Yes. C**tgtasulazioningd to Tiggy for shinking. PM myself with a new slut please. Meanwhereas...
Next slapperjack: Rubbish, chosen by Gappy.
Leg closed: 30.8.20
Runners are nowt...
Score Position Name
6 1 Playfull, Gappy, Me
4 2 Thief of bad gags
3 3 Tiggy
2 4 Patrick
1 5 Altlapel
1: So, that's the end of the process, and I'm very pleased be able to be in a position to offer you the job.
2: Yes! Oh, thank you, thank you.
1: Not a problem. Could you start on the first of next month?
2: Definitely, definitely. Gosh, I can't wait.
1: I must say, it is gratifying to find someone so eager to join our refuse collection team.
2: I'll say! I've always wanted to be a dustman. Do I get my gear that day? Please tell me I do!
1: Yes, indeed, you will be issued with some personal protective clothing. It's a slightly tough job, so we give you sturdy overalls, and some steel-capped boots. I dare say you'll never be in any danger, but better to be safe than sorry, really.
2: And what about the hat?
1: Which hat?
2: The dustman's hat.
1: Oh. Well, I'm afraid there isn't really a hat, as such.
2: Course there is. That's how you know a dustman; by his dustman's hat.
1: I'd suggest you'd know him by his dustbin.
2: Who ever heard of a dustman without a hat? A dustman without his dustman's hat wouldn't be a dustman. Everyone knows the hat maketh the dustman. It's like in that old song.
1: Yes, I think I know the one.
2: [SINGS] Love and marriage, love and marriage, go together like hat and dustman.
1: Apparently I don't. And I'm so sorry to tell you, our dustmen have never worn hats.
2: Madness. Errant lunacy. Dustmen always have hats. [SINGS] You say dustman, and I say, doostman, let's give the dustmen haaaaaats!
1: Well, listen, as you're so eager to do the job, perhaps we can procure you a hat, as a little welcome gift. What does a dustman's hat look like?
2: How would I know? I'm not a dustman. That's why I want to be a dustman. So I can see a dustman's hat.
1: Are you saying you want this job so you can discover the design of a hat you've imagined?
2: Imagined, my homburg! All jobs have hats. That's how I've chosen all the jobs I've done before. I only have dustman left to get.
1: What jobs have you done?
2: All the main ones: cowboy. Boater. Bowler. Deerstalker. Witch. Davey Crockett.
1: But, all that isn't on your CV!
2: Yeah. I didn't want to seem over-qualified. Plus I didn't know how well you dustman people would take to an ex-witch.
1: I see. And also, in light of this idiotic discussion, I rescind the offer of the position.
2: Good! If you won't play the game and hat up, then I'm out.
1: I am glad. To think I almost employed you. You, sir, are a dunce.
2: Dunce? Reee-sult!!
ALL GEEK TO ME
LECTURE HALL.
LECTURER Good afternoon to my morning students, scholars and you. This evening's lecher lechers lecturingly the third Ode, Epode and Epodions of Catullan Virgil Homer Sampson, which course's her mythical, legendary, awesome alleged post-nuptal epillyon elliptical anal marriage feast of Zeus disguised as a Greek mongoose and the illegitimate illicit implicit gnu of the deceased caesarian Casear salad as a scarecock at noon in the Eastern Zarathusan tradition linking but not interwhining the lost scrolls of the Roman goddess whore Ms Brianson at the Aegean Lake Sinai in Stoke under the broken foreskin of the Titan Dwark Chronic, depicted unnaturally and breathed tookenful by the Russian poet Cramanovdradkoysw in his restored incohate underscribed masterpiss 'Mistresses and Spice Boys Ache the Phryginian Frigids Gnarks', following the later previous acrostic pseudoepic falsely atributed to its rightful original apocrafisted anonymous pastoral, born of the infant ewe's forehead through the alliteral axe of his mother and son Enkidu and Noah's Gilgamesh Pindar in the later Sanskrit predecessor of its forebidden, foreboding and fully anachronistical founding stepcousins in Saint Augutwhine's faithful, free, cheating transcription of postfeministic terza crima intertextuality stanzas now ascribed to a meta-Dantean, sub-Dworking, circonscrised readaptation between externalised megaindustrialised Shakespearean Lao-Tzunian Horatian Lucretian sub-specianism to... Hello?,
TOBERMORY: Hello my new group of Wombles in training! Today we'll be looking at what you found yesterday and seeing if, as a group, we can think of ways to make good use of them. How about you Torremolinos?
