Strong black coffee for Jimmy, there we go, and a hot toddy for me, cheers everyone!

(they all drink, Jimmy glugging his down)

PAUL: Ahhh! Nothing like a good hot toddy on a day like this. Anyhoo, I’d best be off. You’re room’s upstairs Jimmy, give me a bell if you need anything!

JIMMY: Sure thanks, oh one thi—

(but Paul has vanished)

JIMMY: Oh…

GREGG: He’s always doing that. So, would you like to see my sweet collection?

JIMMY: Later maybe… I’ve er… got something I need to do first.

(JIMMY looks at his empty coffee mug and turns it upside down, then longingly at his cafetiere, just about the only possession he brought with him).

JIMMY: Where’s the kettle Gregg?

INT DAY: The hall outside JIMMY’s flat. The camera pans across to the flat opposite and goes through the keyhole of the flat next door.

HENRI is peeking through a hole in the wall into JIMMY’s flat. KRON, the goblin is preparing a disgusting meal.

HENRI: Zut alors! Zey ave a new flatmate!

KRON: Bit o’cat liver go nicely in dat.

HENRI: Kron! Look at zis!

KRON: Not now. Mmm this is gonna be disgUSTIN’! Hmmmm… (takes a big sniff of whatever it is he’s prepared) Mmmmm! Smelly! Oh yeh!

HENRI: C’est deguellasse!

KRON: Shaddap you! You’re not the one wot ‘as to eat this. Hmmm… what else can I put in ere?

HENRI: What is it zat you are eating exactement?

KRON: It’s me own recipe, wot I ’ave adapted from me own Grandmother.

HENRI: She taught it to you as an infant?

KRON: Nah, don’t be so fackin’ stupid. I adapted it from bits of ‘er. Look, ere’s a bit of ‘er elbow.

HENRI: (holding his nose) You are not serious?

KRON: Oh you bet. Lovely woman my Nan. She made a good friend, an’ a hearty meal. Now, wot ‘ave we got in ‘ere then?

- KRON opens the fridge door and pulls out a rank, green ovular shape

KRON: Aha! An egg! This’ll do nicely!

HENRI: Two eggs?

KRON: No jus’ one.

HENRI: What are you going to do wiz zem?

KRON: Well, I was thinkin’ o’ basting it on to me ol’ dear’s scalp, an’ then puttin’ it in a sandwich.

HENRI: What, both of zem?

KRON: No, jus’ one. ‘Ere, you aven’t thrown away the scraps from inside the plug’ole like you always do? I tol’ you to leave ‘em for me.

HENRI: No, I left them in zere as you requested.

KRON: Ah good. (he scuffles over to the sink and proceeds to dig out the old bits of rice, peas, carrot and other unidentified giblets from the plug hole).

HENRI: What are you going to be doing wiz ze other one then?

KRON: Hm?

HENRI: Ze other egg?

KRON: There ain’t another egg. I’ve only got one left!

HENRI: Oh…okay…

KRON: Now shaddap! I’m tryin’ to concentrate… Mm let’s ‘ave a look at this then… (sniffs the food) Cor yeh! (in absolute rapture) Mmmm! Oh, oh, oooh! Oh my GOD dat is foul! Hmm… jus’ a dash o’ mildew for seasoning…

HENRI: You know, too many eggs can be bad for your cholesterol. Are you sure you want to be using both of ze eggs?

KRON: Now listen to me ya French buffoon! If I ‘ear one more word abou’ my eggs I’m gonna make a scramble out of YOU. Comprendez vous?

HENRI: But you said zere is only ze one egg—

KRON: There IS only one egg!

HENRI: Well zen what ‘appened to ze other one?

KRON: I… Grrrr! Look, don’t they ‘ave a sayin’ where you come from that “one egg is un oeuf”?

HENRI: Well yes exactement, zo why do you insist on using two eggs when just one egg will suffice for any man?

KRON: Listen my lih’ul Gallic chum. Wha’ I ‘ave between my thumb and index finger (he holds up the egg, it is dripping with green slime) is a single ovum. Ein ei. Un huevo. ONE BLEEDIN’ EGG!

HENRI: (as if he has understood the concept) Two eggs, zat is fine.

KRON: Righ’, I’ve ‘ad enough o’ this. C’mere! I’m gonna make yer knackers into Spanish omelette!

HENRI: (screams in terror)

- We see Kron as he approaches Henri with a whisk in his hand, his fangs gnashing. The screen goes black and we here a terrifying scream and the sound of blood against kitchen lino.

- The screen brightens again to reveal HENRI lying on the floor unconscious. KRON stands above him with the whisk still in his hands. There are signs of a struggle and a watery leakage from HENRI’s trouser leg but no blood. There is a green splat on the white kitchen cupboard though.
KRON: Aw now look what you made me do! I’ve gone smashed my very last egg! YOU UTTER SHIT HENRI! WHA' AM I GONNA— oh no look ‘ere’s another one never mind.

Effect like the beginning of an old VHS tape that’s been recorded over several times. Eventually picture settles onto an old BBC logo. Appropriate music plays and the ANNOUNCER’s voice is heard.

ANNOUNCER: Time to party now on telly, when Auntie Ro comes to visit. With sickening displays of sextegenarian alcoholism from the outset - classic comedy - My Giddy Aunt!

BBC logo fades out and we go to the beginning credits of MY GIDDY AUNT, a spoof 70s family sitcom in the vain of Are You Being Served, The Good Life et al.

INT – TERRY’S HOUSE – DAY

Music: Plonkerish trombone/tuba music#
Effects: Fake applause

Camera pans across the living room. Everything is decked out in typical 70’s style. Plenty of dirty green, brown and orange furniture and ornaments – lots of ornaments. Very breakable.

Opening credits fade in and out, superimposed onto the screen in shakey garish pink and yellow lettering. They read as follows:

***** ACORN PRODUCTIONS COMPANY LTD PLC PRESENT

My Giddy Aunt

WRITTEN BY GILLIAN HORSEBOTTOM

Camera settles on TERRY. He is sitting on the sofa in the middle of the living room engrossed in the paper.

Music fades out, applause ends

Enter JULIE looking peeved

JULIE: Terry, he’s back again!

TERRY (still looking at paper): Hmm?

JULIE: That tiger with the monocle, he’s in the garden again.

TERRY gives JULIE a disinterested shrug

JULIE (moving the paper away from TERRY): He is eating cake!

TERRY: Oh yes?

JULIE: Battenburg!

TERRY: Sorry darling, look I’ve tried everything I can but he’s a tiger! What am I supposed to do? And anyway his tea is awfully good.

- TERRY and JULIE are now looking out the window at a rather posh man-tiger dressed in a top hat and monocle sitting at a garden table. The tiger waves at them

JULIE: At least ask him to stop emptying his pipe into my rhododendrons – could you?

TERRY: Don’t worry dear, I’ll try and have a word with him. He’s pretty much destroyed the lawn with that chair of his.

JULIE (calming down a little): Well we must get rid of him by tonight! I’ve invited June and Malcolm; Judy and Martin; Julia and Ian and I think their children are coming along - they can play in the spare room if they get bored. I think the Briggs’s are coming too as long as Simon can get his “little problem” sorted out. Have you invited anyone else darling? I need to make sure we have enough cheese footballs to go around.

TERRY: Well I did mention it to Alan the other day. He’s unlikely to miss a good party…

JULIE: Alan… the one with…?

TERRY: …the gammy leg, yes. His doctor told him to take it easy or he’d never walk again.

JULIE: How awful!

TERRY: Yes, he’s hopping mad about it, I can tell you.

SFX: Over the top canned laughter.

JULIE: Yes, well invite whoever you like. Just so long as you don’t let Auntie Ro get wind of it.

TERRY (looking guilty): Ummmm, well I was going to talk to you about tha…

Sound effect: Doorbell rings.

JULIE (going to the door): Who could that be? I thought I wrote 7 o’clock on the invitation!

JULIE opens the door and in bursts AUNTIE. She is carrying a half empty bottle of gin and is tottering all over the place. The canned laughter is at breaking point.

AUNTIE: Hello Julie! Hello Terry! Alan told me about the party! He said to bring a bottle so I did.

She takes a large swig.

JULIE (flustered and trying to get out of AUNTIE’s wild flouncing): Oh, err… hello Auntie Ro. I’m afraid no-one else is here yet.

AUNTIE: That’s okay dear, that’s okay. If you could just fix me up a glass of sherry, I’ll just make myself at ho… oooops-a-daisy! (knocks over expensive looking vase by the door) Oh deary me! I’m ever so sorry, dear! You must forgive me you see, I am a bit clumsy!

TERRY: Look, why don’t you come over to the settee and put your feet up Auntie?

AUNTIE: Don’t mind if I do dear. (Goes to couch but trips over and lands on sofa, legs in the air with dress falling round her and showing off her big silly bloomers, smashing expensive household items as she flails around)

JULIE (whispering to Terry): Terry! I told you not to invite her round again!

TERRY: We- well I tried not to but you know how she-

JULIE: Just don’t let her go upstairs, that’s where all the expensive crockery’s kept!

AUNTIE (muffled from inside the sofa): What’s that dear? I’m a trifle deaf!

- AUNTIE frees herself from the sofa but manages to smash the coffee table to pieces with her legs.

AUNTIE: Terry darling, I need to use your lavatory. Upstairs is it? (She races past Terry and Julie up the stairs. We hear a hell of a lot of smashing sounds)

JULIE: Terry! Do something about her now!

TERRY (despairingly): Oh my giddy aunt!

Waves of fake laughter drown all other dialogue out and screen buzzes and switches to another channel.

INT NIGHT: The living room.

It is evening in the house. MARTIN is stretched out on the sofa eating chips and watching the end of “My Giddy Aunt”. JIMMY comes down stairs, empty coffee mug in hand.

JIMMY: Martin I—

MARTIN: Ssshhh!

JIMMY: (half whisper) Sorry, sorry. What are you watching?

MARTIN: The adverts.

JIMMY: Right I— er… Listen, have you seen Gregg anywhere?

MARTIN: He’s probably rearranging his sweetie collection or something.

JIMMY: Ah, I heard about that… Does he really collect sweets?

MARTIN: Are you going to harass me all evening or are you going to leave me be?

JIMMY: Alright alright, I was just wondering if you’ve kept Thursday’s paper?

MARTIN: Aye, I think Gregg was looking at it earlier. It’s over there by his toys.

(Jimmy looks to the other end of the room. There are a number of children’s toys scattered on the floor that he had not noticed before)

JIMMY: Here we are… Oh God, the jobs section is covered in jam! I can’t even read it.

MARTIN: That’ll be Gregg’s doing so it will.

JIMMY: How am I going to get a job if I can’t see the jobs section?

MARTIN: Job? Hah!

JIMMY: Don’t you work?

MARTIN: I do this and that…

JIMMY: This and that?

MARTIN: It’s for me to know and for you to find out. Now please leave me alo—

- A new advert is coming on screen and we hear a familiar voice.

MARTIN’S VOICE: Do you ever get those days when you wake up feeling sluggish and tired?

JIMMY: Martin… but that’s your voice!

- We see the television screen. Martin is superimposed on a white background. He walks towards the camera and continues in his scathing Ulster drawl.

MARTIN ON TV: You wake up with that heavy bloated sensation that stays there for the rest of the day. That uncomfortable feeling where—

JIMMY: That’s you!

MARTIN: (visibly embarrassed) Ummm… it’s someone else… he just looks like me.

MARTIN ON TV: You suffer, your colleagues suffer, not to mention your nearest and dearest.

- There is a quick shot of a couple in bed at night. The woman wakes up with a disgusted look on her face and is fanning her nose. This is followed by the sound of a baby crying from the other room.

MARTIN ON TV: (continuing) Do you ever get on the bus to work and count the moments till you have to get off again cos you just can’t wait to let one blow? (shot of man on bus with his face screwed up and then back to Martin) Well I don’t. And if you think YOU know what I’m talking about- (camera switches angle and Martin turns to face it. He continues in a stage whisper) like trapped wind and atrocious farts, then maybe you’d better listen up – and listen up close. (He produces a packet from his pocket and there is an extreme close up), but not TOO close. I don’t wanna be smellin’ your guts (camera pans back). Chew Grennie tablets every day to stop flatulence and other undesirable smell-related problems.

- Another quick shot of the couple in bed with the woman cuddling up to her husband.

MARTIN ON TV: So your loved ones can relax without you guffin’ the place up with the stench coming out of your ARSE.

- The advert ends and we’re back in the living room. Jimmy is staring, mouth open at Martin.

JIMMY: I- I. On TV.. That was you- tha- Ugh! What a horrible advert!

MARTIN: Isn’t it? It works remarkably well though – fear-marketing. Grennie’s sales went up 200% since they got me on the box.

JIMMY: You must have made a killing!

MARTIN: Aye, two grand and free chips for life from down the road.

JIMMY: Two grand? But there stock went up---

MARTIN: You have no idea how much I love chips. Chips and beans… I love beans! Sometimes, I think I love them just as much as chips and I LOVE chips.
One time at Christmas my Pa booted me out the house for calling him a geriatric gobshite, so I went to Mandy’s Fryer and had chips with Christmas gravy. Mmmmm…

JIMMY: (slightly saddened due to having lost his own father) I guess that is better than spending Christmas with your family.

MARTIN: I’ll say! In fact, you can get addicted to chips. There’s a chemical in them called potattium that gets released into your blood stream (boasting) and that’s what I’M addicted to.

JIMMY: Well, it’s past my bedtime. I ought to at least try and sleep bu--

MARTIN: I’m going to go get some more chips from Mandy’s fryer then after that when you’re all safely tucked up in bed, I think I should like to go to a rough pub and get in a fight with a BIG UGLY GIRL. She’s kind of my girlfriend but she always pretends she doesn’t know me.

JIMMY: Uh – huh. You have fun doing that. G’nite.

MARTIN: ‘Nite.

- JIMMY climbs the stairs and switches off the light. MARTIN, left in the dark, lets off a fart.

MARTIN: Grennie tablets – what a load of twaddle!

INT DAY: The living room.

- It is morning. MARTIN is again watching television and eating chips from a paper bag. GREGG is sitting on the floor playing with a wooden fire engine and JIMMY is at the table drinking coffee and scanning the local paper for jobs. The headline reads: “LOCAL MAN TURNS INTO PINK FLUFF”.

JIMMY: Aha, here’s one “Cinema Operative required, no experience necessary” hmmm…

MARTIN: You know that’s just going to be sweeping and mopping.

JIMMY: No it won’t. It looks good. They might even let me have a go on the projector.

MARTIN: Sweeping and mopping pal.

JIMMY: It’s alright for you. You just sit around all day eating chips.

MARTIN: (between mouthfuls) Aye, sweet.

GREGG: Chippies at breakfast – bleugh!

MARTIN: I’d keep your mouth shut if I were you, Mister “I put four tablespoons of sugar on my Coco Pops”. Anyhow Jimmy, old man Paul never told us why you’re here.

GREGG: Yes Jimmy, tell us your story!

JIMMY: (sighs) It all seems so long ago… I guess I’d better start at the start. It was my seventh birthday-

MARTIN: SEVENTH BIRTHDAY?! I don’t know about you sunshine but I haven’t got all day to listen to your life story (he scratches his pubic area and rearranges himself on the settee).

