Gentle reader, whilst it is true to say that we previously left our hero feverishly awaking to the analysis of the animated corpse of Sigmund Freud, we now retain

the world in which the pantomime closed (or was closed by the furnace) and the characters dispersed. Following her encounter with Venomous Snake Johnson, Yolanda of course required medical attention and thus was briskly driven (by paramedic Johnson) to the nearby hospital…




Scene: A hospital ward. White coated staff are milling about, 75 percent are human, the remainder are Johnsons.

Morris, arrayed in his shabby wizardly finery, wanders jauntily into the High Dependancy Ward. Yolanda lies strapped into a bed, twitching and muttering to herself in unknown tongues, her eyes are like two cranberries floating in strawberry milk. Breezily Morris plants himself in an orange plastic chair by her bed. Somewhere downstairs a bell is clanging stridently. With a flourish he produces a bouquet from within his robes.

Morris:                        “Here you go my little wagon wheel, flowers!”

Upon closer inspection, the floral offering seems to be somewhat scorched, blistered and blackened cellophane curling away from charred, wilting petals. Unperturbed by Yolanda’s lack of reaction, he places a bottle of Lucozade on her bedside table, its exterior coated with a sweet smelling greasy soot. He raises his eyebrows and begins to speak in a dry tone.

Morris:                        “Do you know ladies and gentlemen a funny thing happened to me on the way to the hospital today. I popped into the garage for some flowers, chocolates, wagon wheels and lucozade and who should be there but our my old friend captain Johnson. ‘Evening captain’ says I. But he’s having none of it, something about fish and ships. Very well I say.  I will burn you to death, and do you know that’s just what I did. Sadly it has somewhat ruined the quality of the goods I acquired as you can see” Mysterious canned laughter emits from nowhere “you’ll like this my sweet” produces a cauliflower “vegetable dear? Oh I see you already are one!” The same strange laughter. Other officials begin to notice and glance across.”And don’t you worry about that Venomous Snake Johnson, I’ve had him completely retrained. Anyway dear, it must be time for your medication.” Enter Dr Venomous Snake Johnson, mugging comedically with an enormous prop syringe. Phantom audience howl with merriment. “Now my little fruit pastille, don’t be alarmed, he’s only going to change your dressing.” Dr VS Johnson hoses the recumbent Yolanda with the contents of the syringe. Morris wipes a finger across her brow, then tastes it. “You idiot Johnson, this is Thousand Island, I prescribed Vinaigrette!”

VS Johnson:     “Mwaaerk?!” Looks non-plussed.

Morris:               “I said, describe ‘vinagrette’ in under 10 seconds”

VS Johnson:     “Mwaaaerk?”

Morris:            “Sorry I can’t accept that which means I can hand it over for bonus points, Miss can you describe a ‘winning bet’ in the remaining time” holds a curious half cauliflower half microphone to her lips, she rasps some guttural noise “No can’t make head nor tail of that my petal, judge Bikle can you do better?

The evil action figure sits at the end of the bed

Judge Bikle:     “Ballow be of course, it’s a widding bet dat by tool…”

Morris:            “And we’re out of time congratulations Yolanda you have won a trip to France, now where is the rest of that salad?”

It changes to Yolanda’s mind where she sees herself as a giant cucumber covered in vinagrette, Morris towers above with a knife and other Johnsons gather around her dressed as other salad vegetables.Dreamily she lets her hands be taken by Spring Onion Johnson and Peppered Beetroot Johnson, who lead her gently from the shadow of giant Morris. Together they wander through peaceful fields of cress and wild rocket. Eventually they all sit down on sun warmed flat rocks by a deep, dark pool fed by crystal freshets. Spring Onion Johnson produces a small flute upon which he tootles simple pastoral melodies. Peppered Beetroot Johnson is busy folding a sheet of newspaper. Eventually he produces a small origami boat which he hands to Yolanda with a quiet smile. Leaning forward she launches it onto the glassy surface of the pool, and watches as it scuds merrily about at the behest of the warm breeze.

Yolanda:          “I like it here.”

Both Johnsons nod, waving at Balsmamic Johnson as he runs past with his kite.Back in the exterior world, Morris is growing impatient.

Morris:                        “I SAID WHERE IS THE REST OF MY SALAD?”

VS Johnson looks round nervously.

VS Johnson:            “Mwaaerk?”

Morris:                        “SALAD SALAD SALAD SALAD SALAD.” Chants Morris, jumping up and down and punching the air. “SALAD SALAD SALAD SALAD.”

No sooner has he said this than a strange wheeled cart appears pushed by two familiar gangly figures.

Bikle:               “Sombwod say salad?, well we if we don’t have de best salad bar in de business by dame isn’t hupla Johnson!”

Buckle:            “Ber but Bikle your dame is Buckle!”

Bikle:               “Do you ditwit bi’m Bikle you’re Buckle!

Buckle:            “Barvellous am I? Ho I thought there’s be cheese!”

Bikle:               “Well do you Dow what Buckle? There is! Frole!” A rare moment happens in which Bikle produces cheese with a flourish “like bi said you can get it all in a salad bar atatatata!, dow sir what will it be?” They comedically wrap a napkjn round Morris’ neck and pull him up on a stool at the salad bar “large salad bap sir o o o! Pickle with dat? Ho ho its Bikle bactually!”

Buckle             (chiming in)”don’t forget de cheese Borris?”

Morris looks confused, then somewhat excited.

Morris:            “Hmm maybe a salad roll is just what the doctor ordered, eh judge Bikle?”

Judge Bikle:     “Side be up for two!” replies the manikin.

Morris:              “So with that in mind, Dr VS Johnson will have a large salad roll with extra cheese!”

BBB                    “Ho we thought there’d be cheese!” pipe up Judge Bikle, Bikle and Buckle in a chorus. Buckle hands the roll over but DR VS Johnson is not pleased.

Johnson:        “Mwaaaerk!”

Morris:             “No Johnson it is not a baked potato!” He takes a beaky bite, before spitting it out over Judge Bikle.

Judge Bikle:    “Hey bind dat bor bi’ll have you arrested!”

Bikle:                “Dapkin sir?” interrupting helpfully, “just a little wipe around de beak, dere we are all clean!”

Judge Bikle:     “What about be?!” shouts the judicial doll,

Bikle:                “Berr yes a little wipe for you too sir” Bikle looks somewhat perturbed at wiping the figure but does so anyway.

Morris:            “Johnson that’s disgusting and ungrateful, I’m demoting you to veggie sausage Johnson, now grab a costume and beat it!”

Johnson does not comprehend properly and grabs a nearby doctor inside his ‘costume’ (doctor’s coat) and begins beating him with a bedpan. Buckle looks excited

Buckle:            “Ho look Bikle, drubbing, let be do drubbing, ho can I?”

Bikle:               “Hov course Buckle, let de drubbing cobbence!”

Buckle starts to beat an incomprehensible irrhythmia  on various pots and pans, “

Morris:              What is going on here?” says Morris between mouthfuls of tuna salad roll, spitting bits out as he does

Judge Bikle:    “Bi don’t dow, but bi think bi like it! Let’s rock!” and the evil action doll begins to cavort on Yolanda’s bed in an unseemly manner.

Morris:               “Bit too fucking beatnik for my tastes your honour, but if it keeps ’em happy… Not you Johnson, you’re in me bad books as it is. Is this what I pay your celery for?” He looks round waiting for the laugh track to kick in. “Celery? Pun innit? Play on words like. There was a salad thing going on a minute ago. Remember? Salad?”

Nobody responds, the impromptu jam session is in full swing. One of the other medical Johnsons has improvised a tuba from a funnel and a length of surgical tubing. Judge Bikle has located a patient in an adjacent bed whose leg is in traction, and is enthusiastically plucking the wires in a string bass fashion.

Judge Bikle:     “Ho! I cobband you to dadce, id de dame of de law!”

A dangerous gleam can be seen in Morris’ eyes as he rolls himself a cigarette.The lights begin to dim and more Johnsons and patients can be seen milling around and dancing variously. Drug dealing Johnson moves in on the scene peddling different wares. The two Bikle’s and Buckle continue to create strange powerfully beating music with the aid of others.

Inside Yolanda’s mind she stares peacefully across the lake, filled with inner calm. The lake seems somehow wider than before now such the edge stretches on in both directions. The other side cannot be seen as if it were a wide sea. Still the weather is nice and all still seems well. Or does it? A curious mist starts to form on the erstwhile pools now enormous horizon, swelling rapidly. Its gossamer being masses and approaches the meadow with seeming alacrity. Within a rhythm can be heard and a curious chant? Words can definitely be heard. The Johnson’s look perturbed and suggest they should leave but the dream restrains her and she must watch on. At length the mist reaches near the bank and now repeating phrases can be heard at intervals over drumming

Judge Bikle:     “Whed I feel de busic take by feet I say dance Johnson dance” interspersed with the mc like sound bites like  “siledce id court, dot on de dance floor,” “ged funky or you’re going down, froo fritcha, froo fritcha,who’s de fritcha ? You de fritcha!”

Horrified she stares on as what looks like a bed shaped boat begins to land….Looking round, she seeks comfort from the Salad Johnsons. To her horror she sees that Spring Onion Johnson has slumped back against his rock, his flute fallen from his nerveless appendages. As she watches, all expression fades from his face as the radiant sunlight begins to turn to gloom. Dark crimson trickles from his eyes as he vainly attempts to take her hand to reassure her, the rivulets of blood turning his feathers a hideous carmine in the sun’s dying rays. From her left comes a despairing gutteral rattle. Swinging round she sees that Peppered Beetroot Johnson is already little more than a carcass, his skin stretched drum tight over his recumbent bones, a last few feathers clinging to cartilage fluttering in the sudden icy wind. The oncoming disco bed/barge crushes his delicate paper yacht beneath its iniquitous prow. As her consciousness fades with the last gleams of the sun, she sees Balsamic Johnson drift past hanging limply from the string of his gaily coloured kite, his lifeless form silhouetted against the rude garish beams of the strobe lights. Her last impression is one of the pulsing bass.