TORREMOLINOS: I found this old tyre.
TOBERMORY: Great for a swing, and can be filled with dirt and planted with plants.
GLASGOW: And burnt for fuel.
TOBERMORY: Yes, but a bit smokey. Brest, what did you bring in?
BREST: 2 of these rubbery things.
TOBERMORY: Oh god! Right, I was hoping to wait until next month to get onto that topic...
BREST: You can stretch them over your hands to make mittens like this...
TOBERMORY: No you can't!!! Take your hands out and wash your hands!
NANTUCKET: I found this old brown spoon and a whole bunch of these needles.
TOBERMORY: Where did you find them?
NANTUCKET: Round the back of the dorms, just outside Glasgow's window.
GLASGOW: Did you find any little brown bottles?
NANTUCKET: Yes. Slough had a sniff and ran off chasing the purple unicorns that nobody else could see.
TOBERMORY: Oh god oh god oh god...
BREST: Look at this teddy that a small child had dropped.
TOBERMORY: Better!
BREST: I've made a small hole here and voila! A sex doll!
TOBERMORY: Shit!
BREST: Although for hygiene I think everybody should wear a mitten if they want to use it.
NANTUCKET: I could use these needles to give you all tattoos!
TORREMOLINOS: That old spoon tastes of magic!!
A WOMBLE BURSTS THROUGH THE DOOR WITH UNDERWEAR ON IT'S HEAD, COVERED IN PURPLE PAINT REACHING OUT TO GRAB THINGS ONLY IT CAN SEE.
SLOUGH: Come to me my elves and pixies!!!
TOBERMORY CURLS UP AT HIS DESK AND WHIMPERS WHILE THE CLASS GO WILD.
SLOUGH: [HOLDING LIT LIGHTER] Only fire can cleanse the world!!!! [RUNS OFF]
IT'S A RATS LIFE
HARRY: Look there's no point in getting...
QUEENIE: If you say 'there's no point in getting 'ratty'' once more, I swear I will ...
HARRY: I was going to say upset.
QUEENIE: Liar.
HARRY: C'mon Queenie, It's your birthday. Cheer up. Think of the Kids.
QUEENIE: Kids? Do you even know how many 'Kids' we have?
HARRY: Including grand kids?
QUEENIE: Yes.
HARRY: Then no.
QUEENIE: including great, great, great, great, great, great grandchildren. We have spawned over a thousand children.
HARRY: Wow! Go us!
QUEENIE: In just under a year.
HARRY: Just under a year? Well that explains a couple of things.
QUEENIE: What things?
HARRY: Why we ran out of names and went to numbers...
QUEENIE: And?
HARRY: Why you have had your vagina fitted with a drawstring.
QUEENIE: You noticed...
HARRY: Yes, I noticed that the sex improved, that and you stopped dropping babies all over the place. Come on Queenie it's your birthday, it is a lovely night and we are dining at one of London's best restaurants.
QUEENIE: We are in a dirty damp alley, eating from the Ivy's rubbish bins. Just once it would be nice to eat something that no one else had already eaten.
HARRY: The alley might not be great but this steak tartare is exceptional!
QUEENIE: I have to admit you can taste the quality.
HARRY: Happy Birthday Queenie. Many happy returns love.
QUEENIE: Not much chance of that is there - with a life expectancy of under two years.
HARRY: Really, less than two years?
749: Happy birthday gran!
QUEENIE: Is that 749? Come and give me a hug!
HARRY: I thought it might cheer you up a bit seeing a couple of the grandkids. 749 lives at the IVY with 820, they tipped me off about the bins here.
QUEENIE: Where is 820? Is he with you 749?
749: Sorry gran, the chef caught him earlier today.
HARRY: What did they do to him?
749: What they always do. They threw him into the mincer.
