The Setting: The Knockalidonit sound studio, where scripts are recorded, ready for animating.
Opening: Four Spice Girls are standing around a huge Helium bottle, in heated conversation with Chriss Evans, the broadcaster and former owner of Virgin Radio, who is now having to schlepp his talents on children's TV, in order to make ends meet.; |
| Emma: |
Duh! Tee Hee, beh duh! |
| Chriss: |
But I.... |
| Mel H: |
Fookin' raight! Ya didn't 'ave ta sleep wi'the fat cow, ya knoew! |
| Chriss: |
But.... |
| Victoria: |
Oh, for God's sake, Mel! Can't you just leave it alone? |
| Mel H: |
Eh? Noe ah bluddy can't! I doen't laike the idea o' bein' in the same rheum as a cock what's been urp that slapper's 'oele! Ah maight fookin' catch sumthin! |
| Chriss: |
But.... |
| Melanie: |
{her eyes light up) It's been where? 'Avyer gorrenny photos? |
| Mel H: |
Ah'll gi'im fookin' phoetoes! |
| Chriss: |
B... But.... |
| Victoria: |
Just keep quiet, Chriss. If you ignore her, she'll shut up. |
| Melanie: |
Ha! Dream on! |
| (Victoria smacks Mel across the mouth with her coffee cup -- which is full of yoghurt) |
| Mel H: |
(gripping her mouth with both hands, and bending over in pain) Ow! Mrph murph mph! |
| Victoria: |
Yes she will. See? |
| Emma: |
Tee Hee! |
| Chriss: |
But... But I didn't sleep with her! |
| Emma: |
Beh? |
| Chriss: |
No. I asked her if she swallowed, and she stormed off to another room; muttering something about being sick of people going on about her weight! |
| Mel H: |
(spitting out a tooth; her mouth covered with blood) Phat cow! (She pulls a dirty handkerchief from her pocket, and several gold credit cards fall to the floor) |
| Victoria: |
(rapidly stooping to pick up the cards) Wow! Look at all these! Can I have one, Mel? The sales are still on! |
| Mel H: |
Sure, 'elp yaself. Pass 'em round, but if ya faind enny wi'Jimmy's naeme on, jeust chop 'em uep. |
| Victoria greedily stuffs handsful of the cards into her bra; making room for them by removing the sponge-rubber 'lift and squeeze' pads. Melanie grabs the pads from her and sniffs them langourously. The others stare at her until she notices them, on which she rapidly stuffs the pads into the back pocket of her track-suit. |
| Melanie: |
What?! I was only trying to see what they were made of! |
| Emma: |
Beh! |
| Victoria: |
Well, really Melanie! You could at least show a little restraint! |
| Melanie: |
(dreamy-eyed) Restraints.... Handcuffs.... Leather.... |
| Chriss: |
Em... Excuse me, but could I have a little attention, please?!! |
| Mel H: |
Shurrup, ya slag-shagga! (she turns to the others) Ah bluddy thort thei wz gonna get Zoe Ball ta plae Chookie! |
| Melanie: |
Aye. When they said 'a popular morning DJ', that's what I was 'opin', too! She's lovely, is Zoe. I really fancy summa th... *ahem*... er, I really like 'er show! |
| Chriss: |
Hey, millions of people listen to my show, too! |
| Victoria: |
Yes, I was reading that the Royal Society for the Deaf has become your largest subscriber. |
| Chriss: |
Mmm, that was great for the audience figures; and I only have to pay them a... er, they all really love me! |
| A voice booms down from the production box. It is John, who used to work for Chriss at Virgin; but who wisely married a woman with a career before the Virgin deal went sideways, and ended up as a Knockalidonit producer/director. |
| John: |
Alright, you fucking lot, we've fucking got a fucking kids' show to fucking make, here; so you'd fucking better be on your best fucking behaviour! Especially you, Evans! Fucking shape up! |
| Chriss: |
{snivelling} Yes, Sir. Will do, Sir. Right away, Sir. |
| Melanie: |
{whispering into his ear; watching the control booth carefully, to make sure that John doesn't notice} You're a bleedin' wimp, you are! You should have told him 'bollocks'! |
| John: |
Those microphones are live, Chisholm! Watch your step, or you'll be back ruining fish and chips before you can count to ten! |
| Melanie: |
{snivelling} Yes, Sir. Will do, Sir. Right away, Sir. |
| Mel H: |
What maeks ya think she can count ta ten, ya thick bugga? She can only get ta four, an' that's oenli 'coz that's 'ow menny ayes she's gorron'er two bluddy fayces! |
| Melanie: |
Bitch! |
| Mel H: |
Slag! |
| Victoria: |
Do you mind?!?! If anyone insults you two tarts, it should be Me! |
| Mel H: |
Ah, go fook a second eleven! |
| Victoria: |
You Cow! You know I only go with Premiere League teams! |