JIMMY: Bear with me, it’ll come clear in a moment.

MARTIN: It’d better do.

GREGG: Ssshhh!

JIMMY: Anyway, I woke up that morning very excited. My Dad had promised me the new England football strip…

MARTIN: I don’t really care much for football myself. I’m more of a go-karting man. Formula 1 – that’s a real sport!

GREGG: Shut up Martin! Carry on Jimmy.

JIMMY: Anyway, I came into my Dad’s room and woke him up. He was pretty tired since he’d been working overtime for the last month “to keep us out of the red” is what he used to say. “Daddy, wake up! It’s my birthday!” I said to him. “Jimmy!” he cried when he saw me.

MARTIN: This is boring. Maybe a flashback would be better?

JIMMY: Sure if you want a flashback let’s go.

- The screen starts waving around in typical flashback fashion.

GREGG: This is how I felt when I tried a bit of old man Paul’s Nutty Putty.

INT DAY: Ken Maxwell’s bedroom.

KEN is sound asleep. Sweet, 7-year old JIMMY peeps at him from his bedside.

JIMMY: Daddy? Dad! Daddy wake up!

KEN: Huh?

JIMMY: Daddy, wake up! It’s my birthday!

KEN: (waking up, pleased to see his only son) Jimmy! Oh happy birthday son! Seven years old – my you are a big boy now.

JIMMY: That’s right!

KEN: And have I got a present for you. Now Jimmy, look at me. Jimmy – I know you wanted an England football kit for your birthday and I really tried.

JIMMY: Yes.

KEN: But you know how busy I’ve been with work and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get you it in time for your birthday. I’m sorry.

JIMMY: That’s okay Daddy, I can wait.

KEN: That’s my boy. You’re a good lad Jimmy, and that’s why I got you something. Something special. Yes, a special present for a special grown-up seven year old. Do you want to open your present now?

JIMMY: What did you get me Daddy?

KEN: (handing him a large present with a beautiful bow) Here you go son. Many happy returns of the day!

- JIMMY rips open the brightly-coloured wrapping paper.

JIMMY: A cafetiere?

KEN: Now I know what you’re thinking Jimmy. But this is a very grown up present for a very grown up boy. If you drink the coffee from the cafetiere, it’ll help you become big and strong like Daddy! (he pauses a little too long and he seems to be whispering oooooonnnooooooo)

JIMMY: Dad? Daddy, is there something wrong with your eyes?

- We can see a glimmer of Mr Chu’s Casio stopwatch waving back and forth reflected in Ken’s eyes for a few seconds. He seems dazed as if entranced.

KEN: Hm? Sorry Jimmy, I was miles away. (Blinking) I tell you what, if you get dressed I’ll show you how to make the coffee nice and strong. Remember, the stronger you make it, the better it is for you!

- Back to the present time.

MARTIN: What has that got to do with ANYTHING AT ALL. So you got a shit present? So what?

JIMMY: Umm, well I hadn’t quite finished.

MARTIN: Well hurry up, I’m a busy man and I’ve got little time to sit around listening to your Balaclava Gang stories, okay?

GREGG: Don’t pay any attention to him Jimmy. I like this story... So did you drink the coffee then?

JIMMY: Well, I was a bit daunted at first. I didn’t like the taste of the coffee at all, but I soon took to it. I dunno, it’s like it had a grip over me. I found the stronger I made it, the more I enjoyed it. The more I enjoyed it the stronger I made it. Eventually Dad gave me permission to make the coffee all by myself. But after only a couple of weeks I started doing pretty badly at school. I couldn’t concentrate at all and my grades were flopping. Anyway, I was laying in bed one night trying to get to sleep. I’d tried everything – counting sheep, naming every England football result since my date of birth when…

MARTIN: (Sigh) I suppose we’re going to need that flashback again…

Jimmy is in bed, snuggled into his Transformers duvet. It is 5am and still dark. There is a chattering sound. The camera pans over and it is apparent that he is wide awake with his teeth clacking together.

Enter KEN MAXWELL

KEN (bursting into the room): MORNING JIMMY!!! I hope you slept well! I made you some lovely strong coffee!!

JIMMY moans out loud: It’s five in the morning Dad!

KEN: Aw, just woken up little man? You’d better get this down you.

JIMMY takes the cup and sips.

JIMMY: D-daddy?

KEN: Yes, what is it Jimmy?

JIMMY: Nothing…

KEN: Come on, what’s the matter? You can tell me. Hey?

JIMMY: I don’t feel so well.

KEN: Well maybe you’d better have the day off school. Look, I’ll get the kettle on again and you can lie on the sofa downstairs and watch telly.

JIMMY: You don’t have to make me more coffee dad, I’m okay.

KEN: Now what did we say before Jimmy? If you don’t drink your coffee, you won’t get picked for football practice.

JIMMY: Well that’s just it… I keep falling over in the playground. I hurt my knee yesterday really badly. None of the other children want to play with me anymore – they call me names!

KEN: What do they call you?

JIMMY: They call me Stinkybreath. They make fun of my eyes.

KEN: Now, now. They’re just jealous because their daddies didn’t get them a cafetiere for their birthdays.

JIMMY: Mmmm…

KEN: Don’t you like your cafetiere?

JIMMY: I do like it. Just... Well just not always..

KEN (suddenly becoming a little vicious, Mr Chu’s stopwatch flashes in his eyes): YES, ALWAYS! Now drink up and stop being so silly. Tsk!

JIMMY finishes his coffee.

JIMMY: Maybe I could have another one after all.

KEN: Good boy! Coming right up!

- We go back once again to the present.

GREGG: And then what happened? Did you get better?

JIMMY: Kind of. That kind of thing went on for a few weeks, until one morning...

INT DAY: Jimmy’s Bedroom

- JIMMY is lying in bed but all is not well. Light shines through his Nescafe brand curtains (they used to be Transformers curtains) and we see his head poking out from under the coffee-stained sheets. The camera pans down to the bottom of the small child’s bed where two legs stick out from under the duvet – two man-legs with size 9 hairy feet sticking out the bottom of the bed. JIMMY stirs, turns over and promptly falls out of bed accidentally spiking his arse with a toy rocket ship. We do not see his face, just close ups of various body parts.

JIMMY: Owwww! Ahhhhhhh! Ooooooh!

- JIMMY stops for a moment, he has heard his voice and realises that something is up. He tests his voice out:

JIMMY: Hello? Hello? Aaaaaaaaaaah. Weird! Hello? What the…? (Barry White voice) Hey baby, come on over here for some gooood lovin’. Hmmm…

- JIMMY stops. He gets up off the floor and becomes entangled in a low hanging mobile. Wrestling to get free but getting more and more mixed up, he hears his Dad, KEN at the door.

KEN: (knocking) Jimmy? Jimmy it’s morning! I made you a good strong cup of… (he enters the room and sees Jimmy in bed. He can’t see his son’s transformation as he is hidden under the covers). Now Jimmy, this isn’t like you. You’re normally up by now. (he sits by the bed) Are you okay son?

JIMMY: (falsetto voice) I’m fine Dad, really.

KEN: You sound a bit croaky. You sure you’re not ill? Let me see you (he goes to pull back the quilt)

JIMMY: Don’t...! (he tugs the cover back to hide his face)

KEN: Come on son, what’s the matter? Why are you hiding.

- KEN struggles manages to tug the cover back hard enough to pull the loose quilt off the bed. The camera shows KEN’s face. He is startled. The camera pulls back and up to reveal a bird’s eye shot of JIMMY the man. His pyjamas are ripped to bits and he is in need of a shave. He also has bits of mashed up mobile in his hair.

KEN: Oh… Oh I see…

JIMMY: Errr… Hi… Dad…!

KEN: (He suddenly seems strangely unperturbed by JIMMY’s appearance. He sounds stern and formal.) Good morning Jimmy. And how are we today?

JIMMY: Errrr… I- I’m errr…

KEN: (sigh) Jimmy I think it’s time we had a chat. Now I guess this may come as a bit of a surprise and well… I wasn’t expecting to have this talk with you quite so soon but… You know, Jimmy, you see… There comes a time in a man’s life when, well… I mean… Look Jimmy, things are hard right now. Times are tough. I know maybe in the past back when your Mother was around to take care of you things would be different but they’re not. Jimmy, listen I mean… You’re a grown man now, I mean look at you…! And I think- I – Well, I’ve looked after you now for seven years of your life Jimmy and it’s been great, really great. You’ve brought so much sunshine into my life over the years – the good times - even through the bad times… and maybe, well… maybe it’s time to start taking a few things into your own hands. Big strong lad like you, you must feel cooped up in here with your old Dad. The thing is Jimmy… What I’m trying to say here is…

JIMMY: D-daddy…

KEN: Jimmy, it’s time you flew the nest, broke your cage, left the womb. I can’t afford to keep a grown man here and besides you’re far too old to be hanging around the house playing with toys.

JIMMY: B-but I’m only seven yea—

KEN: You’ll be needing a job too. Money doesn’t grow on trees you know. I’ll let your school know you won’t be attending any longer.

JIMMY: It’s football practice tomo…

KEN: I’m giving you twenty-four hours to pack and be on your way, son. Best of luck Jimmy,
it’s a big big big world out there…

- KEN’s words echo around and the screen goes hazy. We are back in the room.

If you have something you are writing, putting it on a public message board WITHOUT EVEN A NAME ON THE POST is insane. Anyone can steal it and claim that it is theirs. As it happens, I don't see why anyone would. I can't even see what there is here that you think might be funny.

Wow, Martin and GR... Maybe it *is* mediocre, but don't be so blunt about it! There's softer ways of telling how you feel about it. Yes, I realize that might be how it's done at a studio or wherever, but, ah hell, give him some constructive criticism.

And wasn't GR joking? I laughed anyway.

I read scripts every day, and one thing I think DL could do more is inter-dialogue direction. The lines are funny in his head but, largely, not on the page because we're not seeing it or hearing it like he is. So give us more info - what are they doing while speaking (unless this is a Smith and Jones sketch we have to assume they're doing *something*? What tones are they using? Where are the funny pauses? When are they whining, chuckling, shouting? When are they happy, upset, insulted, amused?

Charlie, try writing a bible for your idea - who the characters are, what's their backstory, what's the situation, what are their schticks, where do you see the narrative headed. It might prove useful, it might not, but it'd be a worthwhile exercise.

Markleby, that's a really good idea. Right now I'm just bashing out the dialogue - I will need to go back and write more about the characters and also some stage directions. All the same, thanks for your advice.

PLOPS: im sooooo deprssed,i did a plops this mornign but nobody was there to make it go soggsy

SOGGSY: hello mate

PLOPS: ...

SOGGSY: i said HELLO MATE

PLOPS looks up,startkled

PLOPS: soggsyy,is...is/...is.. it you.....??
PLOPS: is it really you????????

SOGGSY: yes

PLOPS: oh soggsy ive been waiting for you all morning but you didnt come when i wnt for a plops and it couldnt flush down

SOGGSY: no problems mate,well go down and have a look

PLOPS bends over,and open his cheeks for all mankind to see

SOGGSY: yep i see what weve got here,weve got a closed bum slot,never going to get soggsy plops out of that one

PLOPS: well waht can i do,i am scared that my plops might go up through my stomach and come out of my mouth

SOGGSY: no worries,take this phone number and ring the phone number

PLOPS: ok,who do i ask for

SOGGSY: dont wory they know who you are,they are waited for you a while now

PLOPS: how did they know my plops wasnt coming out soggsy and it might come out thorugh my mouth

SOGGSY: they know

faids out,poos and wees in backgrouns

(note: I didn't read any of the excerpts after the titty girl suggestion so if they bounce into one of the intervening excerpts please ignore)

SLOPPY BUM: I GOT POOS ON MY FINGERINOS MUCHACHASS ME GOT NO WAY OFF DOOING THE WONK WHOO GONNA WIGGLEY MY WONK IFF ME WIGGLEY WONT WONKER I GO BONKEEEEERSSSSSSS MEE FRIENDS

WIGGELY WONK: PUT THE POO ON YER WIGGLEY IT WONK MORE AND BETTER AND MORE POOOEY POOEY WONKS DO A POOEY WONK HAHA DO ON

fadee out fade itt fade it then plops walks in

BIG CHEERIN GOINN ON FROM OUTSIDE THE BUMM LIKE EVERYONESS LOOKIN INTO THE BUM

WIGGELY WONK DOES CUM ON THEM AND YOU AND PLOPPSY CUMS AND ITS A BIT LIEK POO AND THEN WONK WONKS AND GOOSEY HONKS WHERES THE CUM GONE HE SAID

GOOSE: WHERE THE CUMMY GONE (HONK)

WIGGLEY WONK : I DO CUMMY ON YER I DO CUMMY FROM ME WONK ON YER I GOT A WONK ON

WIGGLEY WONK AND ALL KINDS OF PEOPLE FROM INDIA AND FROM OUTER MOGOLIA DO WEES ON A GOOSE AND SOME CUM IS IN THE WEE

WIGGLY WONK: HOW DO YOU WANT TO PAAYYY

GOOOSE: PUT IT ON MY BILL

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA

ALL THE MONGOLIANSS RUB THERE WILLIES TOGETHER AND CUM COMES OUT AND THE GOOSE CLAPS AND PLOPS SHOOT OUT HIS EYES AND WROTE THE NAMEE OF JESUS ON THE SIDE OF A BUM AND CUM CUMS OUT THE BUM BUT JUST A BITT AND ALL OF MANKIND LOVES IT LOTS I LIKE IT .the indians went aaaages agooo

Man with hat and scarf walk into a bar. A big fat woman with scars all over her tit's comes bumbling in after him
she is Jane
he is Geoff

JANE: Oi what are you doin to my head you fuckin mean bastard. I'll have you. you left me on't bed covered in your cum. aAnd i hadn't even done a cum meself, like. I had to rub me fanny on the dog cos i aint got no arms like (Jane waves stumps about.)

Geoff:I wish you'd shut your big fuckin burp-hole cos all this 'I've not done a cum stuff is startin to PISS ME OFF right proper. I mean first you come to my work and all't lads see you weebling around tring to pull yer kecks up moaning about me sexual idiosincracies and that. I mean FUCK OFF lass can't you see ive got a fuckin drink to drink.

Geoff orders a pint of Rum.

Jane: I tell you what laddio. I met be a fuckin moose with scabby flaps and all that but there's no reason for all this tomato ketchup.

Jane lifts up her skirt and 14 bottles of Tommy K drop out.

Geoff: Oh lass! Oh no now come on, calm down you know its for the best now. Its all for the good of the household innit.

puts a consoling arm around jane

Jane : what you on about? I got bottles of condiment and all't shit up me fuckin mingey hole like. you bloomin stupid witch.

Geoff : shut up now...

Jane : fuckin witch!!

Geoff : HEY!

Jane : WITCH!!

Geoff : icnay on the witchsnay...

Jane : did everyone in this pub know our Geoff were a proper black witch wit' spells and potions and all that carry on. Aye! It's true. It bloody does my nut in.

Geoff : My witchcraft is nothing to do with this pup. Dont pretend you don't like it when i do a spell and turn your legs into helicopters.

Jane : I used to like all that shit but no more. Come on everyone lets burn this motherfucker and make him ash before he frogs you all up and fuckin shags a goat to watch a widscreen tv what is showing mission impossible 2. Oh did you see that film it were right funny how that pig went to the city oh no thats wrong i get mixed up oh no where did geoff go?

