Skit Comp 7-14.12.10

Nice crop so congratulations to DON P MUSEY for winning! Celebrate with an ale, a couple of cigarettes and a few trannies, then PM me for next week's subject please.
Hence:

Votes - Points - Name

3 - 10 - Don P Musey
1 - 5 - Otterfox, Stephen Birch, Ishy

Your new subject: WEATHER (chosen by MR SUNSHINE)
Rules:
One entry/vote per person. Anyone can enter regardless of colour, sex or inside leg measurement, except the kid who used to beat me up at school.
Can be a sketch, joke, lyric or anything along those lines. Please try and only post your entry/vote and no other posts.
You can edit your entry as much as you want, up until the closing time.

Competition Closes: 14.12.10

Overall Leader Board is now:

Points - Name

166! - Mr Sunshine
147 - Otterfox
133 - Cool Mikado
125 - Kasm
120 - Michael Monkhouse
117 - Nigel Kelly
112 - Chris Forshaw
108 - Frankie Rage
103 - Charley Rance
98 - Fred Peters
94 - Timbo
70 - Angiebaby
66 - Jude
65 - Baumski
55 - Scratchyr, Gerry McDonnell
39 - Alex Mahon
37 - Afinkawan
31 - Ishy
32 - Swerytd, Paul Watson
28 - Leevil
26 - David Chapman
25 - Craig H
23 - Roscoff
22 - Blobster
21 - Mikey J
20 - Bushbaby, James Harris, Kevin Murphy, Dannyjb1, Niteowl, Lazzard
18 - Tom
17 - Ellie
16 - Eggie
15 - Nil Putters, Cinnamon, Dale
14 - Reg N
12 - Don P Musey, Stephen Birch, Geoff Mutton, Badge, Will Cam
11 - Steven
10 - Stephen Goodlad, Robo, Nitram Skir, Socrates, Tom Campbell, Tommy Power, Waring
09 - ajp29, ShoePie
08 - Stylo
07 - The Giggle-O, James, garyd, Winterlight
06 - Little Jersey Devil, Hellboy, Wayne Lewis, John Kelly, Andrew Lynch
05 - Karlos the Great, Drew, Pedros, Summer G, Mannikin Bird, Tumble, Greggles, Happy Shopper, Timothy Marshal-Nichols, Rob B
04 - Andy W, losaavedra
02 - Stu R, Imamazed, Slack Bladder, Paul Nash, Boits, Gavin
01 - Macca, Ming The Mirthless, Minty, Shpadoinkle, Shaggy292, amillionpounds, Jake How, David Bussell, Charisma, Skibbington von Skubber, Ginger Jesus, Nick Rivers, Daddy Maz, Martin Bickle, Batman, Ray Dawson, Marion, Tooting Jo

Any ballsups, PM me please.

WHETHER REPORT

WEATHERMAN: Good evening and welcome to the weather forecast. The temperature in the UK will be around 18° in the North, 20° in the South. In France there will be sunny spells with clouds entering from the South, while in Holland there... Oh God this is boring. I mean who gives a tinker's cuss about the French, everyone hates them, in Paris they're so racist they hate each other. And Luxembourg, so what if it's raining there, hardly the centre of the universe is it? New York, Sydney, Luxembourg City, ah bugger off will you?
Sorry. In Brazil - oh for God's sake Brazil, they could have a hurricane they wouldn't notice, as long as they got their salsa music and grinning 'look-at-me-world-I'm-havin'-such-fun' girlies with rings on their fingers and bells on their toes everything's just hunky dory for them. 'So what if there's a war in Afghanistan, let's have another round of everybody salsa, everybody salsa, everybody salsa, salsa hey, salsa!' And Turkey, just read you're indicting 196 guys of tryna throw over the government in 2003. Well you took yer bleedin' time didn't you? What is your system, the Viagra prescriptees of Europe? 'Our action's hard as hell, just need eight seven years to get it up in the first place.' Then it's over to Greece, how the hell can you be worrying about a spot of hail with that economy of yours? Serves you right I say, that'll teach you to inflict yer poets on us 2,500 years after they snuffed it. 'Ooh Sir I'm ugly and spotty and nobody fancies me, sod the great Perseus and his winged slippers, I'm never gonna get a shag.'
Apologies, I should've let this go. America now, and - ah who cares what the weather's like there, you're the most prosperous nation on the Earth, lickle bicka rain ah diddums, screw you and your American dream, didn't work for the red Indians did it? 'So what if you've been here sixty billion years, we're here now, we bring you democracy, truth and Myley Ray Cyrus.' You Yankees are so thick you reckon Michael Moore's a genius, and why is he a genius? 'Cause he discovered - deep breath, drum roll please - he discovered America's corrupt. Well give the man a friggin' medal. And he needed twelve eight-hour documentaries just to make sure... And what about that US election campaign, three hundred years' prep and the whole world has to follow it, we had an election here too you know, did you care, did you poo.
Look there's gonna be some weather happening okay, I'm off for a cup of tea and a fag.