Yet somehow in the mysterious fading the bass persists. She becomes dimly aware that the sense of fading is an emerging. A certain corporeality seems upon her, yet the hideous din persists. Her eyes flutter slowly open to reveal a ghastly twilight world around her. Images flicker and begin to assert themselves. The ghastly twilight is a nightclub like infrared world through which the noise resonates. Figures move around, some walking, some dancing. Johnsons? Sickly looking folk? What is this place? She realizes she is lying in a bed, to the left of which is a curtain attached to some sort of frame, it runs to the end of the bed after which the spectacle is laid bare. Looking to her right she can make out a seated figure, crooked pointed hat balanced on his head, his left hand drums with the rhythm on the small table top that is attached over the bed.

Yolanda:          “Morris?” she says feebly, then realising he can hear nothing above the cacophony, she tugs at his hand. Instantly he turns to her and is just audible. He leans closely over her and shouts unpleasantly.

Morris:            “Hello my little isotope, glad to see you’re awake and just in time, the party’s in full swing!” he swigs from a pint of something.

Yolanda:          “What is going on Morris?”

Morris:            “You’re in hospital dear, that’s MC Judge Bikle over in the nurses station on the tannoy and some of the other nuisances are making the racket, I rather like it.”

Yolanda:          “Morris this is horrible, get me out of here, I want to go home!”

Morris:            “Do not be such a piker Yolanda, snuggle up and settle down, why don’t you have a drink, look I got you one from mobile bar Johnson!”

He presents her with a cloudy looking pint. She sits up.

Yolanda:          “I don’t feel well Morris, oh and I was having such a lovely dream, what drink is it anyway?”

Morris:            “Ho ho ho, can’t you guess my dear? We’ve all been waiting to get to this moment…”

A pause in the music in anticipatory silence, Morris coughs to clear his throat.

Morris:            “It’s snakebite of course!”

The music stops, the Johnsons, the patients , the various Biklesque creatures all fall about laughing and everything goes pitch black…

Published in: on January 27, 2015 at 12:26 pm  Leave a Comment  

Cleopatra and the Beanstalk

A Pantomime.