Geoff is on a broomstick throwing poo from his bum at everyone in the pub and saying 'You are all a bunch of nobheads' at them and getting a bit of a semi on.

everyone has a big shocked face

then it is the averts for a bit cos you not got enough stain remover and crusha

Man with hat and scarf walk into a bar. A big fat woman with scars all over her tit's comes bumbling in after him
she is Jane
he is Geoff

JANE: Oi what are you doin to my head you fuckin mean bastard. I'll have you. you left me on't bed covered in your cum. aAnd i hadn't even done a cum meself, like. I had to rub me fanny on the dog cos i aint got no arms like (Jane waves stumps about.)

Geoff:I wish you'd shut your big fuckin burp-hole cos all this 'I've not done a cum stuff is startin to PISS ME OFF right proper. I mean first you come to my work and all't lads see you weebling around tring to pull yer kecks up moaning about me sexual idiosincracies and that. I mean FUCK OFF lass can't you see ive got a fuckin drink to drink.

Geoff orders a pint of Rum.

Jane: I tell you what laddio. I met be a fuckin moose with scabby flaps and all that but there's no reason for all this tomato ketchup.

Jane lifts up her skirt and 14 bottles of Tommy K drop out.

Geoff: Oh lass! Oh no now come on, calm down you know its for the best now. Its all for the good of the household innit.

puts a consoling arm around jane

Jane : what you on about? I got bottles of condiment and all't shit up me fuckin mingey hole like. you bloomin stupid witch.

Geoff : shut up now...

Jane : fuckin witch!!

Geoff : HEY!

Jane : WITCH!!

Geoff : icnay on the witchsnay...

Jane : did everyone in this pub know our Geoff were a proper black witch wit' spells and potions and all that carry on. Aye! It's true. It bloody does my nut in.

Geoff : My witchcraft is nothing to do with this pup. Dont pretend you don't like it when i do a spell and turn your legs into helicopters.

Jane : I used to like all that shit but no more. Come on everyone lets burn this motherfucker and make him ash before he frogs you all up and fuckin shags a goat to watch a widscreen tv what is showing mission impossible 2. Oh did you see that film it were right funny how that pig went to the city oh no thats wrong i get mixed up oh no where did geoff go?

Geoff is on a broomstick throwing poo from his bum at everyone in the pub and saying 'You are all a bunch of nobheads' at them and getting a bit of a semi on.

everyone has a big shocked face .

then it is the averts for a bit cos you not got enough stain remover and crusha

its called father mother ...thats his name

Father mother is a big priest with elephat trunk liek arms that shoot out peanuts hes always shootin them out....

but this time he has got a bowl of jelyl in one elephant hand and some ice cream in the otherr

FATHER MOTHER: OOOOH ME WOBBLY JELLY OOOH JESUS CHRIST ME LOVER , ( turns to camera) i proper liek it when me wife makes me jelly and icecream but shes a bit silllyy she doesnt make them together she makes them apart like adam and eve she sayss LIKE ADAM AND BLINKIN EVE NOW I GOT TO FUSE THE TWOO WITHOUT GETTING THESE PEANUTS IN THE JELLY AND ICECREAM JESUS ...

father mother shoots a peanut out of one of his trunks and it goes PPPOP and hits the camera ..father mother does a wink at the camera

FATHER MOTHER:ARRRRGHHH AHAHA ARRRRRRRGHH HAHA

he throws the jelly away
and starts rubbing the icecream on his willy

FATHER MOTHER: fuuuckkk ittt ARGGGGGH AHAHA ARRRRRGH AHAHA ill stuff it in a minge in a minuteee

a woman walks in like a nun but more proper than a nun shes called MOTHER FATHER SHE WALKS LIKE SHES ROWING A BOAT AND STROKING A GIRAFFE AT THE SAME TIME AND HER FAVOURITE IS RAMBO

MOTHER FATHER: MINGEE YOU SAYYY MINGE YOU SAYYY YOU CAN FOGET BOUT MINGE WHILST WE ARE IN GODS HOUSE AND JELLY ONT FLOOR SEE WHAT OUR LITTLE LAD DIDD HE CUMMED ALL OVEER THE STATION OF THE CROSS WHERE YOU CAN SEE A BIT OF MARYS NIP

FATHER MOTHER shoots a peanut and by all accounts in it goes prper up mother fathers minge she starts to rub her soft bossom and thenfoam starts to appear and the priest is dead now and then a elepant is heard

thats as far as ive got then god said no so i said ok

MOTHER FATHER : Right now that's it i've had enough, why are you dead father mother? I was just getting started on my soft bosom and all this foam makeS it like manumission at the end of the night wake up and have a dance with me.

FATHER MOTHER does not respond on account of him being dead as fuck like

MOTHER FATHER: Well fuck ya then you boring bastard. yer a fridge thats what you are. shoot a peanut in me fanny get me all hotted up and can't even have a dance with me without being dead. fridged cunt. It's reet i'll just have a bit of a bop with this elephant what is over there.

We see a bit of an elephant shape through the smoke from the rave what has started cos of all the foam and now there is a sqirrel on the decks playing born slippy and waving a glowstick. THE ELEPHANT PARPS!

MOTHER FATHER : Hey elephant i hope that was your trunk then. I hope that wasn't your bum what made that terrible trumpety trump. No it's okay if it were a pump we all do 'em from time to time don't we?

ELEPHANT doesn't respond on account of him being a proper elephant

MOTHER FATHER : Come on i love this song lets have a slow dance. Hold me. Okay I'll just hold you and you can sway about it'll be reet romantic as fuck. Aw this is well nice innit. Can i have a look at your dick?

MOTHER FATHER BENDS DOWN AND HAS A SPY OF WHAT IS ON THE UNDERCARRAGE

MOTHER FATHER : FUCK ME!!! thats one son a bitch of a big cockleshell bay that sonny. I can't belive for a minute and excuse me Jesus Christ the lord for saying your name in a way that is vain and wrong but I WANT TO JESUS FUCKING CHRIST SUCK THAT THING UNTILL IT CUMS ON ME HEAD LIKE FOR GODS SAKE FUCK ME!!!!

MOTHER FATHER gets down on all fours and is panting and drooling and looking at the big elephant dick with the eyes of a four year old girl when she sees a bowl of jelly and ice cream what is fused with no peanuts (THIS IS A SUBTLE REFERANCE TO SOMTHING THAT HAPPEND BEFORE)
MOTHER FATHER tries to lick the willie but the Elephant is a christian and has a cross around its neck and does not believe in that kind of behaviour in God's house so it keeps moving and being out of reach of mother father.
Mother father is getting really excited and being denied the cock is pissing her off but also making her gush quam all over the floor and the Elephant starts sliping around and can control where he moves. so Mother Father gets the bell end in her mouth and does a double thumbs up to the camera.

MOTHER FATHER : Result!

Because she opened her mouth the willie fell out and the elephant slid off into some pots and pans

KERRAAASH!!! BOOF! KLANK! ZOINK!

MOTHER FATHER : Oh well I'll see what this squirrel D.J is on. HEY DJ! What you on, dude?

SQUIRREL : im on fuckin pills and coke innit you fuckin slag. Naaaaaah shit bitch i just saw you chasing that elephant around trying suck it's dick. that were well mint. do you wanna let me stick me furry tail in yer arse cranny for a bit of a sexy laugh?

MOTHER FATHER : Nay, i've had enough of all that. HAVE you got any Phats and Smalls cos i proper just want to enjoy myself in a holy way. GODS WAY IS MY WAY. I'M A NUN FOR FUCKS SAKE! enough of this mingey obsession. I decree my life as a holy cocoon of peace and..... HEY GET THE FUCK OFF MY TITS YOU NASTY LITTLE RODENT!

SQUIRREL is having a munch on one of the nuns boobs. while she wern't paying attention he got her top open and stuck his face in there

Mother father starts blushing and has a bit of a smile on and then...

MOTHER FATHER : OW!!! you fuckin' bit me tit you stupid cunt!! get off!

SQUIRREL : I'm sorry it's never happened before, that. I'm so embarrassed i could cry. I might fuckin kill meself cos it's fuckin shit when you do that. I know now. I know not to laugh at the older sqirrel who do it all't time, like. I'm fuckin gutted i tell yer. I'm fuckin devestated.

SQUIRREL sobs like a little one who is extremely upset

MOTHER FATHER : There there we'll sort that out come on dont cry. It'll be reet. Lets give you a orthodontic make-over and sort you out for all your future tit suckin so it's proper reet like.

SQIRREL : Oh no, don't hurt me.

MOTHER FATHER : Its reet, squirrel's teeth don't have nerves. You know, a bit like human hair or nails so they don't feel pain when you trim 'em, like.

MOTHER FATHER wraps up the squirrel like a SQUIRREL BURRITO with a towel and covers his eyes so he doesn't freak out or anything. Then she slides a wooden kebab skewer behind the teeth, on top of the tongue, with the dowel sticking out of the sides of the mouth. She gets out her toe nail clippers and with a sqick snap, lobs of about a 1/4 of an inch of sqirrel tooth. BUT OH NO! IT FUCKING PINGS OFF AT A RIGHT FUCKIN SPEED AND TWATS MOTHER FATHER IN THE EYE! this blinds her in one eye and she gets well pissed off!

MOTHER FATHER : Shit!! i should of wore me glasses! i should of wore me glasses! I should of wore me glasses. I'm such a nob...

POLICE bust in and shut down the rave and arrest everyone who isn't dead or an elephant.

int:day:jail cell

JESUS : YOU ARE PROPER FUCKER YOU MOTHER FATHER I MEAN THATS NOT ON IS IT WHEN GRANMAS GO TO CHURCH AND IM JESUS AND I DIED THAT DAY AND EVERYONE LOVES ME IM GOOD YOU NOT GOOD YOU GOT THE RIGHT IDEA WITH THE JELLY AND ICECREAM NOT BEING FUSED LIEK TI SAID IN JOHN 1ST AND SECOND OF PAGE 291 IN THAT BOOK " JESUS FOR DUMBOSS" THO SHALT NOT PUT JELLY IN THY MINGEE !! ITS REEET YOU DID A PEANUTT AND FOAMED YOUR BUSTERS UPP
JESUS DONT SAY TIIIIITTTTTTTTTS YOU NUNNY MINGE TRUMP

MOTHER FATHER: oh thats proper ok wait there is a donkey

int:day:jail: THERE IS A DONKEY

JESUS: look there is a donkey

a donkey walks in

DONKEY: EEEEEORRRRR

JESUS: THATS A PROPERR REET DONKEY LOOK AT ITTTT GOT A PROPER RIGHT KNOB ON ITT oh noo he is crying pooor boy pooor boyyy

jesus iss rubbing the donkeys willy and turns it into breadddd and ripss it off and has a munch

FATHER MOTHER starts to dance liek shes a little giraffe and pulls elly out of her minge parts and there is a peanut in itt and she starts to have a cry like

JESUS: I KNOOWWS LEMME SHOVE THISS BREAD DONKEY KNOB IN YER FADGE AND ITLL BE REEETT I GOTTA DO ITT A FEW TIMES THOOO

jesus starts doin it proper loadss and then calls a guard over and the guard slips in some quam thats on the floor
jesus turns him into breadd and starts eating himm then turns the jail into bread and eats the JAIL

A BIG MAN WALKS IN WITH A TRUNKCHEON WAPPIN IT A BIT

BIG MAN: WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU GOINNG I WAP YOU PROPER . NO WAIT I WONT IM THE ELEPHANTT

THE BIG MAN IS THE ELEPHANT

ALL: OH NOO WHERE JESUS GONEE

EVERYTHING HAS TURNED TO BREADD PROPER LOAVES OF IT LOOADS OF LOAAVESS

EXT:DAY:NEWSAGENTSS

jesus walks up to a woman at the counterr and points at her and goes hassaa kaZAAAMOO and coca cola starts squirting out from her boobs

jesus: how much for this kite making kit of fun

woman: er er its alot of money from your pocket beard head

JESUS TURNS HER INTO BREADD AND EATS HER

JESUS : well dont worry about that i got loooads a breadd haHAHAHAHAHAHA

JESUS RUNS RAMPAGE TURNING EVERYTHING INTO BREADD AND TURNS A SNICKERS INTO BREAD AND EATS ITT THEN TURNS A DOGGY INTO BREAD AND PUTS SOME HAM ON ITT AND DOES A WHISTLE

JESUS: BREAD IS JUST BEARDD WITH THE LETTERS A BIT DIFFERENT INNIT ITT YOU NEWSAGENTS TROLLOP

fade out and you hear jesus sau amen and someone says the body of christ and then they go yeh thats reet and a big sigh of relief liek someone when they do a big poo

(in order of appearance)

MR. CHU
Mr Chu is a stereotypical South-East Asian geriatric based on Keye Luke’s character in Gremlins or the evil Lo-Pan in Big Trouble in Little China. He opens the first episode and speaks in a cross between a poorly-dubbed Anime film and the narrators from Banzai. He dresses in tatty Oriental garments and can generally be found tinkering around his restaurant office. The Chinese restaurant business is, however a façade for Chu’s practise of dark magic.

MR CHU’S OFFICE
The opening scene with Ken Maxwell and Mr Chu is almost a direct lift from that in Gremlins. Except of course instead of a Mogwai, Mr Chu hypnotises Ken Maxwell into buying an enchanted cafetiere.
Mr Chu’s office is basically a clutter. Trinkets and corny novelty items adorn the small wonky shelves and a small badly-tuned TV showing sumo wrestling sits in a corner. Chu owns a number of large dusty books but if you look closely, the spines are not written in English or Chinese but in a strange alien script – evidence that Chu’s powers from somewhere other than Earth.
Despite all the clutter, Chu must have lost quite a lot of stuff during the move to England seeing as he uses shoddy replacements to conduct his conjuring. Notice how instead of a traditional pocket-watch he uses a damaged Casio stopwatch to hypnotise Ken.

KEN MAXWELL
Ken is Jimmy’s father. A widower who loves his son dearly, Ken has been working overtime in order to make ends meet. He has been so busy with work that he hasn’t had time to buy Jimmy the football strip he wants for his birthday. For the meantime Ken is tricked by Mr Chu into buying the accursed cafetiere. Ken is a loving Dad but something about his encounter with Mr Chu has affected him badly. Suddenly he becomes vague, as if in a trance. His eyes are often glazed over and if one looks carefully, a flash of Mr Chu’s stopwatch can be seen reflected in them.
Ken becomes obsessed with making his son drink coffee and even snaps at him when Jimmy protests. When Jimmy’s growth becomes vastly accelerated by his caffeine intake, Ken is surprisingly laid back about his transformation. Instead of freaking out, Ken gives his son a lecture, and then 24 hours to leave the house.

THE CAFETIERE
On the surface, it’s nothing special. Nay, it’s a lump of crap. The cafetiere is old-fashioned, dusty and damaged. Mr Chu says he is going to take it back to Argos but he’d be lucky to get a refund for this rubbish. Ken buys the cafetiere at the unrealistic tag-price of £150.00 ONO (Oh no!). Jimmy would be very disappointed to receive this as a birthday present, but Mr Chu’s strong magic has a grip over the Maxwells.