| She leaps at Mel; and fur and feathers begin to fly. Melanie joins in by standing on the sidelines and kicking at any friend of hers that comes into range. |
| Emma: |
{sweetly} Beh? Tee hee! |
| John: |
{soft and cuddly} Yes, Sweetie; it is about time we got started on the script. Why can't the others be as helpful as you? |
| Emma: |
Tee Hee! |
| John: |
Right then. Where's the fucking idiot that's playing Tommy? |
| Mel H: |
We doen't knoew! Yeu 'avun't even toeld us 'oo it is! |
| John: |
Well, never fucking mind that now. We'll just have to fucking manage without. Evans! You lead off, with the 'I Remember Melville' script. |
| Chriss: |
Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir! |
| Melanie: |
{whispering} Creep! |
| Chriss: |
{takes a hit of Helium, and talks to Melanie, in character as Chuckie} Hey, Phil, do ya wanna see my new pet, Melville? |
| Melanie: |
{as Phil} Sure, Chuckie! What kinda aminal is it? |
| Chriss: |
Well, my mommy won't let me have aminals that might get hurt by us kids, so she gave me this... |
He opens a small tobacco tin. Melanie peers into it. A huge, clawed paw suddenly lashes out from within the tin, swiping at Melanie's head. The beast's claws rip the flesh from her face, tearing it off in one savage motion; revealing another, evil face beneath.
Melanie falls to the floor, blood gushing from face and neck. |
| Chriss: |
{snickering} Ain't he cute? |
| Victoria: |
{leaping out of the way} Melanie! These shoes cost me a bleedin' Fortune! If you ruin them, I'll slap you silly! |
| John: |
Oh, that's just fucking marvellous, isn't it? We're down by two fucking cast members, and we haven't even got thirty fucking seconds in the fucking can! |
| Emma: |
Beh? |
| John: |
(soft and cuddly) That's right, sweetie. We'll have to do one that Phil doesn't feature in so much. |
| Victoria: |
Can we just get on with it, please?! The sales will be over by the time we're finished, at this rate! |
| Mel H: |
Oy, Evans! Less 'ave a luke a'that tin. |
| Chriss opens the tin again, proffering it to Mel. She peers inside, and a whimpering noise can be heard coming from within. |
| Chriss: |
(snatching the tin away and closing it) You leave Melville alone! You've frightened him, now! |
| Mel H: |
Heh. Ah'm fookin' good wi'animals, Ah am! |
| John: |
Takes one to fucking know one! |
| Everyone looks puzzled by John's statement; but he is used to people not understanding a word of what he is talking about, so he ignores their puzzlement. |
| John: |
Right. We'll try the fucking 'Mr. Bomb' script. Fucking Phil's hardly in that one. (soft and cuddly) Would you like to start, sweetie? Top of page three. |
| At the words: 'top' and 'Page Three', Emma rapidly strips off her top. If her actions seem hurried, it is because she has been waiting for such an invitation for such a long time. |
| Victoria: |
Emma! Put that back on! Skin tone simply does not go with that skirt! Besides, if Melanie were alive, she'd be in apoplexy, by now! |
| Chriss: |
Hub... Ulg... Boobs!... Upm.... I'd... um... forgotten what they looked like in real life! |
| Mel H: |
Oh, aye? Well ya must'a seen inuff a'that fat slag's ta last a laifetaime! |
| Chriss: |
I told you; I didn't.... |
| John: |
Will you fucking pair fucking shut it! Emma's waiting to do her fucking lines! (soft and cuddly) Carry on, sweetie. |
| Emma takes this 'carry on' as referring to her strip, and she quickly loses her skirt and knickers. Chriss faints. |
| Mel H: |
Oh, fa fook's saeke, Em! It's noe good deuin' full-freuntel neudeti 'ere! Noe bugga will see ya! It's a bluddy cartoon! |
| In punctuation to her remark, a screen on the other side of the sound set falls over, to reveal Jamie; who is filming the scene with a video camera. The huge zoom lens of the camera is noticeably pointing at Emma. |
| Emma: |
(hitting a sexy pose) Tee Hee! |
| Jamie: |
(whispering to himself) Bloody hell! I was hoping for a few cleavage shots, but this is Top! |
| John: |
Broadbent! Put that fucking camera down, and get back to the fucking reception desk! I'm not fucking paying you three-pounds-ninety-fucking-five an hour to fucking bother sweet little Emma! |
| Jamie: |
(sheepishly slinking away) Yes, Sir. Right away, Sir. |
| Emma: |
Beh? |
| John: |
(soft and cuddly) Yes please, sweetie. If you would. |
| Emma: |
(picking up a 'Mr Bomb' doll, and reading from her script) Beh, duh, tee hee, duh, tee hee, beh. |
| Mel H: |
(as Suzie) That's right, Lil. It's Mr. Bomb; Tommy's daddy's newest toy. He said we could play with it; but if you don't put your tits away, I'll cuff ya one, ya little slag! |