Morris: “Bikle, you’re Jack, that turkey bastard is widow Clancy, Yolanda you’re Cleopatra and here comes venomous snake Johnson to bite your head off! Ho ho just my little joke, put the cleavers down Johnson. Johnson you can be the cow… I will be William Blake…And Buckle can be Swedenborg!”
Cast look at each other uncomprehendingly with the exception of Buckle who looks excited.
Yolanda: snaps at him, “Not now Buckle. Anyway, you are thinking of Emmenthal.” she shakes her head. “For god’s sake Morris, what are you talking about now? Nobody is going to come and see this nonsense!”
Morris: “That is where you are wrong my little chinchilla, it will be a capacity crowd! In fact it already is. Look! And every one of them an orphan, expecting a festive treat! One false move and I will burn them to death. I mean it will ruin their little Christmases. The scene is set by Swedenbourg’s vision; I had better help out here, mime the words goofy!”
Buckle opens and closes his mouth out of sync with Morris voice.
Swedenborg: “In the season of Christ and dread Mithras I beheld a vision of terrifying splendour. A queen dark of wondrous beauty reigned in a kingdom high near the firmament. A chorus of angels and devils wept to gain but a glimpse and Apollo himself would grant her any boon. I saw this queen fall and die, destroyed by a venomous beast or at least something in
the guise of one. Man’s interference brought this about and you shall witness this woe tonight, Look!”
Morris, now clad in some kind of hokey cod aegyptian get up strikes a dramatic pose, then suddenly bored rolls a cigarette and stares at the assemblage.
Morris: “Well get on with it then.”
Bikle looks around, clearly distressed. The rest of the cast stare at Morris. Bikle starts sidling towards the wings.
Morris (Booming) :”LET THE SHOW COMMENCE!”
There is a rumble as of thunder, stage lightning flashes, and a phalanx of Johnsons march onstage from stage left to the accompaniment of a bank of booming tympani drums and the brazen blaring of trumpets, magnificently arrayed as ancient aegyptian soldiers. Simultaneously, enter Simon stage right, dressed as comedic widow with ostensibly hilarious bloomers, which he displays as he peers around the auditorium.
Simon: “Ho h’excuse be boys and h’girls! Has adybody seen my h’daughty h’son h’Jack?”
The spotlight mercilessly picks out Bikle as he edges towards the curtains, and the cry surges from a thousand urchin throats:
Audience: “HE’S BEHIND YOU!”
Morris peers disapprovingly and launches the charred skull of a newsagent across towards Simon. A well-aimed blow cracks him on the side of the head and his ear begins to bleed profusely as he is knocked to the floor.
Audience: “Huzzah!”
Morris: “Where is that Turkey bastard, that was his line?”
The Turkey can be seen in the front row, with popcorn and a drink peering interestedly on at the proceedings
Clancy: “Really!? Blblblbp! Disgraceful act! Boo!”
Morris views this with a scowl
Morris: “Get up here this instant you Turkey bastard!”
And with a click of his fingers Clancy is standing in the bloody pool from Simon’s ear, as he lies there groaning.
Morris: “Remove the trousers and put them on now!” Morris booms.
With a much reluctant whisk, the cheerful trousers are in Clancy’s hands, they have a large bloody stain down one side.
Clancy: With disgust “Really, blblblbp, not my colour, where’s the wig” soon apart from the stain the Turkey looks quite the part. “blblblblp now who has seen my naughty son Jack?”
Bikle in the meantime would have escaped were it not for strong armed Johnson who having arrested his escape, upon this utterance flings him back onto the stage
Bikle: “Bohhhhh!” He lies in a heap for moment
Clancy: “Blblblblp I can’t hear you boys and girls!”
Morris: “What the devil do you mean you can’t hear them? There are hundreds of them yelling at the top of their voices. This pantomime will never get anywhere if we have to repeat everything all the time. They clearly stated that he is behind you. Are you bloody deaf woman?”
Clancy: “Blblplplp! No way to speak to a poor h’widow. I mean widow. If only my naughty son Jack was here to defend be. Blplpbp!”
Morris forcefully hand gestures that Clancy should perceive ‘Jack’. Bikle is sat down looking hard done by
Clancy: “Blblblblp, there you are Jack, woe is us blblblbllp, we have no money, and we’ve nothing to eat blblblblp, its ages since mummy had a hot sausage blblblblp! Really!”
A bowling ball strikes Clancy in the ankle
Morris: “Keep it clean you turkey bastard!”
Clancy: “Ow! Blblblblp we’ll have to sell Emmenthal the cow, Emmenthal where are you?”
Swedenborg’s ears prick up…
Enter a pantomime cow from both sides
P&P: “Uhuhuhuh allow us to be Emmenthal, Uhuhuhuh We mean moooo”
Says one whilst the other emits a noise more like “mwooaaaerk!”
Clancy: “Blpblblp! Two cows? Maybe we’ll get double cream eh Jack?”
The audience roars. Morris scowls, and ushers Friesian Johnson back to the wings.
Clancy: “Blpblp! Come on dow Jack, look lively. That cow is not going to sell itself. Off we go. Quickly now. Mummy needs her housekeeping!”
Strongarm Johnson propels Bikle across the stage and Emmenthal dutifully trots along behind him. The pyramid scenery is hoisted away and replaced by that of a rural marketplace. Bikle trudges forlornly onwards.
Bikle: “Ho God. Go on then. Does h’anyone want to buy dis cow?”
A man, who looks suspiciously like a shorter, stouter Morris, clad in a grey suit and a sheepskin coat approaches him with an ingratiating air.
Mr Cutler: “Ooh ee. Cow for sale is it? Bit shabby eh? Want to get shot of it sharpish eh? Quick sale? Tell you what, you’ve come to the right place, Dennis Cutler’s yer man.”
P&P: “Uhuhuhuh allow us to sell you this cow”
Says the cow. The audience laugh but Morris doesn’t find it funny. He sends strongarm Johnson to nonchalantly walk behind the characters as if a peasant; as he passes the cow he delivers a sharp blow to the head, half the cow collapses but the cow continues to speak.
P: “Uhuhuhuh get up Pete what’s going on?”
Strong arm walks back the way he came and the job is complete.
Mr Cutler: “Ooh eee errr… Bit of a lazy cow isn’t she?”
Bikle: with a sudden enthusiastic air “Dat’s do way to talk about by bother”.
Friesian Johnson: Sticking his head into the stage “Mwooaerk?” Not sure if he’s needed.
Morris: shouting “No Johnson, its ok ”
But Johnson doesn’t understand and trots over to Morris across the stage which infuriates him immensely. Morris has himself spotlighted and makes a brief speech
Morris: “Allow me to interrupt this transaction by interjecting an historical note. The Aegyptian climate was notoriously hard upon quadrupeds of the bovine variety, hence the lovely Cleopatra being forced to perform her ablutions in asses milk. The voracious Nile Crocodile was another hazard that lay in wait for unwary cattle that strayed into places they were not meant to go.”
He nods, the scenery lighting returns, and Hastily Disguised as a Nile Crocodile Johnson erupts from a clump of reeds and drops Friesian Johnson with a vicious right hook before dragging him offstage.
Mr Cutler: “Ooh weeeh. As I was saying, not much of a cow that is it? Appears to be bleeding quite a lot too. Not much of a market for them in this neck of the woods. It’s the crocodiles see? Tell you what, I’ll take it off your hands for whatever you’ve got on you.”
Bikle: “Be pay you? But this is by last fiver! And I’b supposed to take Clancy, I bean bother some beads!”
Mr Cutler: “Beans is it? Tell you what, I’ll throw in a few of these beans for the sake of narrative continuity, call it 5 quid, your cow and your shoes.”
Bikle: “By shoes?! By don’t think so.”
Mr Cutler: “Ooh haggling is it, right you are I’ll throw in your cloak and your Mam’s bloomers” whisk
Clancy: “Blblblblp by bloomers!”
Mr Cutler: Audience laugh “Ohh, worried about your bloomers are you missis? Tell you what, got a nice pair here. Only a tenner.”
Clancy: “Reeeaally! Blpblblp! Very well, just to protect by h’digdity! Take the money!”
Snatching the garment Clancy struggles into them hurriedly, managing at one point to get both drumsticks stuck in the same hole. Fuming, he hops away towards the wings,
Clancy: “Blpblblp! Hurry up with the money Jack! Mummy’s going to have a little lie down.”
Cutler casts an appraising eye over Bikle, who, now sans cloak is revealed to be wearing knee breeches and a stained t shirt bearing the logo of a long defunct software manufacturer.
Mr Cutler: “Yes? Can I help you there sonny?”
Bikle: “H’what? By beans!”
Mr Cutler: “Oh, want beans do you? That’ll cost you.”
Bikle: “But I’ve gived you by cow, by boney, by shoes and by cloak! I want by beads!”
Mr Cutler: “Well you’re not getting them are yer? Not unless you do us a sand dance.”
The music begins and Cutler starts the jaunty number ‘dance monkey dance'”
Mr Cutler: Singing “I may be a ruthless tinker, I may sometimes look askance, but when I see a fella with a stain bright yella, I say dance monkey dance,’ half talking half singing
‘I may be a dashing salesman, I may be as sharp as a lance, but when I see a juggins I don’t call him muggins, I say dance monkey dance.
What do reckon boys and girls do you want to see Jack dance?”
Audience: “Yaaaaay!”
Bikle: “Oh by god I’ dot dancing and dats dat!”
Mr Cutler: “Is that right sonny? Do you think he’ll dance for this boys and girls?” Produces a large whip
Bikle: “Ho by god” CRACK! ” Christ you’re bental oww!” Leaps around CRACK! CRACK!
Mr Cutler: “I may be a friendly merchant, I may take a trip to France, but if he gives me the pip I’ll get out my whip and what will I say boys and girls?!”
Audience: “Dance monkey dance!”
Mr Cutler: “I can’t hear you?!” CRACK CRACK
Audience: “Dance monkey dance!”
Mr Cutler: “That’s right! I’ll say dance monkeeyyy daaaaaaance!” stretches the last note out to a big finish Cracks the whip one Las time as Bikle leaps once more
Mr Cutler: “Now there’s y beans sonny! Bye boys and girls!”
Hurls the beans and fucks off hands in pockets. With clear whip marks Bikle picks up the beans.
Bikle: “Mummy I got de beads” he exits stage left and the scene is rearranged to Jack s house with the Turkey doing the dishes
Clancy: “Blblblbllp tum te tum I do like working up a lather with a rubber glove on blblblblp! Oh hello there boys and girls! Why here’s by son Jack everybody! He’s been to sell our cow and bring home some money so we can buy some food and get off the h’emergency h’credit! Blplblp! How much did you get?” Bikle extends his hand.
Bikle: “Look! Magic beads!”
All at once Widow Clancy seems to shrink in on herself, she looks haggard and worn down by care and drudgery.
Clancy: “Magic beans? Magic beans?”
Hanging her head over the sink she begins to sob brokenheartedly.
Clancy: “Magic beans! And I did SO want to taste real tea once more before I died. When I was young, we used to have SUCH nice things…” Overcome she continues to weep. “God knows I try
so hard. And, and you bring me magic beans!” She straightens and wipes her eyes on her apron. “I just don’t know what ever shall become of us. It’ll be the workhouse for me, and a cold pauper’s grave. I’m just so glad that your poor dear father didn’t live to see what a failure you’ve become. Now there was a real man! Blplblblp! So vigorous, virile…”
Clancy’s eyes have a fond, misty faraway look; he leans back against the stove and stretches luxuriantly, smoothing down her petticoats with a rhythmic, caressing motion.
Clancy: “Oh yes, when that man kissed you, you stayed kissed. And when he would grab you, with those strong, rough hands, and pull you in close… You knew that you were a woman, oh yes.”
Bikle: Looking nauseated and breaks in on the Turkey’s erotic reverie. “Berrr, yes well dat’s very dice of course, but what about these beads?”
With a contemptuous toss of her artificial curls Clancy dashes them from his hands, sending them flying out of the cottage window.
Clancy: “Oh as if I gave a fig for your damned beans! Now off to bed with you! Blpblplp!”
Flourishing her broom, she chases him offstage and the curtain descends for the interval. Enter Simon with a bandage on his ear
Simon: “Ho h’intermission, h’ice creams h’anyone? How about you sir?”
To Morris in a chair near the edge of the stage, staring into space.
Morris: “What eh? Hmm any funny feet? Oh ho ho I see you have!” changes Simons feet to ice cream feet
Simon: “Hohhhh!” Slips over “Any lucky children want to come down for ice cream?”
Two urchins approach the area
Morris: “Tuck in kiddies!”
They eat Simon’s ice cream feet.
Simon: “Ho get off me h’you two!”
But they don’t, and Simon drags himself away feet oozing strawberry sauce.
Morris Claps his hands “Enough! Get on with this drivel!”
The stage relights with a rather phallic looking beanstalk in the set. Jack is just waking.
Bikle: “Oh by god, look at de size of dat?! Bother! Bother! Wake up, see what’s happened!”
But mummy is snoring asleep
Bikle: “Huh worthless failure eh? Bi’ll show her, I’ll climb dis beanstalk and see where it goes. Dow I dod’t dow where dis beadstalk goes, so I better be prepared eh boys and girls? Here’s by spare cloak in case it gets chilly, band I’ll pop a bit of kedgeree id dis pot id case I’b dot back id tibe for lunch. Dow, let’s get od with dis badventure!”
He creeps quietly out of the house past where Widow Clancy is sprawled snoring like a carthorse amongst a litter of empty bottles of Bulgarian Cabernet Sauvignon. Staring up at the mysterious growth Bikle is impressed and pauses for reverie.