JIMMY MAXWELL
Jimmy Maxwell is Ken’s son and the protagonist of our story. He starts the show as a normal, well adjusted seven-year old boy who loves football, video games and his Dad. Jimmy is given a cafetiere possessed by evil magic for his birthday. He soon becomes addicted to the drink made by the cafetiere and it starts controlling his life – he cannot sleep, he does badly in school and the other kids make fun of him. One day Jimmy wakes up to find that he has grown overnight into a 25-year old man. His father, rather unsympathetically boots him out of the house and tells him to get a job because he is far too old to be hanging around doing kids’ stuff.

Jimmy, still just as addicted to caffeine, drags his cafetiere to the bus station where he meets Paul, who takes him in and lets Jimmy live in his rented flat with two weirdos called Martin and Gregg. Jimmy must make peace with his flatmates, find a job to pay the rent and also find the secret of the cursed cafetiere by the end of the show.

Despite the odd circumstances, his unusually rapid growth and his coffee addiction, Jimmy is pretty much the only “normal” character in the show. He is remarkably mature and well balanced for a kid who has been thrown into the adult world, shrugging off the bizarre situations much like Tim from The Office.

In the adult world, Jimmy gets a temp job at the local cinema sweeping and mopping for Mr Vermicelli. It isn’t up to scratch so he soon approaches a certain Chinese restaurateur for work and things start to come all too clear.
Addicted to caffeine and unable to get anything but green tea from Mr Chu’s establishment, Jimmy goes crazy. The normal calm, collected exterior is suddenly a monster of nerves and Jimmy literally transforms into a lycanthropic beast. Before too much gets smashed up though, the cafetiere gets broken and everything reverts back to normal. Did I say normal? Well Jimmy certainly isn’t under the cafetiere’s grip any more and so has no addiction to coffee, but he stays as a 25-year old man instead of reverting back to his seven-year old self.

OLD MAN PAUL
Paul is Jimmy’s bungling guardian angel. A fairy godfather if you will who plays the part of the landlord in the series, there are times when Paul resembles a cross between Victor Meldrew, Mr Magoo and the Dungeon Master from Dungeons and Dragons. Not to mention the professor from Futurama
Paul maybe be a bit fuzzy up top but he has a good heart and can always be heard giving out surprisingly sage advice. He works as a bus driver by day, and spends his nights drinking hot toddies and eating biscuits. Bearded, bumbling, Paul is ever so silly and often gets confused by the comings and goings of modern times. Just don’t bother trying his nutty putty.

MARTIN POCKMARK
Martin leads a double life. By day he is a sweaty Northern Irish layabout and by night he appears on advertisements on national television. Amateur of the chipped potato, Martin also professes to be a huge Batman fan (he’s got the comic book) and go-karting (he’s building a “bat-man car” in the garage).
While Martin’s demeanour is naturally standoffish, some might even say rude, his self-aggrandisement and general scathingness will often show a softer, friendlier nature after a while. Don’t be put off him by his scruffiness and his Gerry Adams accent (even if everything he says sounds sarcastic), Martin turns out to be as much a good friend to Jimmy as a pain in the arse.
Martin’s story is strange. He too had to leave his old home due to family trouble (he came home one day to find that his Mother had been replaced by a sadistic “new mum”). And where did his real Mum go? Ask Gregg.

GREGG
Jimmy’s flatmate Gregg is an odd sort. Probably the strangest character in the whole series, Gregg looks and acts a lot like a toddler who is the size of a man. Wearing bright colours and Osh-Kosh dunagarees, he doesn’t look unlike the baby out of “Honey I Blew Up the Kid”.
Despite his high-pitched voice and his childish demeanour, Gregg is a hit with the ladies and a demon in the sack. He often brings girls back to his room after a night out clubbing, much to the dismay of Martin who is kept awake by the constant banging.
Gregg loves sweet food and actually collects different sweets. One day Jimmy notices that there is what appears to be a load of candyfloss sitting in the corner of Gregg’s room. Much later in the series, the candyfloss appears to reveal small spores which on closer inspection contain tiny little versions of Gregg.
At the end of the series, Gregg becomes seriously ill after drinking a concoction of milk and coke mixed together.

MARTIN'S MUM
Believe it or not, Martin came from a very rich family and was once upon a time a very well turned out young man. As a teenager Martin came back from school one day to find that his once doting mother had been replaced by a cheap android version of herself. Her habits of jamming Martin’s hand in the toastie-maker forced Martin to leave home.
So what did happen to Martin’s mum? The script will allude to the fact that she was abducted by aliens, forced to do the jiggy with an extra terrestrial, gave birth to an alien-man hybrid who was then beamed back down to Earth in order to procreate with and infiltrate the population.
Therefore, eagle-eyed fans of the series will work out that Martin and Gregg are actually half brothers.

THE FLAT
The maisonette flat is owned by old-man Paul who rents it out to Jimmy, Martin and Gregg. It’s not the most beautiful place in the world, but it’s home. Decorated in dingy 60s green and orange, the atypical student-style house is the way the flatmates want it to be – low maintenance.

HENRI
Henri is the next door neighbour. A pedantic Frenchman who won’t let dogs (or eggs!) lie, Henri lives with Kron the Goblin.

KRON
Kron is a swamp goblin who lives in the flat next door. This Gollum-esque creature can often be found making a disgusting meal or fighting with his flatmate, Henri. The surreal Henri/Kron duo work as a breather from the rest of the main story.

JULIE, TERRY AND AUNTIE RO
Julie and Terry are the middle-class characters of the classic 1970s sitcom “My Giddy Aunt”. Julie would like a simple life but the peace is shattered every episode by the intrusion of Terry’s alcoholic Aunt. I imagine the couple from “The Good Life” when writing the “My Giddy Aunt” sketches.
As for Auntie Ro herself, she is an absolute shambles – a cross between Dame Edna Everage and Hyacinth Bouquet, always an excuse for slapstick and big silly bloomers.

POSH TIGER
So far the Posh Tiger has only made cameo appearances in the script, turning up briefly during “My Giddy Aunt”. Posh Tiger is a man-tiger who wears a top hat and tails along with a monocle.
Having evolved beyond his usual jungle habitat, Posh Tiger now sets up shop in people’s back gardens and then lures them back to his lair with slices of Battenburg cake. Once there, he will make them dance to very weird music for hours on end.

LOUIS VERMICELLI
Poor Louis! The New York born proprietor of a crumbling movie theatre, he longs for the old days of booming business, great cinema and his deceased wife. Louis seems to remember even the earliest days of the moving picture, despite only looking about 60 years old. His hair is thin, his gut is saggy and his hair is a dirty beige colour from smoking cigars.
As he vaguely explains, Louis lost his glamorous wife in a bizarre accident when she accidentally drank coke mixed with milk, which believe it or not WILL kill you if you mix the two together.
Louis is Jimmy’s boss throughout the series. I see him as a Woody Allen style character, always mumbling and going off on tangents, not quite getting to the point. He could also be compared to Moe from the Simpsons as an aging entrepreneur who is down on his luck.

ALIENS
So why, indeed is there something in the water? The obvious answer – ALIENS! Yes, our small town is soon to be overrun by tiny saccharine creatures from another planet, thanks to Gregg the human-alien offspring of Martin’s mother and an extra-terrestrial sex-beast from the pits of Ganymede. When Gregg becomes ill however from drinking coke that has been contaminated with milk, he soon has to return to the mothership, but not before leaving his alien spores buried in a pink fluffy substance in his room.

Reading this new stuff is getting a bit painful. Things like "Posh Tiger now sets up shop in people’s back gardens and then lures them back to his lair with slices of Battenburg cake" just seems the most awful nadir of student surrealism. The stuff about eggs and goblins seems like some terrible mix of an ITV children's comedy and Two Pints Of Lager And A Packet Of Crisps. I don't know what kind of people would find this amusing, if any. I know you want constructive criticism but I really can't see anything of value in any of this. Maybe try reading the scripts to shows like Peep Show and Seinfeld and start again from scratch.

int: day: plop

piggy wompon is doing a plop and his willy is trying to do a plop he is laughing
a barbera comes in

BARBERA: MINGE LOCO PLASTIC MAN GET THHEEE BUTTER HEAD GONE WOBBLE SHIT

PIGGY WOMPON: AYE SHIT FLOAT THEN SLOP HAHA EH BARBERA EH

BARBERA: FOOOKIN SLP PLOPPER AYE

PIGGY WOMPIN: AYE

gringosappy the straw man from under the staurs walks in with some really disgusting super noodles he makes for the gay chinease bummer from down the road who bums things cos his wife was a hairy bitch who died when a helicopter tried to land on her when she was doing a H shape cos they were havin sex

GRINGOSLAPPY: OUCH

hes dead

HI I DID
PLOP
SEE
PLOP
SEE IT
PLOP
COME OUT DID
PLOP PLOP

(chorus)
AHHHHHH DID IT LOOK
PLOP
SEE
PLOP
LOOK
PLOP
WILLY AHH AHAHA WILLY
PLOP

DID
PLOP
SEE URRGH URRRRGH DID
PLOP
THAT WERE A
PLOP
DID
ON AAHHHHHA HH

(repeat chorus 2x)

MOTHERFATHER: JESUS IS ON THE CROSS
JESUS: BLOODY ELL IT HURT I TELL THEE IT HURT IN ME BIG PAIN BLOODY POO SLAPS IT AROUND IN A NICE LITTLE DISH AND MAKE IT LIKE ARTHUT
MOTHERFATHER: HES TALKING NONSESNE POOR LAD
JESUE: IT HURT IN ME BUM...OH HERE COMES BLOODY ROMANS AGAIN DOING CUMS IN ME MOUTH ARGH WHY WAS ME A JEW AND COMING ON THIS EARHT FROM ME GODS (DAD) BLOODY JAPS EYE STRAIGHT OUT A BIT LIKE ATHENA COMING FROM ZEUS HEAD SO THEY HIT ME GOD (DAD) IN THE WILLY AND IT CAME OUT BROWN FIRST THEN WHIT COS HE DONT LIKE BLAKCS BLOODY RACIST THEN I CAME OUT OF HIS JAPSEYE.WHY DID THEY FORSAKE ME GOD (DAD)
GOD: BLOODY HELL SON YOURE ONE TO FOOKIN TALK YA CUNT YOU PUT ME THROUGH FOOKIN HELL THAT DAY COMIN OUT ME JAPSEYE LIKE YA DONT EVE N FOOKIN CAR ABOUT THE FACT THAT ME JAPSEYE STARTED BLEEDING AND SHIT
MOTHERFATHER: BUT DOG,THOU HAS SED MANY TIME IN THOU BOOK OF BIBLE STROIES,OF HOW THOU WAS ONEST TAKING A WEE AND NOT ONEST THOU TAKING THOU CUNT OUT OF THOU MOTHER NATURE OF THOU POO ON GIRLS FLANGE
GOD: YES BUT CUT TO THE GOOD BIT
MOTHERFATHER: WELL WHAT HAPPENED WAS, WHEN THOUEST WENT TO THOU STABLE AND MADE THOUSET POOS, YOU MADE A BLACK POO FOR THE AFRICAN AND A WHITE CUM FOR THE WHITE MAN
GOD: WELL WHAT COULD IT MEAN
MOTHERFATHEER: WELL YOU WANTD TO MAKE ALOT OF AFRICANS TO GO IN THE BIG COUNTRY IN THE MIDDLE SO DID A BIG FAT POOEY SLOPS ON FLANGE RYE TO GO WIHT IT
GOD: AND WHAT ABOUT THE WHITE MAN
MOTHERFATHER: WELL THAT WAS MADE LIKE THIS, YOU DID A BIG WANK AND DID A COME BUT IT SPURTED OUT SO IT WENT ALL OVER
JESUS: ARGH BLOODY HELL THE ROMAN KILLED ME YA CUNT

THE END

WHAT DYA THINK OF THAT I THINK ITS A REAL GOODUN GIVE ME FEEDBACK YA CUNTS

SCENE 1. EXT. MR CHU’S EMPORIUM – NIGHT

CLOSE UP OF A DOG WHIZZING INTO A RAINY PUDDLE AND THEN RUNNING OFF. IT IS LITERALLY PISSING IT DOWN. THE CAMERA PULLS BACK TO REVEAL AN OPENING SHOT OF MR CHU’S SHOP - THE KIND OF PLACE THAT KEEPS SUCH OBSCURE OPENING HOURS THAT RARELY A CUSTOMER GOES THROUGH THE DOOR. A POORLY-LIT SIGN READS “MR CHU’S EMPORIUM OF EXOTIC DELIGHTS – HARDWARE, FANCY GOODS AND GIFTS”.

CUT TO:

SCENE 2. INT. SUMO WRESTLING RING – DAY
FOOTAGE FROM A SUMO MATCH. A COMMENTATOR YAMMERS EXCITEDLY OVER THE ACTION IN JAPANESE.

CHU: (O.O.V.)
Come on! Yes! Ye-heh-es!
CUT TO:

SCENE 3. INT. MR CHU’S EMPORIUM – NIGHT
MR CHU IS STANDING BEHIND HIS SHOP COUNTER. HE IS WATCHING THE SUMO WRESTLING ON A KNACKERED TV THAT IS BLARING FROM A PILE OF ASSORTED CLAG ON A SHELF.

CHU:
Come on! YES! Well done Fatty! You have won!! Hahahahahaha!
ONE OF THE SUMOS IS BEING CARTED AROUND IN AN OPEN-TOPPED SPORTSCAR AMONG A THRONG OF CHEERING FANS. THE SUMO HOLDS A HUMUNGOUS CUP ABOVE HIS HEAD.

CHU:
Go Fatty go! Meheheheh! Something to put your fish and chips in when you get home huh Fatty? Hahahaha!

CHU GETS UP AND SWITCHES OFF THE TV.

CHU:
Enough excitement. Back to cleaning these unbecoming knick-knacks.

CHU PULLS A PAIR OF TIGHTS OVER THE NOZZLE OF A VACUUM CLEANER AND SWITCHES IT ON. HE STARTS HOOVERING SOME TRINKETS ON A NEARBY SHELF. THEY INCLUDE AMONGST OTHER THINGS A KARATE-KICKING STATUETTE, A POSTCARD FROM “LITTLE CHINA, NEW YORK” AND A TOY MOGWAI.
CHU HUMS THE THEME FROM GREMLINS WHILST GETTING LOST IN THE HOOVERING AND DOES NOT NOTICE KEN MAXWELL COMING UP FROM BEHIND.

KEN: (O.O.V.)
Excuse me...

CHU WHIPS AROUND.

CHU:
Wha...!

KEN STANDS BEHIND HIM, DRIPPING WET WITH RAIN.

KEN:
Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you...

CHU:
Startle me? Impossible! Nobody startles Mr. Chu. I have eight senses! You must get up very early in the morning to startle me. And don’t skip out on a shower or I smell you coming! See?

CHU SNIFFS THE AIR IN FRONT OF KEN

KEN:
Right well, look I’m sorry to burst in on you at this time but it’s my son’s birthday tomorrow and I’ve been rushing around trying to find a present for when I get home. You’re the only place open, I take it you don’t sell an England football strip do you?

CHU:
Hmmm. Engorrend footborr strip? My sport is sumo wrestling! Hmph!

KEN:
But Chinese stereotypes don’t watch Japanese sumo!

CHU:
Who said I was Chinese? I am Cockney, born and bred. I have sumo kit you can have... err... me old China.