EXT. BUS STOP - DAY

A YOUNG WOMAN IS WAITING AT A BUS STOP; AN OLD MAN JOINS THE QUEUE.

OLD MAN:
Terrible weather we're having.

YOUNG WOMAN:
Aye. Bitter.

OLD MAN:
I'm 80 years old and I've never known anything like it.

YOUNG WOMAN:
Yep. It's bad.

OLD MAN:
You been away this year?

YOUNG WOMAN:
Me? No.

OLD MAN:
Have you heard about the council trying to close down the recreation centre?

THE WOMAN THINKS FOR A SECOND, THEN HEADBUTTS THE OLD MAN. AS THE OLD MAN LIES PROSTRATE ON THE GROUND THE WOMAN RAINS KICKS DOWN UPON HIM. SHE THEN LANDS A FLYING ELBOW. AS A BUS APPROACHES, THERE'S A LOOK OF DISAPPOINTMENT ON HER FACE.

CATS and DOGS

THERE ARE TWO WOMEN HAVING A COFFEE MORNING, SANDRA AND KIRSTY.

SANDRA: Well yes, ever since we took her to the Benenden Open Day and she met Lucinda, she's wanted a pony. I told Chris, I said to him, it's not something we can afford.

KIRSTY: No.

SANDRA: Maybe if we sold one of the cars and forgot about that trip to - oh would you look at that.

KIRSTY: What is it?

SANDRA: It's raining cats and dogs.

LIGHT THUMPS ON THE ROOF AND WINDOWS.

SANDRA: What a bit of luck.

KIRSTY: Ya.

SANDRA HAS GONE TO THE CUPBOARD AND FETCHED A FISHING NET. SHE OPENS THE WINDOW, PUTS THE NET THROUGH. WE HEAR A YOWL. SHE BRINGS IN A KITTEN.

KIRSTY: Oh fab.

SANDRA: Ought to keep her quiet, at least until she starts GCSEs next year.

KIRSTY: Great...great.

SANDRA PUTS KITTEN INSIDE A CARDBOARD BOX.

SANDRA: Just the right size, it's a good job it wasn't an Afghan Hound.

KIRSTY: Messy?

SANDRA: They are yes.

THEY BOTH TAKE A SIP OF COFFEE.

Well this is great. And with this climate change thingy, they're forecasting that it will be raining men.

KIRSTY: Really?

SANDRA: So that'll solve THAT problem. You know?

KIRSTY: Ya.

SANDRA: But I don't know what we'll feed it, rice or some shit.

THEY BOTH TAKE A SIP.

SANDRA: Oh I am rude sometimes. Would you like one? I can get the net...

KIRSTY: Me? No I'm allergic.

SANDRA: To cats and dogs?

KIRSTY SHAKES HER HEAD.

SANDRA: To...Ah. Me too you know.

KIRSTY: Ya, really?

SANDRA: Ya. Brings me out in bumps.

INT. SLIGHTLY DATED LIVING ROOM - EVENING

50 YEAR OLD FRUMPY MUM IS SAT ON THE SOFA WITH 30 YEAR OLD DAVID. EMMERDALE FARM IS JUST FINISHING ON TV. BOTH ARE HEARTILY SINGING THE CLOSING MUSIC AS DAVID IS SAT ON THE EDGE OF THE SOFA, GLANCING AT HIS WATCH, OBVIOUSLY WAITING FOR THE PROGRAM TO STOP.