Bikle: “By by children, dat is rather large isd’t it? Id fact bit albost rebinds be of something…”
He is interrupted by something that looks like a coconut bouncing off the back of his head.
Morris: offstage: “Ram a sock in it Gaylord, and get up that tree before I lose me temper.”
The coconut appears to sprout legs, and skitters away chittering. Bikle shrugs and begins to awkwardly climb the beanstalk. Fortunately for him, the giant plant has grown in such a fashion that it can be climbed in much the same manner as one would ascend a common ladder. Even so the sight of him huffing and puffing his way up the stem, his scrawny limbs wrapped around it brings a wave of laughter from the audience. One particularly witty urchin shouts
Urchin: “I’m only a poor old orphan, what ain’t no good at rhyme, but when I sees a sight like that, I shouts…” “CLIMB, MONKEY CLIMB!”
The audience laugh and squeal, but Morris is not happy.
Morris: “Stop!” Shouts “Who said that?” Silence “I said who said that?”
The urchin raises his hand.
Morris: “Johnson!”
Johnson retrieves the child and brings him to the stage
Morris: “Do you know what you have done sonny?”
Urchin: “Errr no mister, what?”
Morris: “What has he done ladies and gents?” Silence “You have transgressed the unwritten law!!!”
The stage looks dark and menacing Bikle clings on above
Morris: “You have two options, will you a) sign a three year contract with IBM? Or b) roll the wagon wheel of fate or c) open the box?”
Yolanda looks on from the wings horrified and despairing, gesturing that he should take a tablet, he pays no heed.
Morris: “What will it be sonny?”
The child has no idea what is going on but understands the words ‘wagon wheel’
Urchin: “Wagon wheel mista!”
To everyone’s relief Morris produces a wagon wheel.
Morris: “Ho ho there you go sonny, now be of with you before I burn you to death! Johnson one more peep out of this ‘un and activate the under seat incinerator!”
The audience clap as the urchin returns to his seat.
Bikle: From above “Can I ged on with it Dow Borris?”
Morris: “But of course Climb! Monkey! Climb!”
The audience laugh but there is a burst of flame from somewhere in the stalls and some screaming. Bikle ascends the beanstalk and the set changes again. A sinister grey misty region is unnervingly portrayed on the set. Strange shapes flit behind Bikle
Bikle: “Yikes! Dis place gives be de willies! Eh boys and girls? Ho what’s dat over dere, it looks like a castle?”
The mist swirls and twists, reflecting the cold moonlight. Away in the distance an eerie howl echoes back from the crags. Bikle pulls his cloak closer around his bony shoulders and sets off towards the castle. A bitterly cold rain begins to fall, the wind driving the drops into his face like icy needles. After what seems like an age he approaches the looming keep across a dilapidated wooden bridge. With hands chilled to the bone, he raises the curiously wrought knocker and lets it fall against the weathered nail studded door. A mournful thud echoes through the night. After an age the door swings open with a sepulchral groan. A grand hall, dimly lit by guttering candles lies in front of him. Smashed bottles lie everywhere. Tattered tapestry hangings flutter in the icy breeze. The air is heavy with dust and a pervasive scent of onions. Shivering, Bikle steps hesitantly forward. Instantly the door slams shut behind him with a note of finality. The gust of air causes the candles to
flare up briefly, revealing a central passageway leading off the hall, flanked by two cobwebbed staircases.
Bikle: “Berrr, hello? Adybody hobe?”
The only answer is a mocking echo… “Body hobe, hobe, hobe, hobe…” He walks into the centre of the great hall, staring into the gloom, searching for any sign of life. He feels something brush his shoulder. Whirling, he comes face to face with Ancient Retainer Johnson, who motions him to silence. Johnson opens his beak, but instead of the expected feeble”Mwaeerk”, Morris’ unmistakeable voice booms forth.
Johnson(Morris): “Welcome traveller, to the gaudy palace of Mark Anthony, greatest of Caesar’s generals! Now, will you take A, the left hand staircase, B, the central passage, or C, the right hand staircase?”
Bikle: “Beer Bi’ll take de central passage eh boys and girls! Owww!”
The same coconut projectile strikes him on the side of the
Morris: “This is a fucking kiddies show Mickey Mouse, less of the filth, last warning savvy?”
Bikle: “Yes yes balright, so what’s up dis passage den?”
As we walks up the passage Morris begins to drone
Morris: ” As you begin to step up your chosen path a feeling of terror grips you, the paintings on the walls come alive and seem to grab you, ”
Pauses as disguised as an old painting Johnson grapples with Bikle, some others in jump suits join in.
Morris: “The ancestors of this ancient abode take you down below to the cells in where your fate will be decided.”
The curtain goes down, then comes up to the scene of a ridiculously dressed man with a knee length gaudy toga.
Comte de B.: “Eh eh what’s zat?”
He says seems to be saying to someone off the side of the stage, then seems to acknowledge what’s going on
Comte de B.: “Ah good evening ladies an gennlmen allow me to introduce ma self. I am Mark Anthony de Bersierneaux and zis is ma castle. Now boys and girls I’ve just ‘erd zat mon guards ‘ave caught someone trying to break in, ‘owever I ave another problem to attend to at the moment, apparently there is a ghost around ere and I am quite sheeting ma owwww!”
Morris: “Fucks sake can’t you monkeys keep it clean!”
Coco has bitten Alphonso’s leg badly
Comte de B.: “Ah Jesus Christ! Ow! So if anyone sees a ghost will you let me know boys and girls?”
On cue, a sinister white figure appears from a tall cupboard and gestures in a threatening manner. Delighted, the audience roar as one:
Audience: “HE’S BEHIND YOU!”
As Marcus Alphonso whirls round, the spectre nimbly jumps back into the cupboard, only to reappear just as promptly when he turns back to face Bikle, who has inexplicably appeared.
Comte de B: “Ah, no ‘e eeesn’t!”
Audience: “OH YES HE IS!”
The cupboard business is repeated,
Comte de B.: “Ah no, no ‘e eeesn’t!”
The urchins bellow back that assuredly he is. Rattled, the Comte shouts back.
Comte: “No ‘e fucking eeesn’t! Zere’s nossing zere you leetle fuckairs!”
This time Coco goes for the throat. In the ensuing confusion the ghost picks up an empty Bersierneaux bottle, weighs it thoughtfully, then brings it down on Alphonso’s head. With Coco still worrying at his throat, the Comte goes down like a polled ox. At this moment Bikle is hurled (by Johnson no doubt) into the stage from the wings. The ghost immediately grabs Bikle’s arm and rushes him down a passageway.
Bikle: “Ho dow! Wait a bobent!”
Ghost: “Zere ees no time to wait M’sieur! Zat fuckair Alphonso ‘as gone, ow you say?”
The ghost, who in the brighter light of the corridor is clearly a man dressed in a tattered bed sheet, pauses to listen to the shrill screams coming from the room behind the door and continues carefully,
Ghost: “Fleepeeeng batsh… errr, batpoo? Crackairs. Mental. Anyway ‘opefully ‘is adventure ends ‘ere. Now quickly M’sieur! In ‘ere!”
Like lightning he whisks the bewildered Bikle through another doorway into a dank, low ceilinged structure, redolent of bruised allia. Despite still being clad in his ragged sheet, and smoking a very thin rolled up cigarette, his manner is strangely impressive as he announces in a tone laden with awe,
Ghost (Leonard): “Ze Onion Press Room!”
The orchestra strikes up once more
Leonard: “So you see m’sieur, what is right ere, is a place of ancient fable, and in this this gloom you will meet your doom, Yes! Down in the onion press room!”
Reaches for him suddenly and maniacally
Bikle: “Cripes another dutter! Relp ged be out of here!”
Leonard: “Zere is no where to flee, m’sieur can’t you see, you can run as best as you are abl’ but you’ll be just a mess when I ‘ave you in the press, Yes, down in the onion press room!” Catches Bikle by the cloak, ” what you you rackon enfants, shall I press ‘im? ” points to a dark strangely familiar looking pressing device.
Audience “Yaaaay!” Screaming the children.
Bikle looks out and for a second fancies he sees not children but hundreds of screaming demons
Bikle: “Ho by god, wake be up I bust be dreebig!”
Leonard is dragging him to the device.
Leonard : “So you’ll be jus’ fine, as a drink, like wine, but made of an alium root, but I won’t press l’onions, I’ll press your, errr, bunions, Down! Come ere fuckair! down in ze onion press room!”
Is about to push him into the device when there is a female voice from off stage
Cleopatra: “What are you doing down there Leonard? Have you see Marcus? Come up here at once!!!”
Leonard: “bah! You’ll have to wait Jacque! I’ll deal with you later!”
Locks the room and leaves. Bikle is left alone in the onion press room…
Bikle: “Ho god. Dow I’ll dever find any treasure. Left to stew id by owd juice id a dudgeod, waitig to be bangled by a Fredch ghost. Bother was right. I’b a failure!”
Slumped in despair, his despondent gaze falls on a small oubliette.
Bikle: “Do, it’s hopeless. I’d deed to be tiny to fit through dere. Wait a bobent! Bi’ve had an idea!”
Jumping to his feet he rummages in his breeches, pulls out a scrap of paper and a stub of crayon. Quickly scribbling something, he starts shouting.
Bikle: “Bearded Clab! Pissflaps! Bagidal bucous!”
Right on cue a small spherical shape hurtles towards him, but Bikle is ready for him and he deftly catches the familiar.
Bikle: “Wait a binute Coco! Your bunkle Jack deeds a favour. Take dis dote and fetch help, and Bi’ll give you dis h’valuable h’odiod!”
Coco appears to consider the deal, then snatches paper and onion and disappears through the oubliette. Bikle looks smug and settles down to await rescue. Time passes, represented by Symbolic Johnson tearing pages off from a calendar. The door to the Onion Press Room is thrown open and a familiar figure enters.
Buckle: “Ball right dere Bikle! Bi got your dote ad cabe as quiqly as I could.” He walks in slamming the door behind him. “Dow what’s der probleb?”
Bikle: “Buckle! The door! You brass bound ditwit!”
Buckle: Looking downcast. “Ho. I thought you’d be pleased!”
Bikle: “But dow we’re both locked in, and we’ll both end up getting bangled!”
Buckle: “Boh, dod’t worry about dat. Bi’m sure that Leodard will b’unlock the door id a bobent. Bi saw hib headig dis way just dow.”
Bikle: “Ho Jesus fucking Christ!”
There is a growling noise at his feet, Bikle looks down and sees You Know Who, claw outstretched demandingly.
Bikle: “Ho leave it out Coco. I’b dot bade of bloody odiods you dow.”
Buckle: Perking up. “Ho, but you could be!”
Bikle: “H’what?”
Buckle: “Bade of odiods! Hit’s simple, we bake a dubby of der odiods, dress it id your clothes and bescape while der dubby gets bangled! We could use dis large odiod for your head, ad dese striggy dried leaves for der hair!”
Bikle can scarcely believe the idiocy of the plan but has little else to offer.
Bikle: ” Ho god, ballright den, buildig a odiod effigy if byself it is”
Buckle: “And be!” Pipes up Buckle
Bikle: “Do! We don’t deed two, Leonard doesn’t even know you’re here”
Buckle: “What do you been? Dats how I got in here, You told be he’d locked you up so I asked hib where you were.”
Bikle: “Give be strength, so he knows we’re both in here?”
Buckle: “Frov course, said he’s od his way to bangle us in a binute!”
Bikle: “Ho god back to de odiod person, I bean people plan den, dis one can be de head”
Picks up a large very healthy looking onion, suddenly the onion speaks in a high pitched voice
Bath Sheba: “Who is it that disturbs the slumber of I Bath Sheba?”
Bikle: “Holy fuck a talking odiod!”
Hurling Bath Sheba into the air, Buckle catches the animated alium and screams too; comedically Bath Sheba is propelled back into Bikle’s arms. This goes on for some time. At length Bath Sheba is allowed to continue as the two brothers slump in the room
Bath Sheba: “Don’t be afraid, I’ve been hiding in here for years, trying to avoid being pressed into that awful drink that Cleopatra de Bersierneaux loves so much. Now you have found me, I can help you get out of here, as long as you keep me away from that thing!”
Coco is looking hungrily up at Bath Sheba
Bikle: “Why yes frov course Bath Sheba, ged away you little brute” Bikle kicks Coco off the stage, it rolls and skitters back to Morris “Dow what? We don’t have buch tibe?”
Bath Sheba: “Quickly then carry me to the top of the steps, and place me in front of the door, when Leonard opens the door he will trip over me and then you can feed him into the onion press”
Bath Sheba’s tone becomes thin and sinister at the end. Bikle looks disturbed, Bath Sheba: “quickly pretty ones take me to the top stair, he comes now he comes quickly”
Bikle hastens to the top step with the giant onion and places it accordingly. The door opens but a figure steps through
Comte de B: “Ah where are my guests let me tell you ow sorry I aaaaaaagh!” thump! bump! crump! It is of course Marcus Alphonso and not Leonard who crashes to the floor. Bath Sheba seems unperturbed
Bath Sheba: “Quickly into the onion press with him!”
Comte de B: “Ah non mes amis! You would surely not crush poor old Marcus? Ah know all ze secrets of zis chateau, ah can tek you to where zat usurper Leonard kips ‘is treasure!”