THEY ALL SLOWLY TURN TO LOOK AT THE PILE OF MINCE THEY HAVE BEEN EATING FROM.
QUEENIE: Waste not want not.
HARRY: It's what he would have wanted.
749: Happy birthday Gran, from 820.
THEY ALL START EATING.
IT'S WHEELIE RUBBISH
By The Thief Of Bad Gags
TWO WHEELIE BINS STAND CLOSE TOGETHER AND FACE ONE ANOTHER. ONE CONTAINS METAL AND PLASTICS AND THE OTHER PAPER AND CARDBOARD.
AN OLD WOMAN THROWS RUBBISH IN ONE OF THE WHEELIE BINS.
TINNY: OUCH! I wish she wouldn't do that.
CARDY: (Chuckles)
TINNY: Oh my head! It hurts every time she slams down my lid. She's so damn rough. She's an
egg sarnie short in a pedal bin.
CARDY: Here, catch?
(TINNY OPENS HIS LID AND CARDY SPITS OUT AN EMPTY TIN OF BEANS
IN TO TINNYS OPEN WHEELIE BIN.)
F/X LID IS HEARD GENTLY CLOSING
TINNY: Thanks Cardy. A tin of beans in a paper, cardboard wheelie bin? She's losing her mind
if you ask me?
F/X A LONG DRAWN OUT FART.
CARDY: Jeeeeeezus Tinny, do you mind?
TINNY: (Chuckles)
F/X AN EVEN BIGGER AND LONGER FART
CARDY: Oh my God I can't breathe.
TINNY: What with her husband's beer bottles and the beans it's a recipe for disaster. I've gone
nuclear ha ha!
CARDY: Jeeezus ya not kidding.
TINNY: Fumes from those bottles got me pissed as a fart Saturday morning.
CARDY: I know, you was slurring your words.
TINNY: And the hangover was a belter.
CARDY: I know, you told me a hundred times.
F/X STREET NOISE. VEHICLES PASSING.
CARDY: Its rubbish being a wheelie bin.
TINNY: HA HA rubbish! I get it?
CARDY: We both get it. (SIGHS)
TIINY: I hate saving the World, oh for the days when they threw all sorts of rubbish into me.
A variety is the spice of life.
CARDY: And I still get a variety of your farts!
TINNY: What day is it?
CARDY: Monday.
TINNY: Jeeezus is that all? Another week before they empty me.
CARDY: God, it can't come soon enough. I'm being emptied today. Hey! Before I do, open ya
gob.
(CARDY SPITS OUT A NEWSPAPER FOR TINNY TO CATCH.)
F/X OPENING AND SHUTTING OF TINNY'S LID. A LOUD BELCH.
TINNY: Thanks. I like to keep up to date with the local news. It's so god damn boring reading
the ingredients on labels.
CARDY: I know, you keep telling me. (SIGHS)
F/X NOISE OF THE DUSTBIN LORRY
TINNY: Your taxis arrived.
CARDY: Har har
TINNY: Don't forget get some gossip from the other wheelie bins.
CARDY: Will do.
F/X CARDY IS DRAGGED AWAY ONTO THE STREET BY THE HOUSE HOLDER READY TO GRABBED BY A DUSTBIN MAN AND EMPTIED.
Tiggy.
I can honestly say all the sketches were 'rubbish' this week, in a good way!
Nearly gave it to Gappy for making me think about a dustman's hat. But going with Tiggy - just for the Wombles names.
I enjoyed Michael's extract from his experimental novel Finnegans Wank, but have to concur and give it to Tiggy: a lovely idea for a sketch, and the Wombles' names were spot on.
I'm voting thief. Talking bins rock!
Quote: gappy @ 31st August 2020, 10:40 AMI enjoyed Michael's extract from his experimental novel Finnegans Wank, but have to concur and give it to Tiggy: a lovely idea for a sketch, and the Wombles' names were spot on.
The Wanking Dead.
The idea came when I was translating for an exhibition and the material was so dense I felt physically tired afterwards.
Hiya all...its Tiggy who gets my vote ;-) I only just made it for bin collection. A bit of a rush job as I was on the wrong shift. Here's to the next one. Good luck everyone.