DAVID (GETTING UP)
Right Mum, best be off. Jim, Gav and Tesser will be waiting for me.

MUM (WORRIED)
Do you have to go David? The weather forecast isn't very good. It said it might snow. Make sure you get wrapped up well.

DAVID
I'll be fine Mum.

MUM (FIXING DAVID'S COLLAR AND BRUSHING HIS HAIR WITH HER FINGERS THEN PLACING HIS ARMS DOWN BY HIS SIDES AND LIFTING HIS CHIN UP AS IF HE WAS ON PARADE)
Best be safe dear. Can't have Mummy's little soldier getting cold now can we.

DAVID (RESIGNED)
No mum.

CUT TO: CLOSE UP OF MUMS FACE. DEMONIC MUSIC PLAYS AS HER FACE CONTORTS. PICTURE CHANGES FROM COLOUR TO BLACK AND WHITE.

MUM (SHOUTING DEMONICALLY)
That's no Mummy sir!

CUT TO DAVID LOOKING UP TO CAMERA AS THE CAMERA PULLS BACK UPWARDS (AS IF WE ARE LOOKING DOWN FROM MUM'S PERSPECTIVE MAKING DAVID SEEM LIKE A 6 YEAR OLD BOY). DAVID STRAINS TO STAND TO ATTENTION.

DAVID (SHOUTING IN A YOUNGER HALF-CRYING VOICE)
No Sir, Mummy Sir!

MUM (STILL DEMONIC - MUSIC STILL PLAYING)
That's better. Let's get you sorted.

CUT TO: INT. HALLWAY - EVENING. STILL IN BLACK AND WHITE. AN IRONING BOARD HAS BEEN PLACED ACROSS THE CLOAKROOM. A SHEET WITH 'QUARTERMASTER' NEWLEY PAINTED IN BLACK ON IT IS HUNG OVER IT. DAVID IS STOOD IN FRONT WITH HIS ARMS OUTSTRETCHED, BLACK PAINT ON HIS HANDS. MUM IS ON THE INSIDE OF THE CLOAKROOM PILING VARIOUS HATS, COATS AND SCARVES ONTO DAVID'S ARMS.

FADE TO: HALLWAY BY THE FRONT DOOR - EVENING. BACK TO COLOUR PICTURE. MUM IS BACK TO NORMAL. DAVID IS STOOD FORELORNLY WEARING FULL OUTDOOR SURVIVAL GEAR INCLUDING A LARGE FUR TRAPPER'S HAT.

MUM
There you go now David, naughty Mister Weather can't get you now. Don't keep Jim and the others waiting.

CUT TO: DAVID'S BEDROOM. DAVID IS IN HIS FULL OUTDOOR GEAR SAT IN FRONT OF A TV . A 4 PLAYER CALL OF DUTY TYPE GAME IS ON THE TV WITH A QUARTER OF THE SCREEN BLANK. THE OTHER 3 QUARTERS HAVE DIFFERENT BATTLE SCENCES WITH PLAYER LOGINS SHOWING 'JIM1985',GAV-DESTROYER23 and TESSERBLAST2112. DAVID TAKES OF HIS HAT, PUTS ON A HEADSET AND PICKS UP A CONTROLLER. THE REMAINING QUARTER OF THE SCREEN COMES ACTIVE SHOWING 'DAVIDJEDI444' .

DAVID (PLAYING VIGOROUSLY) Sorry I'm late guys (LOOKS AT BLACK PAINT ON HAND WHILST PAUSING FIRING) Mum's not well again (CONTINUES FIRING).

END.

I really feel sorry for slugs. I saw one on my way to school the other day that had obviously been so slow that he iced over in the night.

I can imagine him desperately trying to drag his frozen lower half into the shelter of a nearby bush.. but the frost soon caught up with him and he was all like 'DAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH'

So I picked up the ice cube and took it home. It was preserved much like a joke fly from a novelty store. Apart from this was real and not a perfect cube and if it was in your drink you would have been even more displeased when I said '...Yeah well, its actually a real slug - you just drank some slime.'