Bikle: Looking interested. “Ho, Treasure you say? Dow we’re gettig subwhere! Lead on!”
Bath Sheba displeased “Press him! Press him!”
Bikle: “Dot likely! Bi cabe here for treasure, ad treasure I bean to have!”
Comte de B: “Ah very waz M’sieur! We shall escape through zis secret passage!”
The Comte pushes a candlestick and a section of wall swings open.
Bikle: “Cub od den! Buckle, you brig Bath Sheba, h’what? Ho god.”
Buckle is naked save for a huge pair of undershorts and is proudly displaying an onion based facsimile of himself.
Bikle: “Ho Christ. Leave that bloody thing alode and get a bove od.”
Buckle: “Ho, but I think it’s cute. Can’t we keep it?”
Leonard: “Ere! What eez zees? All of you get in zat Onion Press immediatement!”
Leonard, still for some reason sporting his discredited ghost disguise, appears at the top of the stairs.
Audience: “HE’S BEHIND YOU!” roar the audience, glad of something that they can vaguely comprehend.
Comte de B. “Ah mes amis, queeek!”
cries Alphonso. Leonard charges down the stairs, takes a headlong flyer over Bath Sheba and collides with Onion Buckle.
Leonard: “Ah’ve got you know you fuckair! Into ze press with you!”
He drunkenly wrestles the badly constructed figure onto the conveyor belt and frantically starts winding the handle. A stench of crushed onions fills the room.
Bath Sheba shrieking “My babies! Press him! Press him!”
Alfonso, Bikle and Buckle make for the secret passage, Leonard attempts to give chase, but appears to have gotten his sheet trapped in the mangle.
Leonard: “Aaaah fuckeeeng sheet!” There is a chittering sound and Coco bounces off his head, sending him toppling into the Mangle.
Audience: “Press him! Press him!”
The handle spins, and Leonard is drawn into the rollers and disappears with a final
Leonard: “You fuckair Alphonso! Ah’ll get you for theees!”
As his vital essence is drawn from him by the Mangle of Koth Hotep, Bath Sheba swells and begins to pulse with an unearthly luminescence. As she does so a terrifying scream emits from her.
Bath Sheba: “Aieeeeeeeeee, freeeeee, soooonnn! Press just one more, one mooooooreee!”
Bikle: “Cripers Buckle did you hear dat? Dis odiod is as bental as de rest of dem?”
Bath Sheba: “Take me with you, take me with you, give the queen to the press and I shall be free and then you will have all the treasure you waaaant!”
The screaming onion is so demanding, Bikle obligingly picks it up, as he does so he notices the sheet of Leonards that must have gotten spat out the other side of the mangle relatively unharmed.
Bikle: “Ho Buckle, you can wear this, since your clothes seem to be ruined”
Buckle: “Barvellous!” Buckle puts the sheet on “Woo look at be Bikle I’b a ghost!”
The Comte though is disturbed
Comte de B. “Aaaaah a ghost again look eets behand you!”
Bikle: “Do do Comtey, dat’s just Buckle in a sheet, Don’t worry about hib, I bean dot too buch anyway. Dis is looking better ad better, if we can ged de queen into de press, Bath Sheba will give us treasure and de Comte will lead us to Leonard’s treasure”
Bikle is clearly so pleased with the whole affair now that he has seemingly forgotten he’s in a pantomime.
Bikle: “Imagid what we could do Buckle, we could bove out of bothers squalid flat! Bi could get a dew amiga.”
But the Comte interrupts the reverie
Comte de B: “Quickly m’sieur, zis way or we will surely die!”
The party disappear down the passage and the curtain closes.
It reopens with the new set. Yolanda in full Aegyptian Cleopatra fig is sat on a deckchair with a cocktail in an onion a la classic pineapple. Aegyptian foot soldier Johnsons stand around, the painted backdrop is of the pyramids and a rather strange looking sphinx with a beak, the scene is bizarre not least as they are supposed to be in the Comte’s castle.
Cleopatra: “Leonard!” she calls , acting quite well “ Leonard where are you! I need another large Bersierneaux! Ooh that Leonard I tell you boys and girls, he’s always pissed!”
A jet of flame whooshes in from the side of the stage, Yolanda has to dive to avoid it but the deckchair and one Johnson is ablaze
Cleopatra: “Morris!” she yells
Morris: “You have been warned a million times” comes the booming retort “no more Mr nice guy!”
Johnson comes on with the fire extinguisher. The party of Buckle, Bikle, Marcus Alphonso and Bath Sheba arrive and huddle at the side, to represent they have not yet been noticed by Cleopatra.
Comte de B.: “There she m’sieur, ze queen of ze oignion beanstalk! I will attract her attencion, you sneak up behind her and whilst she is deestracted, push her into ze onion press!”
Bikle: “Berr dat’s ball very well but we left de bangle in press roob!”
Comte de B.: “Ah you are right m’sieur you’ll ave to go and fetch it, or maybe your colleague?”
Bikle looks at the ghostly Buckle.
Bikle: “Berr I’ll go, you hold Bath Sheba, back in a bobent!”
Morris: “That will not be necessary! The mangle is here. Indeed, the mangle is always here. It is both omnipresent in all times and dimensions and omnivorous in its dread hunger for souls! So get on with it, I’ve got a casserole in the oven.”
The mangle is mysteriously suddenly on stage.
Bikle: “Berrr, ok den, Comte, you distract the queen, Buckle, you distract Johnson, and Bi’ll burder de queed!”
Obediently the two clods set off on their mission; Buckle canters past the Johnsons waving his arms.
Buckle: “Wooo! Look at be Johdsod! I’b a ghost!”
Unimpressed, the guards point and jeer. Alphonso creeps up behind Cleopatra as Bikle pushes the Mangle of Koth Hotep towards them. He winks at the Comte to signal that now is the moment, however all is not as it seems.
Comte de B.: “Beware mon flowair of ze Nile!” cries Marcus Alphonso, “Caesar as despatched zese assassins to keel us!” Yolanda strikes an imperious pose. “Guards! Protect your queen! Sieze the intruders!” “Ho Bollocks. Quig Buckle! We’d better scarper! Let’s try ad find dat beadstalk!”
Morris/Anubis: “Not so fast!” booms Morris’ voice emitting from Anubis Johnson who ushers them back onto the centre of the stage
Bath Sheba: “Press them! Press them!” screeches the treacherous onion. Anubis Johnson reaches for them but Bikle hurls Bath Sheba straight at him Anubis: “Mwaaerkoof!” Anubis Johnson is winded and his mask slips down slightly rendering his appearance even more ridiculous. Bikle tries to nip round him but Nile crocodile Johnson is there to bar his way. In blind panic he runs back towards the throne area grabbing Bath Sheba back off the floor. Nearing the epicentre of action –the burnt deckchair, the Mangle, Cleopatra- Bikle poised above the mangle suddenly shouts.
Bikle: “Dobody bove or de odiod gets it!”
Curiously this is remarkably effective; Cleopatra longs to drink Bath Sheba, and immediately stays the guards from approaching closer.
Cleopatra: “Halt, if you give me Bath Sheba I will give you the treasure!”
Bikle: “Berr, balright brig be a bag of treasure and led be leave here unharbed wid…”
Buckle: “Don’t forget about be!”
Bikle: “Yes wid by Brother by suppose…”
Comte de B.: “Err excuse me, ma little petit champignion, let me fetch some treasure for eem, zen we can press Bath Sheba togezzer and drink ‘er essence!”
Bath Sheba: “Noooooooooooo, Nooooooooo!” Bath Sheba screams and pulsates “Press him! Press them! press someone, not meeeeeee!!!!”
Cleopatra: “Yes Marcus fetch these buffoons some treasure and let us feast on the Bersierneaux de Bath Sheba!!”
The Comte goes off the side and returns with a wheel barrow with a very large sack in it.
Cleopatra: “That’s far too much for them Marcus!! Give me the bag, I will allocate them some trinkets.”
Comte de B.: “But of course ma patisserie, ‘elp yourself”
He dumps the wheel barrow nearby and looks on smirking, Yolanda ungracefully unties the string on the bag. Who should leap out of course but ‘venomous snake Johnson’ who launches himself out of the bag at Cleopatra and stabs her in the neck with a hypodermic needle.
Cleopatra: `“Owwww fucking hell! Morris!!” she yells
Morris: “Quiet!”
The flamethrower burst comes forth again, Venomous snake Johnson is caught and runs off the side screaming, Anubis Johnson chases helpfully with a blanket.
Comte: “Ahahahahahahha”
Laughs the Comte, now mon Cherie come to me, and he snatches Bath Sheba back off Bikle who is been quite non-plussed by the sudden chaos.
Bikle: “Hoi! Come back here wid by odiod!”
He attempts to give chase, but finds himself pulled up sharply. The reason for this sudden cessation of forward momentum is, sadly, not far to seek. He peers glumly behind him.
Bikle: “Ho god. It’s just as I feared. By cloak is caught id dat blasted bangle again!”
As if apprehending certain consequences, he peers around him with a somewhat haunted look. The Comte is cavorting triumphantly with Bath Sheba, Buckland is still, in his own mind at least, distracting the guards, the Johnsons are milling around, seemingly bored of the whole thing. Nobody else appears.
Bikle: “Bi said, by cloak is trapped in dat blasted bangle!” Again, nothing. Bikle seems nonplussed, “Cloak id der bangle b’everybody!”
Marcus Alphonso is in transports of ecstasy, smothering the onion queen in messy kisses.
Comte de B.: “Ah yes ma swit pungent cherie, soon we shall mingle your eyewatering juices wiz mahn! And zen, ah shall be keeeng of zer Nile! And I shall ‘ave mah vengeance upon Caesar, zat fuckair!”
Again, everybody looks expectantly at the wings. Nothing. The audience, used to the procedure by now, chorus:
Audience: “MO-RRIIISS!”
Eventually, and somewhat incongruously, Mexican Bandit Johnson slouches on stage and renders the Comte hors du combat with a loping roundhouse left to the jaw. Morris himself ambles onstage dressed in a serapé and sombrero, clearly surprised that the pantomime is still going on.
Morris: “What are you lot still doing here? Yolanda, bring on the next contestant.”
With her neck swathed in bloodstained bandages Yolanda lurches onto the set. Her eyes are glassy and unfocussed, in a singsong voice she announces,
Yolanda: “Next up tonight boys and girls, is 58 year old Clancetta from Caernarvon.”
On he waddles, still clad in his widow’s garb.
Morris: “Come on then sunshine, what’s your story. And make it brief, I’ve got a fiver’s worth of brisket simmering away back there that’s got my name on it.”
Clancy: “Blblplp! Ho sir, I’m a poor widow. Husband burnt to death in newsagency tragedy. Sold only cow. Blplplb! Son an embarrassing failure. Can’t go anywhere without getting cape trapped in h’mangle! Like to sing overture from Gounod’s Faust.”
Morris: “I just bet you would you turkey bastard. Well not on my watch. Gimme a sand dance and make it snappy…”
Clancy looks crestfallen.
Clancy: “Blplplbl! Not much of a dancer. Even in my younger days. Some conjuring perhaps?”
Yolanda, patently under the influence of Venomous Snake Johnson’s pernicious narcotic, suddenly pipes up:
Yolanda: “I may be dressed as a figure from an ancient aegyptian legend, an icon of myth and romance, but when I spots a gobbler like you…”
Yolanda: “And I may be high on snake toxins, as anyone can see at a glance, but when I’m confronted by an old fraud like you…”
Yolanda: “I may be having muscle spasms, and falling into a deathly trance…” (hits floor with a thud.)
Bikle wrenches himself free with a grunt and turns to face the crowd.
Bikle: “But whed I sees a bother like you…”
With a sudden flourishing dance
Clancy: “Blblblblblblblp I may be an old widow, I may be short on romance, but when I feel music take my feet I say…”
Audience “Dance Turkey Dance!”
The music continues and Clancy performs an impressive routine. The audience clap wildly and throw flowers.
Morris: “You may be my old arch enemy, you be a turkey bastard, but when I see a fowl, with a rhythm like a err bowel, I say dance Turkey dance,”
Morris spins the turkey round elegantly, Clancy releases from the spin and steps daintily to one side looking back at him, Morris doffs his hat and Clancy moves seamlessly back into his arms and they faux waltz back across the stage to a jaunty blue danubesque number before returning to the main melody, the Morris and Clancy sing the last part together
Morris/Clancy: “We may be the other’s respective nemesis, we may foil each other’s plans, but when put on a show there are faces
all aglow, and no one in a rigid stance, yes when we put on a show the whole place is aglow with the a warmth like the south of Fraaaance!”
Morris: Alone now speaking in his dread tone “Well the whole place is aglow isn’t it! As a terrifying conflagration swept through the stalls, the audience screamed! But it was to no avail as the tragedy unfolded! Look!”
Arsonist Johnson is busy at work with a petrol can…Bikle is writhing and screaming.
Bikle: “Wake up! I bust be dreabig!”
Suddenly he awakes. He is drenched with sweat, lying on a leather couch in a dimly lit room. Blinking, he looks owlishly around. Seated beside him in a deep leather armchair is a short portly figure dressed in a suit redolent of the height of European fashion of the early 20th century. He is terrified to see that behind the wispy white beard and moustache the fleshless lips are drawn back to display the shrivelled gums and teeth. Behind the round spectacles, the sockets are eyeless black pits. The lich presses him gently back onto the couch with a withered, clawlike hand, and speaks in a sibilant rattling whisper tinged with a Viennese accent:
Freud Corpse: “So. Tell me zer von about your mutter again….”

