INT. DAY. BANK.
A MAN WITH A STOCKING OVER HIS FACE WALKS IN.
FX SCREAMS
MAN: (confused)
What's wrong?
TELLER:
You.. you've a stocking over your face.
MAN:
It's not a stocking, it's a hold up.
TELLER:
This is a hold up?
MAN:
No, the tights on my face, I've got terrible acne and the weather this time of year chaps my face no end.
TELLER:
Phew, what can I do for you sir?
MAN:
I'd like to put this, now where did I put it?
MAN SEARCHES COAT AND PUTS SAWN OFF SHOTGUN ONTO COUNTER.
TELLER:
Aargh! He's got a gun.
MAN:
Here it is, put this cheque into my account. (PAUSE) Oh, don't worry about the sawn off, I'm heading clay pigeon shooting today, with a midget, its for him. Now he..
PULLS OUT A LARGE SHOTGUN FROM HOLDALL.
MAN: (continuing)
… couldn't use something like this. Its for the big boys, lovely bit of kit all the same, isn't it?
TELLER:
Erm..yes, please don't shoot.
MAN:
Shoot? You don't look like a clay pigeon to me, heh heh.
FX CAR HORN
MAN:
That's impatient Ivor, the getaway driver.
TELLER:
You, you've got a getaway driver waiting for you?
MAN:
Wouldn't leave home without him. Everytime I say something to him, he says ‘getaway'. I lost my licence, ram raid.
TELLER:
Did you get caught?
MAN:
Caught? No, no. Ram raiders crashed into my living room and stole it.
TELLER:
Oh my. Could you please sign this receipt sir, please?
MAN:
Gladly, Rob Banks, there you go.
TELLER:
Is that your real name Sir? I'm confused.
MAN:
Your Con Fused, I shared a cell with you. Bloody hell, you've went up in the world mate.