And I took it into my room and wanted to defrost him, much like you would with a bit of meat from the freezer. I took great care of this slug and kept him in a cage by my bed with all of the lettuce his tiny, greasy heart desired.

The following day when I got home from my schooling, I was surprised to see he had managed to break out of his cage - which consisted of about 20 toothpicks stuck together with distributed weight much like a house of cards. I was angry that he hadn't listened to me when I said not to go anywhere but nonetheless I was terrified at the thought of losing him - as any mother figure would.

Many questions popped into my head such as 'How will he know his way back?', 'What will he eat?' and 'How the f**king hell did he break out of that cage without hands?'

I went down stairs and found him playing Call of Duty: Black Ops on the PS3 and I was so angry. He had prestiged my account when I told him specifically not to (the same time I told him not to venture out of his cage).

More questions popped into my head such as 'Why did he disobey my clear requests?', 'Does he not love me any more?' and 'How the f**king hell did he break out of that cage without hands?'

I approached him and asked him if he wanted a drink. He did not reply. This was not very much like him. Usually he'd squirm to the left (that was yes) or to the right (that was no) or up and then down (that meant he wanted me to do him a strip tease).

I then asked him if he wanted another strip tease and he paused the playstation and moved furiously up... and then down. He must have wanted me to do it badly.

As I was undoing my zipper, even more questions went through my head, 'Does he love me in ways other than family?', 'Maybe he needs more food?' and 'How the f**king hell did he pause the Playstation?'

At this moment my mother walked into the room. She was presented with a view of a young boy's pale white bum cheeks slipping up and down either side of a garden slug. I felt so exposed and vulnerable.

Masses of thoughts rushed through my head: 'What would she think of me?', 'Would she ever talk to me again?' and 'How the f**king hell did she break out of her cage?'

In embarrassment I picked up the slug and told my mother to turn on the gas and heat up the frying pan.

She replied in shock but quickly adhered to my authoritative commands. I placed the slug onto a plate and made my mother sit down at the table. I placed some oil into the pan and as some evaporated, the rest seemed to form pictures that reminded me of the first time I met the slug. A man I met in a park at the age of 6 once said to me: If a family member ever finds out about what we did here today.. cook them a nice meal.

I thank God that I met him because he showed me some new and interesting things that I didn't ever think to try...

For example 'Moroccan Lamb' is now one of my mother's favourites.

The pan was just about the right temperature after this little tangent and so the slug was ready to go in. As I picked him up from the plate, he seemed to grip it rather tightly perhaps suggesting that he shouldn't be subjected to such a horrible death.

But then again - he did taste f**king brilliant.

INT. PUB - TWO CHANCERS DISCUSSING PULLING.
CHANCER #1, Mr CONFIDENT, IS ADVISING #2 ON HOW TO PULL.:

#2: Dunno how ya do it. Can't never think of nothing to say. You know, like get the ball rolling, sort of thing.

#1: That's the easiest part. Get that sorted and you'll be up to yer balls in bonkers.

#2: S'easy fer you to say. You got a silver shovel in your grub gap.

#1: That's bollocks. What I got is a loada practice. Don't reach my
level without a lotta trial an a lotta error. But don't you worry
about that, I'll show you. Pick a tart and I'll tell you how to do
the verbals.

#2: That blonde, over by the window, looks like a good'un.

#1: Yeah, she looks rough enough. Won't go wrong with a barker like
that. Right, stroll over all casual, like, and say: "tickle yer arse
with a feather?"
She'll go: "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY?"
You say: "Particularly nasty weather"
She'll say: Sorry about that, I thought you said tickle my arse with
a feather?
Then you say: Yeah, I bet you get loadsa' blokes who'd wanna do that,
doncha?
She'll say, Think I'm alright, do ya?
You say: Alright! Bloody hell, you're a stunner! Before you know it
she'll be playin' tunes on yer fly-flute. Can't fail. Go on. Give it
a go.

#2: STROLLS OVER TO THE BLONDE, GETTING MORE AND MORE NERVOUS AS HE
MAKES HIS APPROACH. THE BLONDE'S WATCHING AN EPISODE OF 'CORRIE' ON
THE PUB'S TV: HE'S TONGUE'S BEEN CAT-GOT . HE CAN'T REMEMBER HIS
LINES:
F**kin' pissin' down, ain't it?