Published in: on January 6, 2015 at 1:17 pm  Comments (1)  

Morris’ Generation Game

A partially insane wizard of extreme power and often grumpy demeanour. Clearly also vaguely deaf and prone to losing track of what is going on.
Tall gothic man in his thirties. Wears a long black cloak, black trousers and pixies boots. Round glasses and high cheek bones. Sense of self importance. Also looks fucked off with the whole business. Talks in deep, voice a bit like he has a cold.
Idiotic brother of Bikle, similar stature, but horribly clumsy. Also wears a cloak but the outfit is generally ridiculous looking. Believes there will at some juncture be cheese. Voice is goofy but similar to Bikles.
Clancy Butterball Turkey.
Giant anthropomorphic Turkey with magic powers. Often removes people’s trousers and says ‘Really…?’ in a Kenneth Williams esque manner. Arch enemy to Morris.
A race of bird people, part goose, part man, part penguin. In the employ of Morris. Johnsons are what the predicate before the word Johnson suggests. Though Johnson also exists as a creature in its own right –undetermined by a specific predicate.
Small irritating bald character. Often brandishing tomorrows newspaper.
Grumpy man who lives in squalid flat. Not very bright and has status issues.
Morris’ long suffering wife.
Koth Hotep.
Titan of abysmal space.
Pete and his Peppers
Very poor entertainment act of a Frenchman (Pete) in a harlequin outfit, hurling peppers around at various things.
Pete and Paul
Idiotic brothers seeking to try to help.
Alfonso de Bersierneaux.
Well known French juggins, often drunk.
Duke of Croy.
Violent French alcoholic aristrocrat.
Captain Flint.
Large piece of flint. Sometimes wearing a tricorn hat.
Judge Bikle.
A part of Bikle’s psyche in Judge form. In here he manifests as a ‘Judge Bikle action figure’



Morris’ Generation Game.