CHU REACHES BEHIND THE COUNTER AND BRINGS OUT AN OLD, STAINED PAIR OF SUMO “MAWASHI” PANTS AS WORN IN A WRESTLING MATCH.

KEN:
You’re not convincing anyone. Look you must have something you can sell me – anything?

CHU:
Hmmm... I don’t think so.

KEN:
But...

CHU:
I am closing. You go now.

KEN:
Please!

CHU:
Goodbye sir!

KEN:
Please! Haven’t you got anything I can give him? He’s seven tomorrow and it’ll break his heart if I don’t get him a present. Look, please – I have money. Here!

KEN PRODUCES A WAD OF NOTES FROM HIS INSIDE POCKET. CHU LOOKS AT IT FOR A MOMENT.

CHU:
Hmph! Very well. I have one thing I can sell you.

CHU PULLS A BOX FROM UNDERNEATH THE COUNTER.

KEN:
A cafetiere?

CHU:
You very foolish man! This no ordinary cafetiere! It’s a state-of-the-art coffee maker with milk-steaming feature. I give you very good price as an unwanted Christmas present. Close to mint condition £150 ono.

KEN:
Ono?

CLOSE UP OF THE PRICE TAG ON THE CAFETIERE: “£150 ONO”.
MR CHU APPEARS NEXT TO KEN’S EAR WAVING A CHEAP CASIO DIGITAL STOPWATCH AS IF TO HYPNOTISE HIM.

CHU:
Oooooonnnnnoooooo!

KEN LOOKS ENTRANCED

KEN:
Ooooonnnnnoooooo!

KEN AND CHU:
Oooooooonnnnoooooo! Ooooooonnoooooo!

KEN, TRANSFIXED BY THE WATCH, HANDS THE MONEY TO MR CHU.

KEN AND CHU:
Ooooooonnnoooo! Oooonnnnoooo!

CHU ACCIDENTALLY HITS HIMSELF IN THE NOSE WITH THE WATCH WHILST SAYING THE MANTRA.

CHU:
Oooooonnnoooo-aaarrghh! Bruddy herr! Bruddy thing!

KEN:
Oooooonnnnooooooo!

CHU:
You can stop that now! Stop it!

CHU CLICKS HIS FINGERS ANGRILY AND KEN STOPS ABRUPTLY. HE BLINKS, STILL A LITTLE DAZED.

CHU:
Pleasure doing business with you sir. Your son will be very pleased with your purchase!

KEN: (ZOMBIE-LIKE)
Yes, Jimmy will be pleased with this.

CHU:
But beware sir! You must use the cafetiere very wisely. There are things you should know!

KEN: (NOW FULLY CONSCIOUS)
What things? Tell me!

CHU:
Do not let it slip into the wrong hands.

KEN:
Why?

CHU:
The drink is very hot to touch and someone could burn themselves.

KEN:
Right, okay. Hot. Got it. Anything else?

CHU:
Hmmm? Let me see... There was something else... Oh I can’t remember right now, who cares! Go on, get out of my shop, we are closed!

KEN:
But...

CHU SHOVES KEN AND THE CAFETIERE ROUGHLY THROUGH THE DOOR AND SLAMS IT SHUT. THE CAMERA FOCUSES ON CHU’S FACE AND HE STARTS TO LAUGH MANIACALLY AT THE AUDIENCE, RUBBING HIS HANDS TOGETHER. THIS IS INTERRUPTED BY A VIOLENT COUGHING FIT.

I made this "online web soap" in 2000 when I was 13. The graphics make me so nostalgic. I had an odd imagination for a 13 year old British kid, it has to be said.

KRON: Shaddap you! You’re not the one wot ‘as to eat this. Hmmm… what else can I put in ere?

lmao @ unfunny

GREGG: It’s Gregg

PAUL: Sorry, Gregg. Gregg, I’d like you to meet your new—

GREGG: Oh Paul, it’s been so long since you last stopped by. We have missed you so. Is this our new flatmate?

PAUL: Yes, yes indeed it is. Jimmy, I would like you to meet Jeremiah.

GREGG: Gregg.

The bells sounded that morning in the usual fashion and I awoke feeling unusually lively. Though the floor was damp from last night’s rain, and much as I longed to reach the window, I could tell that God’s glory shone upon the ground below. I sat up and stretched my hand towards the small yellow square that crept across the floor. Warmth seeped through my arm and sent a small shiver of pleasure along my body. Immediately my gusto was matched by an overwhelming sense of despair, for I realised that despite this morning’s tenderness it could never satiate the ever-present wind enjoyed by the King’s least honoured guests. Shivering, I threw on my only garment, a Hessian cilice, soiled with blood from the itching it induced. The sackcloth chafed and made weep my unhealing sores, but the protection it gave from cold was just about enough to mitigate its roughness.

My unfounded elation at rising that morning was the produce of nothing more than a pleasant dream. I say nothing more, but in these times I feel my dreams are by far my only means of solace, and this dream had been particularly vivid, but still a dream no less.

You see I spend my days like this. The sun rises and I awake. At noon if I am fortunate enough I receive a plate of peasemeal gruel and water and at four I am delivered another bowl of water. My chamber pot is emptied once a day in winter, and twice in summer. Between these visits and the infrequent but less-kindly visitations from head guard, I sit as still as I can and plot my escape.

Despite my living space spanning no more than a few square feet, the rough leg irons attached at my right ankle prevent me from seeing anything other than a thin crease of sky through the window. My view is further obscured by four vertical iron bars designed to hold me were I ever able to break from my fettered state. Madame Cachtice may be a cruel regent but certainly no fool and building the King’s Royal Gaol so that it overhangs the town square was no accident. The faculty had been erected no longer than ten years ago yet to look at it one would estimate at least three centuries worth of wear. It took a number of days to become fully accustomed to the violent angle of the floor, a deliberate effect designed to promote a fear of the cell breaking away from the rest of the building and crashing down into the town square several feet below. For days I was actually afraid to move from the very back of the room in case it did just that, and indeed, it is rare for fresh convicts to make much clamour in their early days for exactly this reason.

Still despite all beatings and other hardships, there is no better means of torture than being left alone with nothing but one’s own mind for company. My own formative months were spent in anger and abject despair, hating the guards, hating my solitude, my pain and hunger. In many ways I was driven mad from suffering and loneliness – not to mention the boredom that comes with staring at a badly lit wall for months on end. But like all things, we become acquainted with our pain and at times I could even feel gratitude for not being forcibly ripped to shreds by the baying hordes below.

You may believe that I amplify my predicament through fancy, but dear reader believe my proof comes from the kinsfolk of Venaliter Square, from whose base I hear every spoken word. Speculation is rife, and hate is uberous towards my character. Gossip spreads through the town like the sores across my chest, growing ever more wild and pestilent as the months and years do pass. Jim Denier – the Thief, the Murderer and latterly the Monster – yes I may as well be The Monster as I no longer know my own face, let alone my soul. Let your kin beware! Lock your doors at night, for I am evil in the eyes of the people - a creature worth the axis of any childhood nightmare. It is said come the night that I slip my shackles as a tarry smoke, visit the beds of sleeping people and infect them with my particular poison thus mandating them to carry the Devil’s work for all eternity. It is said these otherwise good men and women begin to display an evil madness, a lustful and irreconcilable greed towards their loved ones before eventually disappearing from their homes for the desert world of Kaith never to return. Others say I died long ago and that now my spirit looks down in vengeance upon Venaliter in the form of a cracked and bitter sky, rotting the crops and polluting the town’s wells. These are some of the less fanciful reports. As far as my own - admittedly fractured - sense of reality apperceives, I am still very much of this earth, alive even if unwell. Any

My legend among the townsfolk may be a contrivance, but when one has little more to do than earwig, it is soon learnt how to whittle out the truth. Since my incarceration it is true that more and more people have been seen leaving Venaliter and never reappearing. It is also fact that many of them have experienced a severe shift in attitude, and as is also reported, appearance. My first witness of such occurrences happened several moons ago (I was too distraught to keep track of the calendar in my early prison days, and now I no longer see the point). I recall I had been badly beaten by a guard for requesting more water and was slowly coming to when I heard shouting from below….

that bit didn't make much sense.

Is English your first language? Try writing a bit more simply. Subject, verb, object. Then graduate on to the more complicated stuff. Don't use words like "apperceive". Don't use "dear reader" either. Above all, don't write in genres that you "don't ever read". Write stuff that you might actually like as a reader.

Thanks, I'm still twekaing the language as it is a bit cumbersome but that's half the idea. I'd like to know why you say I shouldn't use these words? And why it should be subject, verb, object every time?
Just because I don't read fantasy stuff generally doesn't mean I wouldn't want to read something in this style. I do't read fantasy because the majority of it is dull and long-winded and all about epic battles or pixies or some shit. This is more of a superhero story set in mythical times I guess. Actually I don't really know what it's going to be.

and much as I longed to reach the window, I could tell that God’s glory shone upon the ground below.
that bit didn't make much sense.

-- ken c (pykachu10...), October 3rd, 2006 10:49 AM. (ken c)

I don't see what the prob with this sentence is Ken, could you elaborate?

Why use apperceive when you can use perceive? In any case, here you've got "my own sense of reality apperceives". How can a sense of reality apperceive? It doesn't mean anything! Forget trying to be clever, write more simply.

As for "dear reader", it's an abominable cliché, especially when used ironically.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Most people who bother with the matter at all would admit that the English language is in a bad way, but it is generally assumed that we cannot by conscious action do anything about it. Our civilization is decadent and our language -- so the argument runs -- must inevitably share in the general collapse. It follows that any struggle against the abuse of language is a sentimental archaism, like preferring candles to electric light or hansom cabs to aeroplanes. Underneath this lies the half-conscious belief that language is a natural growth and not an instrument which we shape for our own purposes.

Now, it is clear that the decline of a language must ultimately have political and economic causes: it is not due simply to the bad influence of this or that individual writer. But an effect can become a cause, reinforcing the original cause and producing the same effect in an intensified form, and so on indefinitely. A man may take to drink because he feels himself to be a failure, and then fail all the more completely because he drinks. It is rather the same thing that is happening to the English language. It becomes ugly and inaccurate because out thoughts are foolish, but the slovenliness of our language makes it easier for us to have foolish thoughts. The point is that the process is reversible. Modern English, especially written English, is full of bad habits which spread by imitation and which can be avoided if one is willing to take the necessary trouble. If one gets rid of these habits one can think more clearly, and to think clearly is a necessary first step toward political regeneration: so that the fight against bad English is not frivolous and is not the exclusive concern of professional writers. I will come back to this presently, and I hope that by that time the meaning of what I have said here will have become clearer. Meanwhile, here are five specimens of the English language as it is now habitually written.

These five passages have not been picked out because they are especially bad -- I could have quoted far worse if I had chosen -- but because they illustrate various of the mental vices from which we now suffer. They are a little below the average, but are fairly representative examples. I number them so that i can refer back to them when necessary:

1. I am not, indeed, sure whether it is not true to say that the Milton who once seemed not unlike a seventeenth-century Shelley had not become, out of an experience ever more bitter in each year, more alien [sic] to the founder of that Jesuit sect which nothing could induce him to tolerate.

Professor Harold Laski (Essay in Freedom of Expression)

2. Above all, we cannot play ducks and drakes with a native battery of idioms which prescribes egregious collocations of vocables as the Basic put up with for tolerate, or put at a loss for bewilder .

Professor Lancelot Hogben (Interglossa)

3. On the one side we have the free personality: by definition it is not neurotic, for it has neither conflict nor dream. Its desires, such as they are, are transparent, for they are just what institutional approval keeps in the forefront of consciousness; another institutional pattern would alter their number and intensity; there is little in them that is natural, irreducible, or culturally dangerous. But on the other side, the social bond itself is nothing but the mutual reflection of these self-secure integrities. Recall the definition of love. Is not this the very picture of a small academic? Where is there a place in this hall of mirrors for either personality or fraternity?

Essay on psychology in Politics (New York)

4. All the "best people" from the gentlemen's clubs, and all the frantic fascist captains, united in common hatred of Socialism and bestial horror at the rising tide of the mass revolutionary movement, have turned to acts of provocation, to foul incendiarism, to medieval legends of poisoned wells, to legalize their own destruction of proletarian organizations, and rouse the agitated petty-bourgeoise to chauvinistic fervor on behalf of the fight against the revolutionary way out of the crisis.

Communist pamphlet

5. If a new spirit is to be infused into this old country, there is one thorny and contentious reform which must be tackled, and that is the humanization and galvanization of the B.B.C. Timidity here will bespeak canker and atrophy of the soul. The heart of Britain may be sound and of strong beat, for instance, but the British lion's roar at present is like that of Bottom in Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream -- as gentle as any sucking dove. A virile new Britain cannot continue indefinitely to be traduced in the eyes or rather ears, of the world by the effete languors of Langham Place, brazenly masquerading as "standard English." When the Voice of Britain is heard at nine o'clock, better far and infinitely less ludicrous to hear aitches honestly dropped than the present priggish, inflated, inhibited, school-ma'amish arch braying of blameless bashful mewing maidens!

Letter in Tribune

Each of these passages has faults of its own, but, quite apart from avoidable ugliness, two qualities are common to all of them. The first is staleness of imagery; the other is lack of precision. The writer either has a meaning and cannot express it, or he inadvertently says something else, or he is almost indifferent as to whether his words mean anything or not. This mixture of vagueness and sheer incompetence is the most marked characteristic of modern English prose, and especially of any kind of political writing. As soon as certain topics are raised, the concrete melts into the abstract and no one seems able to think of turns of speech that are not hackneyed: prose consists less and less of words chosen for the sake of their meaning, and more and more of phrases tacked together like the sections of a prefabricated henhouse. I list below, with notes and examples, various of the tricks by means of which the work of prose construction is habitually dodged:

Dying metaphors. A newly invented metaphor assists thought by evoking a visual image, while on the other hand a metaphor which is technically "dead" (e.g. iron resolution) has in effect reverted to being an ordinary word and can generally be used without loss of vividness. But in between these two classes there is a huge dump of worn-out metaphors which have lost all evocative power and are merely used because they save people the trouble of inventing phrases for themselves. Examples are: Ring the changes on, take up the cudgel for, toe the line, ride roughshod over, stand shoulder to shoulder with, play into the hands of, no axe to grind, grist to the mill, fishing in troubled waters, on the order of the day, Achilles' heel, swan song, hotbed. Many of these are used without knowledge of their meaning (what is a "rift," for instance?), and incompatible metaphors are frequently mixed, a sure sign that the writer is not interested in what he is saying. Some metaphors now current have been twisted out of their original meaning withouth those who use them even being aware of the fact. For example, toe the line is sometimes written as tow the line. Another example is the hammer and the anvil, now always used with the implication that the anvil gets the worst of it. In real life it is always the anvil that breaks the hammer, never the other way about: a writer who stopped to think what he was saying would avoid perverting the original phrase.

