F**king Hell! C**tgtasulazioningd to Gappy and me for winking. PM me with your subject for next wank, pleased. I'll PM myself. I won't really. It's a joke. Meanwhilst...
Gappy, Me - 1
Next natterjerk: Chat
Leg closed: 12.5.22
Runners are nowt...
Position Score Name
1 1 Gappy, Me
BADARSE
LECTURE HALL.
LECHERER Good evening ladies and gentlemen, and you, and welcome to this evening's Creative Writing lecher. In this afternoon's chat, I shall be urging you to avoid clichés like the plague. For at the end of the day, when push comes to shove, nothing kills writing as dead as a dodo as an ugly-as-sin cliché in an uphill battle. Scared out of your wits of tired-as-Hell expressions? Frightened to death of weak-as-a-kitten vernacular? Well, better safe than sorry, so be brave as a lion with nerves of steel and more haste that makes waste than the speed of a hare. I love you more than life itself, for every cloud has a silver lining while opposites attract and like attracts like without a care in the world of difference. Too many cooks spoil the broth, though many hands make like work and don't know what the other hand is doing, except scratching my back, which you should get off, with my knickers in a twist, the tongue I bit and my cat got and the ear I play by like kittens in a poke. Be still, my beating heart of gold in the right place, but hey! While the sun shines like a new pin, fit as a fiddle off the top of my head start in life, which you can't judge by its low-hanging fruit unless you play your cards right as rain close to your chest on the table. The old-as-the-hills man got to the other side, where the grass is greener with envy, tickled pink and red as a beet, like the town I painted, had a night person on and really went to. The ball I dropped is in your court, so don't sit on the fence: spill the beans, old bean! Break a leg I pulled through thick and thin once in a blue moon. Take it with a pinch of salt, the best thing since sliced bead that always falls butter-side down in the dumps and the mouth, with your foot in, come rain or shine, and you can say that again by the skin of your gritted, gnashing teeth before you go down on flames under the weather. We see eye-to-eye, we're on the same page, you're speaking my language...
(Laughter)
LECHERER Yes, laughter is the best medicine!
Pans out to show one person in the hall.
PERSON I'm not laughing AT you, I'm...
LECHERER Oh shut up.
1:Where have you been since I saw you?
2:Erm...when did we last meet? Actually, have we ever met?
1:You've been on Ilkley moor.
2:I have, yes.
1:Without a hat.
2:I don't own hat. Who owns a hat?
1:Have you been courting Mary Jane?
2:Not recently. We've been married some years.
1:You're bound to catch your death of cold.
2:From not wearing a hat? In August? Anyway, it's a virus - one that's rarely fatal.
1:Then we'll have to bury you.
2:Well, *you* won't. Sounds like you'd probably like to watch, and note down what everyone's wearing, but you wouldn't be involved.
1: Then the worms will eat you.
2:I'm being cremated.
1:Then the ducks will eat the worms.
2:What ducks? The ducks in the crematorium? They don't have ducks in the crematorium. And if they do they couldn't break into an urn.
1:Then we'll go and eat the ducks.
2:Are you a poacher? An urban poacher? Is that a thing now? Like on Tik Tok?
1:Then, right, we'll have eaten you!
2: Pretty convoluted. But I suppose. You'll have eaten me. What is this, cannibalism for homeopathists?
1:And that is where we'll get our own back.
2:For what?
1:La la la, can't hear you, bare-headed dead duck food man! We'll get! Our own! Back!
GRAMS:30s BBC TYPE JINGLE
V/O:For God's sake buy yourself a hat, you slovenly wretches!
Int. office. Day.
Tom sits behind a desk. Fred is sitting at the opposite side.
FRED:
You know what I'd love, a bit of a chat.
TOM:
A bit of a chat?
FRED:
A bit of a chat. I was at home eating my pig and I thought to myself I'd love a bit of a-
TOM:
A bit of a chat?
FRED:
A bit of a chat.
TOM:
We'll I'm afraid you've come to the exact wrong place. This is a bank.
FRED:
A bank?
TOM:
A bank.
FRED:
But that's the exact wrong place.
TOM:
Wrong place is right. Where you need to go is a Chatorium.
FRED:
And what do they do there?
TOM:
I thought it was obvious. We've just been talking about it.
FRED:
Eat pigs?
TOM:
No, it's a place to chat.
FRED:
But that's exactly what I want - a place to chat.
TOM:
What you want is a place to chat and that's what they do at the Chatorium.
FRED:
So how does it work?
TOM:
The reception desk is always manned by a magician. You take a card, any card and whatever you pick is matched up with someone who has picked the same subject as you. You both disappear behind the curtain and off you chat.
FRED:
And what do we do then?
TOM:
You chat about whats on the card.
FRED:
I don't follow.
TOM:
Just say you picked a card with history and so did Jim. You and Jim would go behind the curtain and talk about history.
FRED:
Uh, I don't want to talk about history.
TOM:
It mightn't necessarily be history. It could be any subject.
FRED:
Truth be told, it's Jim. I really don't want to chat with him.
TOM:
I just made him up- look. I promise you'll love it.
FRED:
Won't you come with me for a bit of a chat. I'd love a bit of a chat.
TOM:
I can't I'm snowed under.
FRED:
But you told me you were bored senseless.
TOM:
I didn't want to cause a fuss but I swallowed a load of um, um, needles at lunch and I need to go to the hospital.
FRED:
Why didn't you say? We can stop off for a chat on the way.
TOM:
I'm waiting for the ambulance.
FRED:
Won't you come for a bit of a chat?
TOM:
No!
FRED:
A piece of a chat?
TOM:
I can't!
FRED:
A snip of a chat. A chatette. You'd hardly even know it was there.
TOM:
No!
FRED:
A ch- half a chat.
TOM:
You're really starting to annoy me!
FRED:
A Chatticus Finch? I know, how about a chat?
TOM:
Get out. Get out!!
FRED:
Fine, I'll go.
TOM:
You're going to the Chatorium?
FRED:
No, I'm all chatted out to be honest.
He exits and he meets paramedics rushing in.
PARAMEDIC:
The man who swallowed all the needles?
END.
Harder than Father Jenkins during Tellietubbies... Otterfox just pips it.
O to the T to the T to the - well, you get the idea.
A mightily impressive list of cliches from Mikey Monkhouse but the Gapman clinches it for me with his random duck talk.