Music finishes, camera pans to Morris

Morris: “Good evening ladies gentlemen and small children, welcome to the show, and what as show we have got for you look! Ladies and gentlemen a funny thing happened to me on my way to the studio today, I bumped into our old friend Farmer Johnson. How’s the potato crop Johnson? I asked. He replied, I’ve been very busy learning Jazz guitar, I’m going to dig them later!” (waits for laughter, embarrassed silence.) “Anyway, enough of this hilarity, let’s meet tonight’s contestants… Yolanda, if you please…”
Yolanda walks on from unexpected side that Morris gestures to
Morris: ” Fuck! Where did you come from?” Audience shock noise
Yolanda: “Morris! We’re on telly remember!”
Morris: “Yes Yolanda, you are on the telly, as were you also last month when investigative Johnson took these compromising pictures of you on Kojak star Telly Savalas *shows unsuitable pictures on large screen* horrified noises from audience and comedy drum happens. “anyway enough of this Hilary, Yolanda or whoever you are. Who are tonight’s three teams?”
Yolanda (with fixed nervous smile): “Well first up tonight Morris, we have Simon, a Newsagent, and his older, balding friend, who wouldn’t give us his name, but describes himself as ‘a very private person.’”
Morris: “Ho ho Yolanda, so why has he decided to appear on a prime time Tv show then?” *turns to frosty * “Answer me you turkey bastard or I will burn you to death!” Frosty looks alarmed
Frosty: “Fuckin’ ‘ell! Hoping to win a new cat basket.”
Morris: “Bat casket? What is this man talking about? Get them out of my sight before the carpet burns, and them with it!” Nervous audience laughter, “now who have we got here Hilary?”
Yolanda: “Um this Michael a fridge engineer and his auntie Mavis, Michael lives in a squalid flat with his brother, who is in the audience tonight, and Mavis works in a coconut processing factory”
Polite applause
Morris: “So then Michael, you spend your time surrounded by crippled fridges?”
Bikle: “It’s Bikle actually, and…”
Morris: “That’s marvellous. And you Mavis, you work with a lot of nuts? A bit like me what? Ho ho ho. Anyway, Dolores, who’s the last pair of deadbeats you’ve got lined up for us tonight?”
Yolanda: “Well Morris last but certainly not least we’ve got Mr and Mrs Johnson…”
Loud applause
Johnson: “Mwaaerk!”
Morris peers suspiciously at Johnsons, disturbed by their obvious popularity.
Morris: “Be. Very. Careful. I have got my eyes on you Johnsons.”
The avian couple shift nervously. Luckily Morris is distracted by the sound of a large gong.
Morris: “Marvellous. That’s the signal for the start of round one. The eliminator round. The rules are very simple. One question per team, if you get the answer right you progress to the next round. Of course if the contestants get the answer wrong…” Laughs gently with a knowing look at the audience, before shrieking into the faces of the stricken Johnsons, eyes ablaze with the white hot fire of madness, spittle flying, “I WILL SHRED YOUR ROTTEN STINKING FLESH, FLAY YOU WITH WHIPS OF MAGMA AND SCOUR YOUR VERY ESSENCE FROM EXISTENCE!”
Yolanda: quietly aside to Morris “Are you having one of your turns dear? Do you need a tablet?”
Morris: “Ho ho Dolanda, no I am not having a turn, but they are! As we play round one! First members of the team on the podiums please for question one. Bat casket man this is for you” reads from card “tell me what is Planck’s constant to 5 decimal places?”
Frosty looks blank and peers owlishly around the stage. Morris drums impatiently on his lecturn.
Morris: “Come on, come on we don’t have all day. Get a wriggle on Rat Gasket. Do you want to ask the audience?”
Frosty looks hopefully at this:
Frosty: “huh yeah, go on then”
Morris: “Well you MAY NOT ASK THE AUDIENCE, what do you think this is ‘who wants to be a millionaire cake slice?’ Answer the question or I will lock you in a Rat Casket of my own devising and throw away the key, Johnson! Fetch the Rat Casket in preparation!”
Audience shuffle uncomfortably as Frosty goes pale and starts to mumble something inaudible. Flourishing a periodical Frosty’s partner chirps up.
Simon: “Ho, h’excuse be h’sir, h’I cad adswer h’that question. Hi read h’it h’in toborrow’s dewspaper!”
Morris stares at him silently for a long moment, then brandishes an identical tabloid.
Morris: “Would that be the article beneath the headline POINTLESS NUISANCE INCINERATED ON PRIMETIME TELEVISION BY PERFECTLY SANE HOST by any chance?”
The audience seems comedically buoyed by tomorrow’s newspaper, much to Morris’s chagrin. Sensing the crowds backing he presses ahead
Simon: “Ho h’yes, Poor old flat h’basket ” *audience laughter* “still h’I’m sure one day he’ll be h’prawn again!” The audience laughs heavily “Ho, h’what headline h’Borris? H’I don’t h’see h’any h’such headline!”
He crows, waving his copy of the journal, carried away by his seeming triumph. The crowd bay with laughter. There is a sudden harsh roaring rushing sound, like that of a gas cooker being lit, only magnified a thousandfold, as a pillar of blue and white fire erupts from the podium. As quickly as it appears the flame subsides, leaving a pall of cinders and greasy, sweet smelling smoke climbing towards the roof of the auditorium. As the fumes clear, two carbonised twisted skeletons are seen lolling hideously over their scoreboard their blackened jaws opened in a silent scream of agony. Cries of horror and fear rise from the spectators as the cough and gag on the stench of burnt flesh.
Morris: “Ho ho ho ladies a gentlemen, looks like Simon and basket boy are out. Or at least they will be when Johnson gets here with the extinguisher.”
The contestant Johnsons look agitated as if they don’t know if they should be putting the fire out, but then Johnson arrives with the relevant equipment, puts out the remaining fire and cleans up generally.
Morris: “Now then next question, for you Michael, how long is piece of string?”
Bikel: “Ho. Dat’s easy. How long do you want it to be?”
The cadaverous contestant chuckles to himself. The audience braces itself for another fiery holocaust, but Morris, holding one hand to his ear appears to be listening to something. He nods.
Morris: “Very well. I can accept that answer.” Spinning round suddenly, he screams “INFILTRATORS!”
Mr and Mrs Johnson freeze in terror. A group of leather jacketed, tattooed birdmen rush onstage and set about their erstwhile colleagues with ice picks and motorcycle chains. Blood and feathers fly amidst the most awful cries. As quickly as it began, the tumult is over and nothing but two wide streaks of crimson leading to the wings remain of the luckless contestants. Morris glares at Yolanda and whispers hoarsely.
Morris: “Replace them.”
Enter Johnson with a mop whilst a stressed looking Yolanda ushers in the replacement Johnsons.
Morris: “Ladies and gentlemen the Johnsons are back! Now the next round is one in which our special guest comes on, demonstrates a special skill, which you are obliged to copy, and tonight’s guest is err Mr Lance Battenburg from Turkey. Round of applause please ladies and gents for Lance Battenburg.”
Enter Clancy Butterball Turkey thinly disguised in a stripey yellow suit with a moustache and fez. Morris however seems oblivious to his enemy’s presence.
Morris: “So tell me Lance tonight what will our contestants be trying tonight? Or should I say frying tonight! HO HO HO!”
Clancy: “Blblbp! Lovely to be here tonight!” (doffs fez politely to Yolanda.) “Going to do some magic tricks! Blplblblp! Need a volunteer from audience!” He ostentatiously peers around the auditorium before pointing to a familiar figure. “You sir! Blplblblbp! Total stranger. Never met you before! Up you come!” A lanky figure in too short cord trousers, patched cloak and galoshes clambers awkwardly onto the stage.
Buckle: “Ho! Hello dere Bikle! Look at be! I’b od de telly!”
Clancy “Blblblblblp now then sir. Simple trick nothing in the hat. Blblbp, please inspect.”
Buckle: “Led be have look in dere. Hmmph dothing at all” Bikle cringes at what’s coming “you do Lance I thought there’s be cheese, how disappointing” audience laughs
Clancy: “Blblblp no cheese, blblblp but there is a pair of collar doves blblblp”
Audience ooh and ah, then Morris casually incinerates the doves.
Morris: “Looks simple enough let’s see what kind of pig’s ear our contestants can make of it. Mike you first, don’t be shy now!”
Bikle: “It’s Bike. I bean Bikle. I haven’t the slightest idea what I’b doig here. What’s goig od adyway?”
Clancy: “Bit of magic. All good. Lighthearted fun. Blpblblb. Another demonstration?” (Whisk!)
Bikle’s trousers have magickally vanished and are now in the Turkey’s hands.
Bikle: “By trousers!” (Audience roars with laughter. Clancy flourishes trousers derisively.) “Give theb here!”
Bikle charges headlong at Clancy, arms windmilling and cloak billowing, only to run smack into a wall that the Turkey has magically transported to in front of Bikle.
Bikle: “Boooooh!” (CRASH!)
Clancy: “Reeeaally! No trousers on television! Looking stupid! Proper juggins! Blpblblp!”
Morris looks confused.
Morris: “What is going on here? Wasn’t he supposed to be doing the hat thing? How many points does he get for that no trousers wall debacle with no doves?”
Clancy: “Blblblblbp 2 points, blblp of a possible 10, very poor. Blblblblbp! Now you try Johnson”
Turkey passes the hat and Johnson deftly produces 2 turtle doves
Johnson: “Mwaaaerk!”
Clancy: “Blblblblblp very good, wrong doves, but still good, blblbp 9 points”
The Johnsons look pleased but Morris is twitching again.
Morris: “Yolanda can we get the mangle out yet?”
Yolanda: Sighs “I thought we’d discussed that Morris. This round is nearly over. Why don’t you just look at the pretty birds for a while?”
Morris: “Very well my sweet. If this rubbish goes on much longer I may need to have a bit of a lie down. Who’s stupid idea was this anyway? I bet it was Johnson. He’s always coming up with schemes, like that one with the hat factory.”
Meanwhile, Bikle assisted by Johnson, has managed to extricate himself from a tangle of cables and storm back across the stage and put his trousers back on which the Turkey has now discarded.
Bikle: “Wait a bobent Br Battenburg. Bi want adother go at the hat business!”
Clancy: “Blblbplp! Certainly! Good sport! Just pop your hand in there!”
With no further ado Bikle plunges in his hand.
Bikle: “B’ive got sobthig! It won’t come out!”
Clancy: “Blpblp! Pull hard. Quickly now! Portal closing!”
Morris: “Yes pull it out quickly Bicycle head!”
Bikle heaves and the hat rips emitting some terrible sulphurous vapours. He flies backwards and lands in a heap. The hat hangs hideously in the air ripping its aperture wider as an enormous hand begins to emerge.
Morris: “ladies and gentlemen please welcome the next of tonight’s special guests, Koth Hotep titan of the depths of abysmal space!”
Nervous applause and some shrieks as Koth Hotep emerges from a widening portal. His terrifying fuligin bulk near fills the stage.
Morris: addressing him cheerfully “so Koth, what have you got for us tonight?”
The audience are by now whimpering and cowering in terror, confronted by this darkness within the darkness from before fear had a name. Morris however is visibly perked up by the appearance of an old chum.
Morris: “Marvellous! Lovely to have you on the show Koth mate. And what form shall the test take?”
The shadowy blackness coils in upon itself, hideous cold blue luminosity flashing around its extremities.
Roiling and boiling, the horror ascends to the roof and hangs there emanating hate.
Morris: “You heard him Johnson, remember the stuff that rolls past or face a fate beyond all awfulness, look!” Gestures to the hanging mass of iniquity. “But of course no memory game of ancient evil would be complete without ‘the eldritch dark conveyor belt cubicle of dread’ Johnson the cubicle if you please!”
Part of the stage swivels round to reveal a hideous gothic dark wood carved cubicle resplendent with strange signs and sinister faces. A window from which the sitting contestant can peer out of looks over an old old leather conveyor belt. The machinery is heavy and seems to be ready to be hand operated by sinister mechanical Johnson, who stands nearby. The general impression of the set up causes the audience to recoil in fear.
Morris: “Come on now Johnson in you get!”
Johnson looks terrified. Quivering with fear, Johnson steps falteringly into the box. Instantly the door slams behind him, the carvings writhe and meld into one another until no trace of the doorway remains, leaving Johnson entombed save for his panicky face peering through the aperture. With an awful grinding noise, the conveyor belt judders into life, and a succession of objects roll slowly past. In a toneless yet menacing voice, Morris keeps up a running commentary:
Morris: “A baked potato. A coffee machine. A wagon wheel. The charred skull of a newsagent. A tumble dryer. The animated corpse of Sigmund Freud. One of Carl’s sheep. A No Frills french bread pizza. A bowling ball…” Here Morris’s attention seems to wander for a moment, but pulling himself together he continues.”Astaroth’s teeth, Pandora’s socks, half a pound of chipolatas, a Minotaur, a garden saw, a living hoover, a jiving mover, an anaconda,” pauses “ hang on a minute Yolanda, is that an aconda? What is aconda? Or should it say condor? It looks more like a big snake? Johnson stop turning!”