Operators or verbal false limbs. These save the trouble of picking out appropriate verbs and nouns, and at the same time pad each sentence with extra syllables which give it an appearance of symmetry. Characteristic phrases are render inoperative, militate against, make contact with, be subjected to, give rise to, give grounds for, have the effect of, play a leading part (role) in, make itself felt, take effect, exhibit a tendency to, serve the purpose of, etc., etc. The keynote is the elimination of simple verbs. Instead of being a single word, such as break, stop, spoil, mend, kill, a verb becomes a phrase, made up of a noun or adjective tacked on to some general-purpose verb such as prove, serve, form, play, render. In addition, the passive voice is wherever possible used in preference to the active, and noun constructions are used instead of gerunds (by examination of instead of by examining). The range of verbs is further cut down by means of the -ize and de- formations, and the banal statements are given an appearance of profundity by means of the not un- formation. Simple conjunctions and prepositions are replaced by such phrases as with respect to, having regard to, the fact that, by dint of, in view of, in the interests of, on the hypothesis that; and the ends of sentences are saved by anticlimax by such resounding commonplaces as greatly to be desired, cannot be left out of account, a development to be expected in the near future, deserving of serious consideration, brought to a satisfactory conclusion, and so on and so forth.

Pretentious diction. Words like phenomenon, element, individual (as noun), objective, categorical, effective, virtual, basic, primary, promote, constitute, exhibit, exploit, utilize, eliminate, liquidate, are used to dress up a simple statement and give an air of scientific impartiality to biased judgements. Adjectives like epoch-making, epic, historic, unforgettable, triumphant, age-old, inevitable, inexorable, veritable, are used to dignify the sordid process of international politics, while writing that aims at glorifying war usually takes on an archaic color, its characteristic words being: realm, throne, chariot, mailed fist, trident, sword, shield, buckler, banner, jackboot, clarion. Foreign words and expressions such as cul de sac, ancien regime, deus ex machina, mutatis mutandis, status quo, gleichschaltung, weltanschauung, are used to give an air of culture and elegance. Except for the useful abbreviations i.e., e.g., and etc., there is no real need for any of the hundreds of foreign phrases now current in the English language. Bad writers, and especially scientific, political, and sociological writers, are nearly always haunted by the notion that Latin or Greek words are grander than Saxon ones, and unnecessary words like expedite, ameliorate, predict, extraneous, deracinated, clandestine, subaqueous, and hundreds of others constantly gain ground from their Anglo-Saxon numbers.* The jargon peculiar to

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*An interesting illustration of this is the way in which English flower names were in use till very recently are being ousted by Greek ones, Snapdragon becoming antirrhinum, forget-me-not becoming myosotis, etc. It is hard to see any practical reason for this change of fashion: it is probably due to an instinctive turning away from the more homely word and a vague feeling that the Greek word is scientific.

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Marxist writing (hyena, hangman, cannibal, petty bourgeois, these gentry, lackey, flunkey, mad dog, White Guard, etc.) consists largely of words translated from Russian, German, or French; but the normal way of coining a new word is to use Latin or Greek root with the appropriate affix and, where necessary, the size formation. It is often easier to make up words of this kind (deregionalize, impermissible, extramarital, non-fragmentary and so forth) than to think up the English words that will cover one's meaning. The result, in general, is an increase in slovenliness and vagueness.

Meaningless words. In certain kinds of writing, particularly in art criticism and literary criticism, it is normal to come across long passages which are almost completely lacking in meaning.† Words like romantic, plastic, values, human, dead, sentimental, natural, vitality, as used in art criticism, are strictly meaningless, in

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† Example: Comfort's catholicity of perception and image, strangely Whitmanesque in range, almost the exact opposite in aesthetic compulsion, continues to evoke that trembling atmospheric accumulative hinting at a cruel, an inexorably serene timelessness . . .Wrey Gardiner scores by aiming at simple bull's-eyes with precision. Only they are not so simple, and through this contented sadness runs more than the surface bittersweet of resignation." (Poetry Quarterly)

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the sense that they not only do not point to any discoverable object, but are hardly ever expected to do so by the reader. When one critic writes, "The outstanding feature of Mr. X's work is its living quality," while another writes, "The immediately striking thing about Mr. X's work is its peculiar deadness," the reader accepts this as a simple difference opinion. If words like black and white were involved, instead of the jargon words dead and living, he would see at once that language was being used in an improper way. Many political words are similarly abused. The word Fascism has now no meaning except in so far as it signifies "something not desirable." The words democracy, socialism, freedom, patriotic, realistic, justice have each of them several different meanings which cannot be reconciled with one another. In the case of a word like democracy, not only is there no agreed definition, but the attempt to make one is resisted from all sides. It is almost universally felt that when we call a country democratic we are praising it: consequently the defenders of every kind of regime claim that it is a democracy, and fear that they might have to stop using that word if it were tied down to any one meaning. Words of this kind are often used in a consciously dishonest way. That is, the person who uses them has his own private definition, but allows his hearer to think he means something quite different. Statements like Marshal Pétain was a true patriot, The Soviet press is the freest in the world, The Catholic Church is opposed to persecution, are almost always made with intent to deceive. Other words used in variable meanings, in most cases more or less dishonestly, are: class, totalitarian, science, progressive, reactionary, bourgeois, equality.

Now that I have made this catalogue of swindles and perversions, let me give another example of the kind of writing that they lead to. This time it must of its nature be an imaginary one. I am going to translate a passage of good English into modern English of the worst sort. Here is a well-known verse from Ecclesiastes:

I returned and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all.

Here it is in modern English:

Objective considerations of contemporary phenomena compel the conclusion that success or failure in competitive activities exhibits no tendency to be commensurate with innate capacity, but that a considerable element of the unpredictable must invariably be taken into account.

This is a parody, but not a very gross one. Exhibit (3) above, for instance, contains several patches of the same kind of English. It will be seen that I have not made a full translation. The beginning and ending of the sentence follow the original meaning fairly closely, but in the middle the concrete illustrations -- race, battle, bread -- dissolve into the vague phrases "success or failure in competitive activities." This had to be so, because no modern writer of the kind I am discussing -- no one capable of using phrases like "objective considerations of contemporary phenomena" -- would ever tabulate his thoughts in that precise and detailed way. The whole tendency of modern prose is away from concreteness. Now analyze these two sentences a little more closely. The first contains forty-nine words but only sixty syllables, and all its words are those of everyday life. The second contains thirty-eight words of ninety syllables: eighteen of those words are from Latin roots, and one from Greek. The first sentence contains six vivid images, and only one phrase ("time and chance") that could be called vague. The second contains not a single fresh, arresting phrase, and in spite of its ninety syllables it gives only a shortened version of the meaning contained in the first. Yet without a doubt it is the second kind of sentence that is gaining ground in modern English. I do not want to exaggerate. This kind of writing is not yet universal, and outcrops of simplicity will occur here and there in the worst-written page. Still, if you or I were told to write a few lines on the uncertainty of human fortunes, we should probably come much nearer to my imaginary sentence than to the one from Ecclesiastes.

As I have tried to show, modern writing at its worst does not consist in picking out words for the sake of their meaning and inventing images in order to make the meaning clearer. It consists in gumming together long strips of words which have already been set in order by someone else, and making the results presentable by sheer humbug. The attraction of this way of writing is that it is easy. It is easier -- even quicker, once you have the habit -- to say In my opinion it is not an unjustifiable assumption that than to say I think. If you use ready-made phrases, you not only don't have to hunt about for the words; you also don't have to bother with the rhythms of your sentences since these phrases are generally so arranged as to be more or less euphonious. When you are composing in a hurry -- when you are dictating to a stenographer, for instance, or making a public speech -- it is natural to fall into a pretentious, Latinized style. Tags like a consideration which we should do well to bear in mind or a conclusion to which all of us would readily assent will save many a sentence from coming down with a bump. By using stale metaphors, similes, and idioms, you save much mental effort, at the cost of leaving your meaning vague, not only for your reader but for yourself. This is the significance of mixed metaphors. The sole aim of a metaphor is to call up a visual image. When these images clash -- as in The Fascist octopus has sung its swan song, the jackboot is thrown into the melting pot -- it can be taken as certain that the writer is not seeing a mental image of the objects he is naming; in other words he is not really thinking. Look again at the examples I gave at the beginning of this essay. Professor Laski (1) uses five negatives in fifty three words. One of these is superfluous, making nonsense of the whole passage, and in addition there is the slip -- alien for akin -- making further nonsense, and several avoidable pieces of clumsiness which increase the general vagueness. Professor Hogben (2) plays ducks and drakes with a battery which is able to write prescriptions, and, while disapproving of the everyday phrase put up with, is unwilling to look egregious up in the dictionary and see what it means; (3), if one takes an uncharitable attitude towards it, is simply meaningless: probably one could work out its intended meaning by reading the whole of the article in which it occurs. In (4), the writer knows more or less what he wants to say, but an accumulation of stale phrases chokes him like tea leaves blocking a sink. In (5), words and meaning have almost parted company. People who write in this manner usually have a general emotional meaning -- they dislike one thing and want to express solidarity with another -- but they are not interested in the detail of what they are saying. A scrupulous writer, in every sentence that he writes, will ask himself at least four questions, thus: 1. What am I trying to say? 2. What words will express it? 3. What image or idiom will make it clearer? 4. Is this image fresh enough to have an effect? And he will probably ask himself two more: 1. Could I put it more shortly? 2. Have I said anything that is avoidably ugly? But you are not obliged to go to all this trouble. You can shirk it by simply throwing your mind open and letting the ready-made phrases come crowding in. The will construct your sentences for you -- even think your thoughts for you, to a certain extent -- and at need they will perform the important service of partially concealing your meaning even from yourself. It is at this point that the special connection between politics and the debasement of language becomes clear.

In our time it is broadly true that political writing is bad writing. Where it is not true, it will generally be found that the writer is some kind of rebel, expressing his private opinions and not a "party line." Orthodoxy, of whatever color, seems to demand a lifeless, imitative style. The political dialects to be found in pamphlets, leading articles, manifestoes, White papers and the speeches of undersecretaries do, of course, vary from party to party, but they are all alike in that one almost never finds in them a fresh, vivid, homemade turn of speech. When one watches some tired hack on the platform mechanically repeating the familiar phrases -- bestial atrocities, iron heel, bloodstained tyranny, free peoples of the world, stand shoulder to shoulder -- one often has a curious feeling that one is not watching a live human being but some kind of dummy: a feeling which suddenly becomes stronger at moments when the light catches the speaker's spectacles and turns them into blank discs which seem to have no eyes behind them. And this is not altogether fanciful. A speaker who uses that kind of phraseology has gone some distance toward turning himself into a machine. The appropriate noises are coming out of his larynx, but his brain is not involved as it would be if he were choosing his words for himself. If the speech he is making is one that he is accustomed to make over and over again, he may be almost unconscious of what he is saying, as one is when one utters the responses in church. And this reduced state of consciousness, if not indispensable, is at any rate favorable to political conformity.

In our time, political speech and writing are largely the defense of the indefensible. Things like the continuance of British rule in India, the Russian purges and deportations, the dropping of the atom bombs on Japan, can indeed be defended, but only by arguments which are too brutal for most people to face, and which do not square with the professed aims of the political parties. Thus political language has to consist largely of euphemism., question-begging and sheer cloudy vagueness. Defenseless villages are bombarded from the air, the inhabitants driven out into the countryside, the cattle machine-gunned, the huts set on fire with incendiary bullets: this is called pacification. Millions of peasants are robbed of their farms and sent trudging along the roads with no more than they can carry: this is called transfer of population or rectification of frontiers. People are imprisoned for years without trial, or shot in the back of the neck or sent to die of scurvy in Arctic lumber camps: this is called elimination of unreliable elements. Such phraseology is needed if one wants to name things without calling up mental pictures of them. Consider for instance some comfortable English professor defending Russian totalitarianism. He cannot say outright, "I believe in killing off your opponents when you can get good results by doing so." Probably, therefore, he will say something like this:

"While freely conceding that the Soviet regime exhibits certain features which the humanitarian may be inclined to deplore, we must, I think, agree that a certain curtailment of the right to political opposition is an unavoidable concomitant of transitional periods, and that the rigors which the Russian people have been called upon to undergo have been amply justified in the sphere of concrete achievement."

The inflated style itself is a kind of euphemism. A mass of Latin words falls upon the facts like soft snow, blurring the outline and covering up all the details. The great enemy of clear language is insincerity. When there is a gap between one's real and one's declared aims, one turns as it were instinctively to long words and exhausted idioms, like a cuttlefish spurting out ink. In our age there is no such thing as "keeping out of politics." All issues are political issues, and politics itself is a mass of lies, evasions, folly, hatred, and schizophrenia. When the general atmosphere is bad, language must suffer. I should expect to find -- this is a guess which I have not sufficient knowledge to verify -- that the German, Russian and Italian languages have all deteriorated in the last ten or fifteen years, as a result of dictatorship.

But if thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought. A bad usage can spread by tradition and imitation even among people who should and do know better. The debased language that I have been discussing is in some ways very convenient. Phrases like a not unjustifiable assumption, leaves much to be desired, would serve no good purpose, a consideration which we should do well to bear in mind, are a continuous temptation, a packet of aspirins always at one's elbow. Look back through this essay, and for certain you will find that I have again and again committed the very faults I am protesting against. By this morning's post I have received a pamphlet dealing with conditions in Germany. The author tells me that he "felt impelled" to write it. I open it at random, and here is almost the first sentence I see: "[The Allies] have an opportunity not only of achieving a radical transformation of Germany's social and political structure in such a way as to avoid a nationalistic reaction in Germany itself, but at the same time of laying the foundations of a co-operative and unified Europe." You see, he "feels impelled" to write -- feels, presumably, that he has something new to say -- and yet his words, like cavalry horses answering the bugle, group themselves automatically into the familiar dreary pattern. This invasion of one's mind by ready-made phrases (lay the foundations, achieve a radical transformation) can only be prevented if one is constantly on guard against them, and every such phrase anaesthetizes a portion of one's brain.

I said earlier that the decadence of our language is probably curable. Those who deny this would argue, if they produced an argument at all, that language merely reflects existing social conditions, and that we cannot influence its development by any direct tinkering with words and constructions. So far as the general tone or spirit of a language goes, this may be true, but it is not true in detail. Silly words and expressions have often disappeared, not through any evolutionary process but owing to the conscious action of a minority. Two recent examples were explore every avenue and leave no stone unturned, which were killed by the jeers of a few journalists. There is a long list of flyblown metaphors which could similarly be got rid of if enough people would interest themselves in the job; and it should also be possible to laugh the not un- formation out of existence*, to reduce the amount of Latin and Greek in the average sentence, to drive out foreign phrases

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*One can cure oneself of the not un- formation by memorizing this sentence: A not unblack dog was chasing a not unsmall rabbit across a not ungreen field.

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and strayed scientific words, and, in general, to make pretentiousness unfashionable. But all these are minor points. The defense of the English language implies more than this, and perhaps it is best to start by saying what it does not imply.