| Emma: |
Duh! |
| Mel H: |
Well? So worrifah doo sheuw maene off every chance Ah get? They're fookin naicer than yeurs, enniwei! |
| Emma: |
(frowning hard -- which makes her look even cuter) Beh duh Beh! |
| Mel H: |
Well fook yeu, too! |
| She pulls a pin out of Mr Bomb's hat, and the doll starts ticking. Emma thinks this is great fun, and hugs the doll close to her. |
| Mel H: |
TAEKE COEVA! |
| Mr. Bomb: |
BOOM! |
| Victoria: |
EMMA! Did you have to explode right next to me? You've got blood and lumps of flesh all over my dress! |
| The studio lights suddenly go out, and all is in total darkness. |
| Victoria: |
Thank you, God! Thank you! Now no-one can see me in this state! |
| Mel H: |
Whaye areya soe fookin' bothered? Yeu luke berra than ya did on that fookin catwalk! |
| Victoria: |
You Bitch! I looked absolutely beautiful in that fashion show! A lot better than you did in that petty little show you were in! |
| Mel H: |
Well at least Ah didn't have ta euse rubber boobs wi' false nipples to gerron the froent paeges! |
| Victoria: |
That's it, you cow! I'm going to.... |
In the darkness, a loud crashing noise is heard, followed by a huge bang and a flash of light. All falls silent for several seconds; then the lights come on again.
Chriss wakes up, blinks several times, and looks around. Next to him lies Victoria's body. It appears to have been fried. He climbs to his feet, using the Helium bottle to steady himself.
His glasses are lost, so he squints down at Victoria's blackened form. |
| Chriss: |
Is that you, Naomi? |
| Geri: |
(standing in the doorway by the light-switch, with a pair of sparking electrical wires in her hands.) Oh, shit! I got the wrong one! Sorry, Victoria! Sorry! |
| A dog brushes in past Geri's legs, and immediately begins feasting on Victoria's body. |
| Mel H: |
(watching the dog) Aye, well she's dun uep laike a dog's dinna, all raight! |
| (Well, I've used the same joke twice in other stories already, only for no-one to spot it; so I figured It was time to spell it out -- Sticks) |
| Geri: |
(pointing at Victoria's body) That should have been you, you bloody tart! Now I'll have to fill out a whole pile of fresh forms, so that I can get immunity from prosecution from the UN! (she turns to Chriss and opens her blouse) Oi, if you want to play with these, you'll have to kill that mouthy bitch for me! |
Chriss gasps with coital anticipation, then jams the hose from the Helium bottle up Mel's arse and opens the valve, full.
Mel infaltes like a balloon, and floats up to the high ceiling, before exploding in a ball of flames. |
| John: |
Oh, the fucking Humanity! |
| Geri: |
(looking puzzled) I always said she was nothimg but a fiery gasbag; but why did she explode like that? I thought Helium was non-volatile. |
| Chriss: |
Oh, that's easy. It's because it was my idea -- and my ideas don't have to follow the laws of Physics. |
| Geri: |
Oh, fair enough, then. Now I suppose I owe you a shag; so let's get on with it. |
| Chriss rushes toward her; stripping off his shirt as he goes; but just then Holly turns up, carrying a flame-thrower. |
| Holly: |
Does anyone know what this is? I found it in my dressing room. (shocked pause) Oh, my God! It's that bloody Ginger Spice! You leave Chriss alone, you bitch! |
| She 'accidentally' presses the fire button on the flame-thrower, and 'accidentally' plays the flame over Geri for about seven and a half minutes, until the fuel runs out. |
| Holly: |
(grinning from ear to ear) Oops. I'm terribly sorry. |
| Chriss: |
Awww, for crying out loud, Hol! I was just about to.... |
| John: |
(Booming down from on high, interrupting Chriss) What a fucking shambles! Now we have to fucking re-cast the whole fucking show! Broadbent! Get B*witched on the 'phone! Evans! Clean up that fucking mess, and call N-sync in to do the Kenan & Kel voice-overs! |
| Chriss: |
Yes, Sir. Right away, Sir. |
|
And so ends another session at the Knockalidonit sound studio.
Don't forget to tune in tomorrow, for more adventures of your zany friends.
© Running With Sticks 2000
So ends also my first and last foray in the script-like standard style.
Next up: Serious literature!
Look out for:
Spice Girls v. The Battle of Marathon
(Elizabeth Barrett Browning)
And...
The Bitches of the Beckhamvilles
(Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)
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