Yolanda: “Morris it’s an anaconda”
Morris: Looking at her with a scrunched up confused face. “An..Anna Conda? Is it the next special guest?”
Yolanda: “No Morris it’s a giant snake!”
Morris: “Is it?”
Yolanda: “Yes you can see it is!”
But now the snake has slithered partially off the conveyer belt and is constricting poor Mr Johnson in the cubicle.
Morris: “Oops, quickly Johnson, get turning!”
Johnson turns for all he is worth, sadly this does not of course free Mr Johnson rather it drags him out of the viewing hole onto the conveyor belt.
Morris: “…and a multipack of assorted flavoured crisps, now Johnson let’s see what you can remember, Johnson?! Johnson? Where has he gone Yolanda? This is intolerable, we are going out live to millions of viewers, and he just disappears at will. If I know Johnson, he’s probably sloped off for a baked potato… and a wagon wheel. And a coffee machine, Ashtaroth’s teeth, the charred skull of a newsagent, a living hoover, one of Carl’s sheep and a Minotaur.” Morris beams. “So then Anita, what do I win?”
Yolanda: “Morris! You’re the host not a bloody contestant!”
Morris: “Of course I can recommend a good decongestant. Drowsy or non-drowsy? Will you be operating heavy machinery? Well you are operating heavy machinery. Look! Out of the way Sinister Mechanical Johnson, Dorito here wants a turn on the conveyor belt. I’d think twice about doing that with your bad head cold. Anyway, where is our next contestant?”
Bikle strides forward purposefully, keen to vindicate himself in the eyes of the audience after the earlier debacle. Morris turns to him and gives him a fierce glare.
Morris: “So Michael. What are you singing for us tonight?”
Bikle is about to reply when Morris cuts him short again.
Morris: “Good choice. And what musical round would be complete without the karaoke cubicle of eternal foulness!”
The same abomination of carpentry is gestured to. The door reappears and unclicks open with an evil hiss. Large dark metal pipes now protrude from the sides, and a low piped discordant melody issues forth.
Morris: “In you get Captain Beaky!”
Sinister mechanical Johnson bustles him in and Koth Hotep blasts the stage with an icy misty breath of despair. Bikle peers out worriedly.
Morris: “Yolanda, whenever you’re ready turn the crank!”
Yolanda sighs and begins to slowly turn the evil machine. As she does so an unmistakeable yet still dissonant version of a famous tune appears.
Morris: Booming “Sing contestant sing! Your soul depends upon it!”
Bikle: Falteringly begins “Bi’ve got a… lovely bunch of cocoduts…!”
Morris: “Marvellous, now remember the stuff as well, Johnson put stuff back on the conveyer”
Bikle’s eyes scan the belt as he uncomfortably warbles.
Bikle: “Large ones, s’ball ones some as big as your head o.o.”
Morris: Begins again: “A baked potato, a coconut, John Lewis pillow cases, a dvd player with digibox, an undead crocodile, another coconut, another coconut, a John Lewis coconut, Astaroth’s coconut, a block of cheese….”
At this, a voice is heard from the audience.
Buckle: To the audience member next to him. “Ho dow, dat’s a coincidence, you see, hearlier today…”
Morris scowls, a flurry of Johnsons dart into the crowd, and there comes the sound of blows. The Johnsons reemerge carrying a slumped, bloody figure. Morris resumes his monologue;
“A litre bottle of Special Red. 5 lepers leaping. A baked coconut. Jerry Lee Lewis’ paternity case. A commercially ill advised “Judge Bikle” Action Figure. A Coco Chanel vanity case. A baked Alaska. A cage of dead canaries…”
Bikle: “By cadaries!”
Morris: “A coconut. A coconut. Soup. A coconut. A dreaded Wendigo Teatime Assortment. Johnson. A foaling stall. A bowl of gooseberries. A leading brand of non-drowsy decongestant.”
Yolanda, sensing the audience’s restlessness, tries to interrupt……but Morris is in no mood to be thwarted.
Morris: “A penny Farthing. A microwave oven. A pair of trousers.”
Bikle: “By trousers!”
Morris: “a mouldy plate, a cuckoo clock, a dirty sock, a severed head, a four poster bed….”
Bikle’s head swims at the horrendous list.
Bikle: “Bi feel a little queer” he moans.
Morris pauses impressively “and…..the mangle of Koth Hotep”
The hideous mangle roles slowly across the belt and out of sight. Bikle lies slumped in the cubicle mumbling the words to the coconut song. At the mention of his mangle Koth Hotep lets out a terrifying hiss.
Morris: ‘Yes, erm, I should think twice before remembering that. Now contestant, get out the box!”
The door unclicks and Bikle falls sideways out of the cubicle and lies there mumbling. Morris puts the microphone to him.
Morris: “So contestant, what was on the list?”
Bikle: “Cocodut…” Comes the feeble reply
Morris: “Congratulations, you have won a coconut! Give him a round of applause ladies and gentlemen”
Bikle raises his head feebly as the audience applauds wildly. In his fevered mind their hands have been replaced with brown husk covered hemispheres which clack together with a noise all too reminiscent of mud stained ponies skittering frantically on a music hall stage.
Bikle: “Cocoduts?”
Morris dubiously prods the bedraggled figure with a stick.
Morris: “He doesn’t look very cute Miranda. Do you think we should keep him?”
Morris is suddenly distracted by a cracking sound. Auntie Mavis has gain access to the coconut reserve and is now using her powerful reptilian feet to crack them open. Johnson tries in vain to fend her away, but wants to keep his distance from the vicious appendages. Crack, crack the coconuts lie in twain, and she makes a hideous screech.
Morris: “Oi you!” Morris shouts, “leave my prize coconuts alone!” Morris moves towards her but slips in the coconut milk careering into Johnson, who in turn trips over Bikle’s slumped figure. “Yikes! Johnson!”
Johnson: “Mwaaerk!”
At the bottom of the pile, Bikle stares blankly at the chaos, then something seems to shake him. Struggling free he draws himself to his feet.
Bikle: “By cocodut! By prize cocodut! Ruined! I’ll get you for this Bavis!” Johnson and Yolanda attempt to restrain him, but he wrenches himself free. “Ho! Get off of be you two!” and rushes at his opponent.
Morris signals Johnson to bring on another act to distract the terrified crowd. A pasty figure in red, yellow and green rags springs forth from the wings clutching a basket of brightly coloured capsicums.
Pete & Peppers:”Allo everybody! Eet ees I, Pete! And I ‘ave ma peppairs!”
Intent upon her work of destruction Bavis does not see her maddened nephew bearing down upon her until the last moment Just as Bikle is about the grab the destructive relative, she expands her leathery wings and takes to the air, clutching the last good coconut. Pete and his peppers is unsure what to do next, but spying Koth’s mangle is displeased as in his last encounter with it ruined several peppers.
Pete&Peppers: “Zat pesky machine, I will pelt it with ze pepairs!”
Launches an array of colourful peppers which duly bounce off the evil device. Koth Hotep rumbles angrily amongst the rafters and a spiny tentacle unfurls downwards. With a last despairing scream the harlequin is thrust headfirst betwixt the rollers of doom. The handle spins briefly and he is no more. His final act however has unforeseen consequences, as a particularly juicy pepper richochets off the mangle, caromes off Bikle’s forehead and bursts square in Bavis’ face.
Bavis: “Aaaaaaeee! My eyes! So vinegary!”
Blinded, she swoops and whirls about the auditorium, banging into struts and lights.
Morris: “Ho Ho! Looks as though Pete picked a pack of PICKLED peppers eh Melinda?”
Bavis, screeching slams into a chandelier. The coconut is jarred from her pincers and plummets downwards. Bikle: “By cocodut! Catch it somebody!”
Pete/Paul: “Uh huh hu huh. Allow us to catch your coconut!”
Clancy: “Bllblblblp! Not likely, my prize coconut!”
Clancy swoops by in a kind of microlight, catching the coconut with a net, sadly he then nearly crashes straight into Koth Hotep,takes evasive action loop the looping, the coconut plummets out the net.
Bikle: “Stop dat cocodut!”
Pete/Paul: “Uhuhuh we’ll help”
p & p try again. The coconut lands harshly on petes head knocking him out “uhuhuh ouch” thud, but the soft landing leaves it intact.
Bikle: “Ahah by cocodut” Bikle grabs it at last. Morris dusting himself down and wiping coconut milk off his hands on his Bikles cloak
Morris: “Well I suppose you did win it fair and square, but now would you like the opportunity to take this coconut home or gamble it for whatever is in the box?”
A large sinister black box is brought on by Johnson
Bikle: “Berrr I’ll keep de coconut if you don’t bind.”
Morris: “As I was saying will you keep the coconut or gamble? Ladies and gentlemen he’s going to gamble. Greedy or brave or heading for the grave, as granny used to say. Are you sure?”
Produces the Judge Bikle doll and moves it whilst doing a Bikle impersonation
Judge Bikle: “Yes bi’d love to gamble siledce I’d court ribbit!”
Morris: “Marvelous, and tonight’s next special guest will open the box and I will have the coconut, infact I already have it look!”
A brown Jenkin like coconut creature sits on Morris’ shoulder and Bikle is empty handed.
Bikle: “By bloody cocodut! Ho very well den, Hi suppose H’i’ll hopen the box.”
Morris: “An excellent choice.” says Morris, gesturing to a phalanx of Johnsons who have levelled their carbines at Bikle. “No need for that now Johnson. Now Michael, I’m sure that you’d want your beloved brother to witness your final gamble.”
Buckle staggers in rather bloodied and contused, but still full of keen boyish interest.
Buckle: “Ho Bikle! H’i’m od de telly!”
A couple of Carl’s sheep have wandered in with him, adding a strangely pastoral note to the scene.
Morris “Now Millicent, with no further ado, I’d like a wagon wheel.”
Yolanda sighs and goes off to bring on the special guest. Morris strokes the animated coconut which appears to be whispering into his ear.
Morris: “An excellent idea Coco.”
But then replying to himself with the judge Bikle doll.
Judge Bikle: “Bi’m dot so sure about dat, Borris! Order, Order!”
Morris: “Shut up you, you turkey bastard, what would you know anyway. Eh coco?”
Judge Bikle: “Bi’m just saying, dat’s against de law!”
Morris: “Enough! Enough! Johnson the special guest”
Captain Flint is wheeled on from stage left on a trolley by Johnson.
Morris: “Good evening Captain, great to have you on the show!”
Captain Flint:
Morris: “Marvellous! Now Captain the box if you please!
Silence except for the soft hiss of Koth: the silence and the waiting go on interminably, nothing happens. Eventually Morris whispers:
Morris: “Give him a hand Johnson.”
Johnson lifts captain flint to nudge the box lid open as if he is doing so himself. Sadly captain flint is too heavy and cumbersome for Johnson to wield effectively and Johnson inadvertently tips him into the box, there is a thump and a hideous squelching sound.
Morris: “Whoops a daisy! That’s done for old Flinty. Miranda! What other old chestnuts have we got lined up in the freezer?”
Yolanda shakes her head sadly and shrugs, pointing at a row of tarpaulin draped cages. Morris lifts the first sheet.
Morris: “Hmmmm, Toad and Barrel. No.” Second cage, “The bonus barrel of King Johnson? No.”
As he approaches the third cage, it emits a hideous whinnying sound, and something spatters against the inside of the sheet. Bikle takes Morris’s arm,
Bikle: “Berrr, dot dat one Borris, what about number 4?”
The sound of breaking glass comes from within, followed by a hard punch. From behind voices can also be heard.
Alfonso: “Owwww!”
Duke of Croy: “Zat was ze last of ze cider you fuckair Alphonso! Eh! Yolandair! Lemme out of thees steenkeen’ cage and ah’ll mek you feel real good! That fucking madman Morris ees’nt around ees ‘e?”
Morris looks disdainfully at the shouting French cage and decides against it. Now from the side of the stage Clancy reappears clutching a red book and small bottle.
Clancy: “Blblblblp you thought you came here tonight to present a quiz show that deteriorates into farcical insanity when in fact Morris tonight…”
Morris: His insane interest is picqued “What tonight? What tell me?”
Clancy: “Blblblbkblp no rush, just drink this bottle of non-drowsey decongestant first, blbkblblbp, leading brand!”
Morris: “Give it here you turkey bastard!”
Clancy: “Blblblnp certainly!”
Morris opens and glugs down the bottle
Morris: “Now tonight what?”
Clancy: “Blblblp feeling sleepy little Morris?”
Morris: “You Turkey berries…. What have you….?” Morris stumbles and slurs.
Clancy: “Blblbllp changed the bottles! Blblblblp leading brand of drowsy decongestant eh judge Bikle?” Remarkably and disturbingly Morris’ mouth makes the Judge Bikle voice perfectly:
Judge Bikle: “Yes dat’s right! Siledce I’d court for you!”
Morris: “I do feel a bit sleepy, maybe I could snuggle up with you mummy?”
Clancy: “Blblblblp of course you can blblblblp, snuggle up!”
Clancy wraps Morris up in an old duvet and lays him down. Morris snores loudly.
Yolanda “Oh Clancy you are clever!”
Yolanda claps her hands excitedly. More sheep mill around the periphery giving now not only a pastoral but also Nativity esque sense. Lighting Johnson adjusts the central spotlight appropriately to emphasise the image. Clancy turns to the camera and winks.
Clancy: “And that ladies and gentlemen is magic. Blblblblblblblp!”

Published in: on January 5, 2015 at 9:57 am  Comments (2)