To begin with it has nothing to do with archaism, with the salvaging of obsolete words and turns of speech, or with the setting up of a "standard English" which must never be departed from. On the contrary, it is especially concerned with the scrapping of every word or idiom which has outworn its usefulness. It has nothing to do with correct grammar and syntax, which are of no importance so long as one makes one's meaning clear, or with the avoidance of Americanisms, or with having what is called a "good prose style." On the other hand, it is not concerned with fake simplicity and the attempt to make written English colloquial. Nor does it even imply in every case preferring the Saxon word to the Latin one, though it does imply using the fewest and shortest words that will cover one's meaning. What is above all needed is to let the meaning choose the word, and not the other way around. In prose, the worst thing one can do with words is surrender to them. When yo think of a concrete object, you think wordlessly, and then, if you want to describe the thing you have been visualizing you probably hunt about until you find the exact words that seem to fit it. When you think of something abstract you are more inclined to use words from the start, and unless you make a conscious effort to prevent it, the existing dialect will come rushing in and do the job for you, at the expense of blurring or even changing your meaning. Probably it is better to put off using words as long as possible and get one's meaning as clear as one can through pictures and sensations. Afterward one can choose -- not simply accept -- the phrases that will best cover the meaning, and then switch round and decide what impressions one's words are likely to mak on another person. This last effort of the mind cuts out all stale or mixed images, all prefabricated phrases, needless repetitions, and humbug and vagueness generally. But one can often be in doubt about the effect of a word or a phrase, and one needs rules that one can rely on when instinct fails. I think the following rules will cover most cases:

(i) Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.

(ii) Never us a long word where a short one will do.

(iii) If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.

(iv) Never use the passive where you can use the active.

(v) Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.

(vi) Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.

These rules sound elementary, and so they are, but they demand a deep change of attitude in anyone who has grown used to writing in the style now fashionable. One could keep all of them and still write bad English, but one could not write the kind of stuff that I quoted in those five specimens at the beginning of this article.

I have not here been considering the literary use of language, but merely language as an instrument for expressing and not for concealing or preventing thought. Stuart Chase and others have come near to claiming that all abstract words are meaningless, and have used this as a pretext for advocating a kind of political quietism. Since you don't know what Fascism is, how can you struggle against Fascism? One need not swallow such absurdities as this, but one ought to recognize that the present political chaos is connected with the decay of language, and that one can probably bring about some improvement by starting at the verbal end. If you simplify your English, you are freed from the worst follies of orthodoxy. You cannot speak any of the necessary dialects, and when you make a stupid remark its stupidity will be obvious, even to yourself. Political language -- and with variations this is true of all political parties, from Conservatives to Anarchists -- is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind. One cannot change this all in a moment, but one can at least change one's own habits, and from time to time one can even, if one jeers loudly enough, send some worn-out and useless phrase -- some jackboot, Achilles' heel, hotbed, melting pot, acid test, veritable inferno, or other lump of verbal refuse -- into the dustbin, where it belongs. "

I can see how with some types of writing you could disagree with him but generally I think "never use a big word where a small one will do" is a great golden rule...

-------------------

You may think that I amplify my predicament through fancy, but please believe me when I say that my proof comes from the kinsfolk of Venaliter Square, from whose base I hear every spoken word. Speculation is rife, and hate is uberous towards my character. Gossip spreads through the town like the sores across my chest, growing ever more wild and pestilent as the months and years do pass. Jim Denier – the Thief, the Murderer and latterly the Monster – yes I may as well be The Monster as I no longer know my own face, let alone my soul. Let your kin beware! Lock your doors at night, for I am evil in the eyes of the people - a creature worth the axis of any childhood nightmare. It is said, come the night, that I slip my shackles as a tarry smoke, visit the beds of sleeping people and infect them with my particular poison thus mandating them to carry the Devil’s work for all eternity. It is said these otherwise good men and women begin to display an evil madness, a lustful and irreconcilable greed towards their loved ones before eventually disappearing from their homes for the desert world of Kaith never to return. Others say I died long ago and that now my spirit looks down in vengeance upon Venaliter in the form of a cracked and bitter sky - rotting the crops and polluting the town’s wells. These are some of the less fanciful reports. As far as my own (admittedly fractured) sense of reality can perceive, I am still very much of this earth - alive even if unwell. The only slipping of my chains occurs in fantasy; the only curses are put upon myself for allowing my own predicament.

My legend among the townsfolk may be contrived, but when one has little more to do than earwig, it is soon learnt how to whittle out the truth. Since my incarceration it is true that more and more people have been seen leaving Venaliter and never reappearing. It is also fact that many of them have experienced a severe shift in attitude and, as is also reported, appearance. And it is also true, judging firstly from the quality of the water in my bowl and secondly from my obscured view of the sky that there is something a-rot about the land.

My first witness of these occurrences happened several moons ago (I was too distraught to keep track of the calendar in my early prison days, and now I no longer see the point). I recall I had been badly beaten by a guard for requesting more water and was slowly coming to when I heard shouting from below. The woman sounded young; perhaps still even a girl. Her voice quivered in the late evening lull,
‘Henry, I do not like this. It is not yet night and we are exposed.’
‘You will give me what is mine, I command it!’ growled a second voice,
‘I am not prepared-- this is not right. Henry… please…’
‘Vile wench! You will not respect me? I have provided for you; struggled for you, and for what reward? Your refusal? If I had known that pledging my troth to a sow like thee would lead to such ingratitude then I would never have let myself be led so blindly.’ I heard a sound like a snapping twig, then that of a child wailing.
‘This is not you Henry. This is not you! I know not what has happened, be it the work of drink or…or a demon, but you are not my Henry! I have done nothing to deserve the raising of your hand.’

Of course this was not the first time I had witnessed such a coil, but something about the quarrel shook me from my torpor. Something about the impassionate, instinctual quality of the man’s voice; the wary, defeated woman’s tone that told me there was more to this clamour than mere marital squabbling.

‘You know who I am? Miserable whore! How dare you pass judgement upon who I am and what I do. Do not forget that I rule you, for I could break your neck like a branch! But I tire of this pettiness, now give me what I deserve!’ The child wailed again and the woman’s voice cried, ‘Alright Henry, alright!’ before being abruptly stifled. Between the muffled screams and the child’s bleating I discerned an inhuman grunt that rose to a steady, blood-curdling howl of triumph. It was not my will to listen further but like those who witnessed the massacre at Arpitera, my curiosity refused my hands to block my ears. Another sound, a crunch rather than a snap was heard, as the stifled moans died and the long-drawn howl subsided. The baby continued to scream for several minutes but I heard nothing more from its parents.

- jog?
- change for laundry
- dry cleaning
- emails
- charge mp3 player
- some kind of TV show where Judd Hirsch, Elliot Gould, and Alan Alda just hang out and talk

So maybe that will help someone.

with crimes against taste and decency

!

Intellectual Flirting

Best thread ever?

KRON: Listen my lih’ul Gallic pal. Wha’ I ‘ave between my thumb and index finga (he holds up the egg, it is dripping with green slime) is a single ovum. Un oeuf. Ein ei. Un huevo. ONE BLEEDIN’ EGG!

Geoff is on a broomstick throwing poo from his bum at everyone in the pub and saying 'You are all a bunch of nobheads' at them and getting a bit of a semi on.

everyone has a big shocked face

then it is the averts for a bit cos you not got enough stain remover and crusha

Some good came of it, huh

nooo

Crusha reference gives it a charmingly autobiographical slant

poor dog latin, is all this the result of his 'i might return' message on the IRE facebook group?

Yes, that and Dom being so "welcoming" of course.

It's Thread Bump Thriday nath! Week 1 was Calum, Week 2 is Doug Latino, Week 3 is scheduled as Lord Custos, but we need to check that one with our lawyers. Contempt of court and all that.

poor dog latin, is all this the result of his 'i might return' message on the IRE facebook group?

-- Just got offed, Friday, July 13, 2007 10:54 AM (3 minutes ago) Bookmark Link

link?

Link? It's on the ILE Wall on Facebook. Just have a look.

Ah okay, maybe I'm being a bit paranoid as I did ask DL back to ILE. Hmm.

http://cambridge.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2382779449

follow that link he's posted and you'll find some top-quality grammar trolling A++ i would marry etc

Joking aside, he really was a dozy cunt.

the cards are on the table...i'll fold

Through Myspace stalking I figured out dog latin is a FOF or possibly FOFOF. It's a small world, but I wouldn't want to cover it in stain remover and Crusha

I HAVE A HERNIA

what have you lifted?

NOT A LOT

This sitcom is currently airing on BBC3.

with the crusha ad?

haha

I HAVE A HERNIA TOO!

I have a bulge like a squashy golf ball in my abdomen. Ugh.

sequels!

Go see your doctor, dude, I am tomorrow. Not yrs, obv.

Dude, I'm off to hospital next week to get sliced by the surgeon (then three weeks off work recuperating - oh boohoo). Have had it for about three months. Once I got used to the basic discomfort, it never really gave me any serious grief, but I'm really looking forward to getting it sorted now so I can get back to running and stuff again. Good luck with your doctor, and hope it's not giving you too much aggro.

Is this all still part of the script ?

ILX-com

What if your style is dull and overwritten? what then?

-- Mr. Que (Mr.Que), Tuesday, October 3, 2006 9:51 AM (1 year ago) Bookmark Link

in that scenario, my friend, you endeavour to perambulate to whatever edifice in your immediate vicinity distributes social welfare

-- Ronan (Ronan), Tuesday, October 3, 2006 10:26 AM (1 year ago) Bookmark Link

Ronan you are a god

INT day: Motor station military tableware. The Jimmy list sits alone in a military tableware's table. It pours out in exterior, and the military tableware is bleak. Spatial coffee cup and nearby him cigarette abutment reject table. He sobs with him in his hand's head. Paulo, a unkindness, but the quite aging bus driver a little from behind in his shoulder is close and gently laying aside.

Paulo: Ooh! Oh oh dear I! Oh dear well what is possibly a question?

Jimmy: (muttered that) my my father dismisses my house. I have drunk the complete many coffee. And now I am too old cannot stay with him in the same place, and I-I has there is no place to go.

Paulo: Is the fearful news well. Fearful, fearful news!

Jimmy: He said me too old not to be able to live with him, and I should exit and obtain the work and other place housing.

Paulo: The good people favored in saying very many matters I the days supposition. I meant that it is truly quite chaotic. They said that “you are good” and “how are you?” And “how is the family?” And “you are very fearfully attractive, has weight which you lose?” And “why is thanks, I have joined gymnastics in February, it has” and “you spoke with Elsie? I have not received her incoming letter soon”.

With Jimmy: (interrupt) I am cold… Where am I at to be possible to obtain the coffee?

Paulo: Was they also says that. They said that “I am cold, it ices up in here”, and “is you the boiler which blinks?” And “is, I thought that it needs to bleed, but I lost radiator's key” and -

Jimmy: Invites?

Paulo: The regret, you want the coffee? I am afraid the machine am broken, and my anything has not provided except the fragrant hot liquor…

(Jimmy looks like grieves)

Paulo: Oh, but looked that you are certainly hungry! (starting rifling through his many jacket pocket) we examines here, perhaps I have something to cheer your aha! No, has not been does not have the good deed, we have another look… Hmmm…Has bitten the string…Some cotton velvets…Toy soldiers…My key…This matter…Some organization…Bottle cap…Screamed mouse…Any this is…. That…This… ooh and pen…Doctor's appointment card ......, Here we go these…! You can have this! (has pause)

Paulo: (read probably from packet) it told Nutty… Oil slush… (Paulo looked that satisfies he looks not affected)

Jimmy Paulo: It has done outside sheep's placenta… (another clumsy pause)

Paulo: Attempts it! It is the great material!

Jimmy: My father has not told me to accept from stranger's sweet snack.

Paulo: Perhaps gushes out is real, but looks at me. I am not what is strange I? (very long pause)

Paulo: Hm? Good fine, then not it. I will preserve it later. Though you may in the luck. My boarder has vanished, does not use the trace, and I have the freedom room. Has not been vacating its spot, therefore you can stay in there, discovers your bearing until you. The world may be this kind of chaotic place! Here, I let you in mine bus general travel by vehicle. Comes and me.

Six Posters In Search of a Thread

Pinteresque!

one egg is un oeuf

EXT day: Outside house. The opening fire, Jimmy and Paulo will enter the house he to live. You can be the human who he new gathers set of apartments, the GREGG face are pressed firmly oppose the exterior window.

INT day: Before house, room. - Paulo and Jimmy enter the small living room. Looks like an alike typical student style house not to regrind from the late 60s the light. Not really ugly, but can do with the paint licks.

Paulo: - and this will be you will be living room -

GREGG will upspring earnestly by them decided. Causes the human to remember has Bai who the Osh-Kosh thick blue cloth work clothes and the cherub resemble Fu the golden hair lock, a GREGG oversized child speaks by scream high level sound

GREGG: Paulo!

Paulo: There good your good Graham!

GREGG: It is Gregg

Paulo: Regret, Gregg. Gregg, I hoped that you meet your new

GREGG: Oh Paulo, it was you that for long passed by finally. We so think of you. This we new gather set of apartments human?

Paulo: Yes, is indeed it is. Jimmy, I hoped that you meet with Ye Limi.

GREGG: Gregg.

- Jimmy stretches out his hand, and their simple seismic motion. Leaves, Jimmy realized that he has the jam stain in his hand. He wipes it in his pants leg.

GREGG: (by special high level sound) Paulo, you whether to pay attention to any mmmm, differently about me?

Paulo: Hmm…Let me look… Whether that is a new hat?

GREGG: That is my hair.

Paulo: Good, good, new thick blue cloth work clothes?

GREGG: .

Paulo: New shoe?

GREGG: .

Paulo: You have in the middle of a these's… ha hangover?

Jimmy: Revises

GREGG: Otherwise!

Martin: (transports with the pipeline from the room corner, he sits the eye to possess by the agglutination to a computer game this time. Martin is ragged, blushes, and the heavy Ulster voice speech) oh the God it is his sound! (he continues his competition)

GREGG: That is good, it is my sound! I obtained it to change!

Paulo: Very good it now is good many. When you first moved, you listened to get up panic-stricken definitely.

Martin: I will say. He sounds the rhinoceros which tries to roar his concrete mixer's export.

Paulo: Jimmy, this is Martin.

Jimmy: Saw that you are very happy, I am Jimmy.

Martin: (satire place, does not have search) it is a pleasure.

Paulo: (to Jimmy) best does not pay attention to him, when he looks like obtains like this. The fragrant hot liquor has the human?

Everybody: Uh, does not need, to thank.

Paulo: The right well I then will leave behind you to give it. Then if you arrange any question to give us the bell.

Jimmy: Right thanks. Oh other thi-

(, but Paulo goes to)

GREGG: He is always making that. You want the sweet snack?

Jimmy: So long as it is not the nut oil slush.

GREGG: (production sweet snack packet). They are the strawberry suffer a relapse.

- GREGG draws out the sweet snack packet, and attempts to feed the sweet snack to use the hand which to him his sticky child resembles. Jimmy for sweet snack withdrawal, and provides the aid packet.

Jimmy: Hmm…Obtained all coffee whereabouts?

GREGG: In building. The wish looks at my collection?

Jimmy: Later… I have the matter which I need first to do. (he longed for that is gazing at his cafetiere, brings about him with him) the only property. In where is canteen Gregg?

Screamed mouse

MC with the coup de grace

They are the strawberry suffer a relapse

my head hurts

Not really ugly, but can do with the paint licks

rof

INT night: Living room. Is evening when there is in a house. Eats the chip, " The auntie " who me is rash; Sees a justice end and Martin in the sofa stretches at the outside. The supreme beauty the stairs, is empty the coffee gets off on underwater where sleeps.

Supreme beauty: Martin I

Martin: Ssshhh!

Supreme beauty: (Half whispering), sensibility be sensibility is. You think what?

Martin: Advertisement.