BLONDE: You what?

#2: No chance of a blow job, then?

KID making SNOWMAN. He puts on the the mouth and finally a hat. Once the hat is placed on the SNOWMAN comes to life.

SNOWMAN (in high pitched child's voice)
Mama.

KID looks startled.

KID
Oh my God you can talk.

SNOWMAN
Mama.

SNOWMAN moves forward and hugs kid. KID struggles and screams.

SNOWMAN
Mama.

FADE OUT

FADE IN

SNOWMAN contentedly hugs the frozen corpse of the KID.

SNOWMAN
Me love Mama.

1.INT INSIDE THE MET OFFICE. A MIDDLE AGED MALE SCIENTIST CALLED GEOFF IS SHOWING A NEW STARTER SALLY SMITH AROUND

GEOFF:
As you can see, we've some of the most sophisticated computer systems running the most advanced mathematical climate models in the world.

SALLY:
What do you model exactly?

GEOFF:
Lots of things. For example, our most basic model is a genetic algorithm based on the reproductive core of a plant from the Pinophyta division.

SALLY:
A pine cone?

GEOFF:
Not just one pine cone Miss Smith, as many pine cones as the system can handle?

SALLY:
And how many is that?

GEOFF:
Five.

SALLY:
Why don't you just use real pine cones?

GEOFF (laughing):
Miss Smith, Miss Smith, new starters always ask this. I'll tell you what I always tell them. Where would we put them all?

HE GIVES HER A KNOWING WINK. SALLY LOOKS PUZZLED

GEOFF:
Anyway moving on, we also feedback real world, sampled data into the model.

SALLY:
That sounds interesting.

GEOFF:
It is. We've cameras dotted around the country, continually taking pictures of the sky. These pictures are sent to us, and are then run through some highly optimised image processing software which analysis things like cloud density.

SALLY:
You mean you look out of the window to see if it's cloudy?

GEOFF (getting annoyed):
Yes.

SALLY: (laughing)
You're not planning on modelling cows lying down in fields are you?

A SHEEPISH LOOKING TECHNICIAN IS AT ANOTHER COMPUTER, HE HITS A KEY AND WE HEAR A LOW MOOING SOUND. GEOFF IS DISTRACTED BY A SOUND FROM ANOTHER COMPUTER.

GEOFF:
Ah, a new forecast is in. It's going to be a lovely sunny day. Hot enough for you and your young friends to go topless no doubt?

SALLY CROSSES HER HANDS DEFENSIVELY IN FRONT OF HER AS THE SOUND OF THUNDER CAN BE HEARD OUTSIDE.

EXT. CRIME SCENE. DAY.

A DETECTIVE APPROACHES A PATHOLOGIST EXAMINING A CORPSE. A CONSTABLE STANDS WATCH.

DETECTIVE: Beautiful day.

PATHOLOGIST: Yes, no-one was expecting that sudden thaw.

DETECTIVE: So what do you have for me?

PATHOLOGIST: A real headscratcher - the body of a child, he appears to have fallen from a great height. And we found these at the scene.

THE PATHOLOGIST HOLDS UP A SCARF AND HAT.

THE CONSTABLE CHOMPS DOWN ON A CARROT.

END.

(With thanks to Chris and Pete.)

EXT. STREET.

A WOMAN IS CAUGHT IN A SUDDEN DOWNPOUR.

WOMAN: (sobbing)
Why didn't I bring my umbrella? My hair will be ruined.

SUDDENLY A YELLOW CIRCLE ROLLS TOWARDS HER THROUGH THE RAIN.

VOICE:
Fear not madam, for it is I, Pac-a-mac man to the rescue. Just don this pac-a-mac and you'll be as dry as an agoraphobic teetotaller.

WOMAN:
Oh Pac-a-mac man, you've saved the day. How can I ever repay you?

PAC-A-MAC MAN:
You don't have any pills on you, even painkillers, anything?

I'm voting for Nigel.

Don.

Enjoyed Stephen Birch's again but I'm gonna go for Ishy.

i liked Stephen's too but it is a variation of a well known joke.

Timbo gets my vote