Supreme beauty: Right I ce_e… Do you listen Gregg from where which sees?

Martin: He will split and probably his sweety collection or silence he is rearranging.

Supreme beauty: Oh-oh!, about it was audible,… Does he collect the sweet thing with realness?

Martin: You in order to disturb all evening me the lye doing or are you are doing in order to leave in order to be me the lye?

Supreme beauty: Positively positively, now just document difference maintain this Thursday of you, tries to think was?

Martin: olh The cow, Gregg it thinks thinks the thing first. It is from there in his toy side.

(The supreme beauty the room sees in different end. There is a toy of some name children whom comes to sprinkle in the ground which he does not pay attention before)

supreme beauty: We is here,… Come from the jam which puts on, one profile covers! where I will read it even is not a possibility.

Martin: It will be Gregg where does like this.

Supreme beauty: I will be how and in order to get a work in case there is not a possibility which i will see the going out one profile goes?

Martin: One? Hah!

Supreme beauty: Don't you work?

Martin: Me with this which does it…

Supreme beauty: With this it?

Martin: It with me will know respects you will find out. To me to leave now is satisfied ALO

- the new advertisement is come to the screen and us the voice which ripens in the ear is audible.

Martin's voice: Do you until now the sense which and becomes fatigued lazily in compliance with you get the work which happens?

Supreme beauty: Martin… But it is your voice! where

- We see the television screen. Martin is added in white background. He walks with the camera and Ulster he continues from the drawl which him is severe.

In television Martin: Respects the remainder of work that place stays, the sense happens in compliance with you with it. In that sense place which is an inconvenience

supreme beauty: It the party new is! where

Martin: (Makes be seen in the eye and) Ummm… Is who is a different person,… He sees like me only.

In television Martin: In order not to be in order for you your colleague you are nearest and most valuable and not to refer undergoes, undergoes.

- Couple which to night is by the bed is quick and burns and this is. The woman happens and disgusted sees in her face at debt with, her nose as for the father is. This cries from the different room and precedes to sound of the baby.

In television Martin: (Continuously) this 1 of you blow, in order to make your this cos where there is not a possibility of only waiting falls and when must get until, you moment works until now and the bus which burns the fact that counts does? (The man burnt in the bus which has his face which comes to tighten in the comfort which faces each other Martin etc. and after that) well I. And your this you about I am speaking in case thinks, knows and (in order to confront camera switch caryopsis Martin goes round it. He puts the trap and he wishes and like big sound from whispering) he continues and the fart which is atrocious he releases, possibly you - comfort to listen are high last after that and side with must listen. (The parcel in compliance with him from his pocket the comfort which creates gets near to be the last when is extreme), but too. I your internal organs (smellin camera fans) and do not want after. The chew Grennie bluff and is different and in order to stop the problem which relates the smell which is not desirable enters everyday in the scratch paper. - Even her husband hugged certainly and with the woman couple which is by the bed which has was different and was quick and burnt.

In television Martin: Offensive odor you where your family comes out your anus consequently guffin place comfort will be able to relax without.

- Advertisement end and we return from the living room. The supreme beauty is applied for an examination, the mouth which is opened in Martin.

Supreme beauty: I I. in television. It he is you tha- Ugh! where How many horrible advertisement!

Martin: Isn't it intelligence? It remarkably, is good and - operates fear selling and buying but. Grennie sales 200% being high and side with went because getting me in the box.

Supreme beauty: You are incorrect and share to seeing on a large scale!

Martin: olh The cow, 2 is grand and in lower part from the road period of life the free chip.

Supreme beauty: 2 is grand? That place ascends but purchases---

Martin: You do not know as how much I will love the chip well. Chip and bean… Me loves the bean! where From time to time, with the chip goes out and I where loves the chip the (thing) will listen like very loved thinks that wears out with the thing. At Christmas in compliance with Pa of 1 hour low price as senile gobshite naming him, a chip which has the Christmas gray expense put on the shoes at the house outside for, so going to Mandy friers, there was. Mmmmm…

Supreme beauty: (Loss slightly, the expenses Christmas which the father of that oneself) you with the family has sadly because of one more I which recover guess.

Martin: Me a thing which will say! Actually, you will make become intoxication in the chip and there is a possibility which you will make get. The (thing) your blood downtown where the chemical product which is in the field calls (self-praise) with releases and puts and me which gets addicted A there is potattium.

Supreme beauty: So, it passes me time well. I at least to attempt and BU sleep and is a cold night do--

Martin: I have and, from Mandy friers which thinks going to the rough bar with the young girl who is big ugly to fight i want and grudge wears out the fact that you safely this, at the time comfort putting in qualitative all from the bed, getting after and in order more the chip to go a little after that the lye. Her but is how much my girl friend she always disguises me who do not know her.

Supreme beauty: Uh - e hyu. You fun it and sees. G' nite.

Martin: `Nite.

- The supreme beauty ascends the light falling stairs and the switch. Martin to put in from darkness falls and releases makes the fart.

Martin: Grennie tablets which are useless -!

Martin: You do not know as how much I will love the chip well. Chip and bean… Me loves the bean! where From time to time, with the chip goes out and I where loves the chip the (thing) will listen like very loved thinks that wears out with the thing. At Christmas in compliance with Pa of 1 hour low price as senile gobshite naming him, a chip which has the Christmas gray expense put on the shoes at the house outside for, so going to Mandy friers, there was. Mmmmm…

AY MAY ZING.

the fart which is atrocious he releases

it's an ilx meme creator!

this 1 of you blow,

INT day: In even Jimmy's beside hall. The camera flat-bottomed pan to puts down in opposite and scrutinizes the even next door the keyhole. HENRI through peeps into Jimmy's flat in a wall hole. KRON, the malicious ghost prepares disgusting meals.

HENRI: Zut alors! Zey ave new gathers set of apartments human!

KRON: Position o' the cat liver comes in exactly in dat.

HENRI: Kron! Looks at zis!

KRON: Not present. Mmm this is disgUSTIN'! Hmmmm… (adopted smells any it is greatly he has prepared) Mmmmm! Has the stink! Oh yeh!

HENRI: C' est deguellasse!

KRON: Shaddap you! You are not this wot `as for eat this. Hmmm…What other could I invest before?

HENRI: What is its you are eating exactement zat?

KRON: It is I has the recipes, wot I 'ave which adapts from me has the grandmother.

HENRI: She taught it to take the baby for you?

KRON: Nah, not so is stupid fackin. I adapted it from position `not. Looked, position `not elbow.

HENRI: (grasps his nose) you are not serious?

KRON: Oh certain. Lovable woman my south. She has handed over a good friend, an sumptuously one meal. Now, wot `we in then `obtains ave?

- KRON opens the refrigerator gate, and draws out the rank, green egg shape

KRON: Aha! An egg! This will do exactly!

HENRI: Two eggs?

KRON: Does not have jus one. H

ENRI: What wiz zem do you make?

KRON: Then, I am smudge its thinkin o to my ol dear scalp, an then puttin it in the sandwich.

HENRI: What, two zem?

KRON: No, jus one. `you from look like your plug' inside ole scrap aven' which discards; t always? My tol leaves my `em you.

HENRI: No, I keep in zere them, am similar to you requested.

KRON: Good. (his tangled warfare to water trough, and continues to unearth old position rice, pea, carrot and internal organs chop suey which has not recognized from receptacle other).

HENRI: What wiz are you then making ze other? KRON: Hm? HENRI: Ze other eggs?

KRON: Not another egg. As soon as I only obtain leave!

HENRI: Oh…Good…

KRON: Now shaddap! I am centralized tryin… Mm we `ave look in this then… (smells food) to exclaim in surprise yeh! (is being in a stew Mmmm absolutely)! Oh, oh, oooh! Oh dat is dirty! Seasoning Hmm… jus dash o mildew…

HENRI: You knew that what many eggs may be are bad is your cholesterol. Whether is with two ze eggs?

KRON: Now listens to my ya French clown! If I `ear word abou my egg I also do compete outside you. vous Comprendez?

HENRI: But you said that zere is only ze egg

KRON: Has an egg!

HENRI: Good zen what `appened to ze other one?

KRON: I… Grrrr! Looked, their `ave sayin you from that “an egg are not United Nations oeuf” place?

HENRI: Is the well exactement, why zo you insists with two eggs, when an egg will be enough for all people?

KRON: Listens to my lih' ul gall nut sub-close friend. Wha I in mine thumb and the index finger (between him `ave impediment egg, it trickle with green muck) am the only egg. e-i Ein. United Nations huevo. A BLEEDIN egg!

HENRI: (he understood probably concept) two eggs, zat fine is.

KRON: Righ' , I have `advertisement enough o this. C' mere! I am the yer waste horse butcher to become the Spanish omelette!

HENRI: (in terror scream)

- we sees Kron, when he has Henri which close one time sweeps in his hand, his canine clenches jaws. The screen goes to the black and our terror scream and blood's sound opposes kitchen lino.

- the screen shines again revealed that lies is unconscious on floor's HENRI. KRON still stood above him has sweeping in his hand. Has the struggle and from the HENRI pants leg, but does not have blood's watery leaking off symbol. Though has in white kitchen kitchen cabinet's green splat.

KRON: Aw looked that now any you cause me to do! I smash my final egg! You say excrement

HENRI! WHA' Is I goes - oh not to have look `another never to mind.

Me loves the bean!
Me loves the bean!
Me loves the bean!
Me loves the bean!
Me loves the bean!

Supreme beauty!!!

Still fucking loving the storm force Alfred Jarry of Father Mother (and Mother Father).

rice, pea, carrot and internal organs chop suey

Is recorded likely in a multiple period volume old VHS magnetic tape's beginning function. Final picture stably in an old BBC trademark. Suitable music use, and blazer's sound hears.

Blazer: The time assembles now on the television, when the Ro aunt visits. Causes the loathing demonstration sextegenarian the alcoholism from outside - classical comedy - my frivolous aunt!

BBC the trademark vanishes gradually, and we go to my frivolous aunt, the scene comedy is being proud the deceit 70s family which is you waits to serve, good life beginning credit.

INT - Terry's family's day music: Plonkerish expansion loudspeaker or organ music# function: The false applause stretches across the living room the camera flat-bottomed pan. All were the decoration in the model the 1970s style. Massive dirty greens, brown and orange furniture and ornament - many ornaments. Very fragile. The non-secured loan inside and outside fades, superimposes in the shakey garish pink and on the decadent lettering screen. Under their reads like: ***** ACORN PRODUCTIONS Limited company COMPANY PLC the gift I frivolous aunt write by Gillian the HORSEBOTTOM Terry's camera decision. He sits the sofa in among this article large brush-written Chinese character writing living room. Music vanishes gradually, the applause terminal enters Zhu Li who looks like to hate

Zhu Li: Terry, he comes back again!

Terry (still looked at paper): Hmm?

Zhu Li: With monocle's that tiger, he again in garden.

Terry fair shrugs Zhu Li for Zhu Li (migration to be far away from Terry's this article): He is eating the cake!

Terry: Oh is?

Zhu Li: Battenburg!

Terry: Regret dear, the look I attempted me to be able all, but he was the tiger! What supposition am I do? And his tea is in any event fearfully good.

- Terry and Zhu Li looked that now the window is going against the fibroin ceremonial hat and a monocle clothing's quite hao Chinese people tiger high sits in the garden table. The tiger wields in their

Zhu Li: Requests him to stop at least dumping his pipe to enter me Indian azalea - possibly you?

Terry: Do not let the dear worry, I will attempt, and chats with him. Destroys him to have his that chair's lawn nearly.

Zhu Li (little gets down calmly): Very good we must remove him by the tonight! I invited in June and Malcolm; Judy and Martin; Julia and Ian and I thought that they the child arrives at - them to be possible in the spare room use, if they obtain tastelessly. I think Briggs's oncoming too, so long as Simon can obtain him “the little question” the reorganization. You invited dear anybody? I need to determine that we have four to take a walk the enough cheese rugby.

Terry: Very good I mentioned it to give Arran recently. He not too possibly misses a good party…

Zhu Li: Arran…That and…?

Terry: … is lame the leg, is. His doctor told him lax or him will walk again.

Zhu Li: How fearful!

Terry: Yes, he is the caper crazy regarding this, I may tell you.

SFX: In top canned laughter.

Zhu Li: Yes, very good invites anyone who you like. So long as you do not let the Ro aunt obtain the wind it.

Terry (looks like guilty): Ummmm, the well I planned that talks with you about tha…

Acoustics: Doorbell ring.

Zhu Li (goes to gate): Is whose possibility? I thought I have written 7:00 on invitation!

Zhu Li opens the gate and is exploding the aunt. She delivers a midair the bottle gin, and everywhere creakies. Canned laughter in turning point.

Aunt: Your good Zhu Li! Your good Terry! Arran told me about the party! He said brings the bottle, therefore I. She adopts drinks to heart's content greatly.

Zhu Li (flurried and tries to leave nearby aunt's wild women's clothing lotus leaf): Oh, makes mistakes…Your good Ro aunt. I am not afraid other people in here.

Aunt: That is good dear, that is good. If you possibly repair my glass of sherries, I will make myself in ho… the oooops English daisy! (in vase's knocking which expensive looked by gate) oh dear I! I was sorry, dear! You must forgive me who you see, I are a little clumsy!

Terry: Why looked that you arrive at the bench, and does not invest you aunt's foot?

Aunt: Do not mind whether I do do dear. (reclines, but sofa, leg and fall in sky regarding her and show off her greatly silly careless mistake's formal clothes, extraordinary expensive family project's travel is taking her flail with land)

Zhu Li (whisper to Terry): Terry! I tell you no longer to invite her the circle!

Terry: We gushed out I to attempt have not been right, but how did you know her

Zhu Li: Do not ask her to leave in the building, that is place all expensive earthenware which retains!

The aunt (is bound from sofa): What is that dear? I am the deaf trivial matters!

- the aunt releases herself from the sofa, but tries to smash the coffee table to and hers leg's piece.

Aunt: Terry dear, I need to use your washroom. In building it? (she raced in the past stair's Terry and Zhu Li. We hear the extraordinary sound)

Zhu Li: Terry! Now makes something about her!

Terry (despairs): Oh my frivolous aunt!

The forced smile sound wave submerges other dialogs and the screening buzz and the switch to another kind of channel.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2008/sep/22/comedy.catherinetate

EXT day: Outside house. The opening fire, Jimmy and Paulo will enter the house he to live. You can be the human who he new gathers set of apartments, the GREGG face are pressed firmly oppose the exterior window.

INT day: Before house, room. - Paulo and Jimmy enter the small living room. Looks like an alike typical student style house not to regrind from the late 60s the light. Not really ugly, but can do with the paint licks.

Paulo: - and this will be you will be living room -

(Paulo steps on a landmine that is curiously placed on the living room floor and explodes, with brain matter landing on the walls)

ROLL CREDITS

Mods, can we actually delete this thread? Not my finest moment by any stretch and it's ancient history now.

(tbh I don't think you came off badly itt at all).

also regardless of the mod's reply, know that Three Word Username is lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce

SQUIRREL : im on fuckin pills and coke innit you fuckin slag. Naaaaaah shit bitch i just saw you chasing that elephant around trying suck it's dick. that were well mint. do you wanna let me stick me furry tail in yer arse cranny for a bit of a sexy laugh?