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Radio-play Transcript
"The Four Fools" show:
'Trouble At Mill'
Transcribed & Edited by
W.D.Reimer
Produced by: W.D.Reimer,
with material by: E.O.Costello, M.M.Marmel, & J.T.Urie
| Transcription
Service Rain Island Radiocast Collective "Trouble at Mill” ZYPR broadcast, Thursday March 11, 1937, 2230 Seathl time Broadcast rights reserved. [GRAMS: Sound of approaching train] Announcer: Do you hear that coming? Who could it be? [GRAMS: Sound of train jumping the tracks and wrecking spectacularly] Announcer: Yes, folks! That’s right – it’s The Four Fools! Put the kids to bed, lock up your daughters, and leave the liquor out. Or . . . wait, lock up the liquor and leave the daughters out . . . hmmm . . . well, we’ll figure it out, in the meantime . . . [GRAMS: Sound of metal parts clanging and tinkling in the background; sound fades down] (Theme: The Rubbish Tip Buskers play “The Old Comrades March”) Announcer: The Seathl Distiller’s and Brewer’s Syndicate, in a fit of misguided wisdom, presents “Trouble at Mill,” a new comedy series starring the Four Fools. Sponsored tonight by Pineway Distillery, makers of Cougar Whiskey, and based on characters created by W.D. Reimer and E.O. Costello. (Music fades down) Announcer: The Four Fools, Alan, Bobby, Chuck and Dexter, no longer content to cause mayhem on stage, have now invaded the airwaves. And they haven’t even touched the broccoli. [GRAMS: Loud, sustained farting noise] Announcer: So brace yourselves, folks! Bobby: Shut that big gawping acorn hole of yours, and get away from the microphone! [GRAMS: Whooshing sound] Chuck: Yeah, it’s not like it’s our fault we can’t keep a job . . . Alan: Bloody hell, I thought for sure that lumberyard job was a winner. Dexter: Until Bobby decided to try speeding up the saw. Bobby: Listen, you rank, oily-furred bastard, it wasn’t my fault that the damn blade snapped. Dexter: And so was it your fault to blame me for it? Bobby: YES! Dexter: Why? Bobby: Right. That’s where you’re wrong. I mean, do ya expect me to blame Chuck? Chuck: Oh, sure, blame me. Like I’m responsible for everything. Alan: Chuck, you’re not even responsible for bathing yourself. Dexter: Yeah, your last bath was when we threw you in the river. Chuck: That wouldn’t have been so bad guys, but did you have to throw me from a train? Off a bridge? Alan: And through the ice. Don’t forget that. Dexter: There’s nothing like a cold shower. Bobby: As if that would do you any good. Chuck: It’s not MY fault . . . it’s the broccoli . . . Alan: Which brings up a question, Chuck: Why is a wolf a vegetarian? Chuck: It’s really simple; um . . . ah . . . I forgot. Dexter: Idiot! That’s what you get for getting too close to the pile-driver at that one job! Bobby: So what’s YOUR damned excuse? [GRAMS: Train whistle] Conductor (Lilly Lamont): Bradshaw next station! Dexter: Alan, where did the guy at the lumberyard tell us to get off? Alan: What, the printable part? He told us to get off at Tillamook. Dexter: (laughs self-consciously) That’s silly – we’d all drown. Alan: That was the general idea. But this looks as good a place as any. Hey, Miss, how’d you like some companionship? Maybe come with me back to the luggage car and I’ll show you my etchings. Conductor: Erm, no. [GRAMS: Running feet] Alan: What’s got under her tail? She’s given me an idea. Bobby: The idea of you getting into her knickers? Alan: I’ve got an idea about her knickers, but I’m pretty sure it violates at least seven international treaties. Dexter: And six geese a-laying? Chuck: Laying who? Alan: Get your mind out of the gutter. Mine was there first. Bobby: Look, are we going to find a job? I’m hungry, and the Workingmen’s Hall stinks. Dexter: That was just Chuck, letting us all know about the broccoli pie they served the other night. Chuck: Sorry . . . [GRAMS: Sound of smack across back of vulpine head] Dexter: OWW! BOBBY! Bobby: What? Dexter: What’d you hit me for? Bobby: I was bored. Alan: Let’s go find a job before Bobby gets bored enough to burn the town down. Dexter: Again. [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head being smacked] Dexter: OWW! Bobby: Look, is it my fault that they’re crazy for the wood here? Alan: Too much information, mate. Too much information. (Musical bridge) Chuck: Look, here’s a ‘Help Wanted’ sign. Dexter: ‘Help Wanted?’ Looks like a gigantic outhouse. What kind of help would they want in an outhouse? Bobby: Inventory control, you idiot. Chuck: Yeah, your tail’s about fluffy enough to use as a toilet brush. Dexter: (splutters) Alan: Hmm, it’s called the Mill Theater. The sign says it was erected in 1912. Bobby: Christ! If that’s the kind of erections they get in this town, no wonder it’s dead boring. Dexter: Yeah, what’d they build it out of? It looks like a box of Whizzo Corn Flakes – Alan: Wrong sponsor, Dex. Dexter: - that the roaches have got hold of. Bobby: Sort of like the script? Alan: Nahh, roaches would reject this script. Chuck: So ZYPR’s worse than roaches? Alan: The Radiocasting Collective’s worse than the Manure Collective. Bobby: How do you figure that, Alan? Dexter: Standing upwind from a radio doesn’t help. Alan: You said it, I didn’t. Look, here’s a ‘Help Wanted’ sign, so let’s go in and see what they’ve got. Chuck: Hey, wait. I said that a few minutes ago. Alan: Yeah, but furs’ll follow me. Anyone following you would need a gas mask. [GRAMS: Footsteps; sound of door opening] Ernest Beary (Alvin Bradshaw): “That’s my last Duchess hanging on the wall – “ Alan: Oh, is she well-hung, then? Bobby: Not so you’d notice. Ernest: Be still, my good men; I’m reciting poetry. Dexter: Poetry! I know lots of poetry. Here’s one: “The cabin boy, the cabin boy, the dirty little nipper . . . “ [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head taking a hit] Dexter: OWW! Bobby! Ernest: My name’s Ernest Beary. What can I do for you boys? Alan: Stop crying, Dexter. Dexter: I’m not crying – I just have something in my eye. Bobby: That’d be my finger. Give it back when you’re finished. Chuck: I’d be careful. You don’t know where it’s been. Alan: Well, Ernest, – may I call you Ernest? Ernest: Sure. Alan: I’ll be frank – Bobby: He’ll be earnest too, if you like. Alan: We’re looking for work. Ernest: Really? I’ve been looking for a few actors. Can you act? Alan: Certainly we can act! Dexter’s been acting like he’s intelligent for years. Dexter: (splutters) Ernest: I’m afraid I can only use three of you, though. There might be a job opening up the street, a bit closer to town. Alan: Well, what’s that? Ernest: I’m not sure. Francine! Francine Beary (Melanie Haber): Yes, Ernest – oh! Hello! Alan: Who’s the sow? Francine: Sow! God, what a low and vulgar term! The correct term is ‘bearess.’ Alan: Mind your manners, lads. But of course she isn’t a bearess, either – she’s wearing a dress. For now, anyway. Ernest: Boys, this is my wife, Francine. She and I came here from New York – Francine: - to raise the deplorably low level of culture in this backwards country. Dexter: She’s right, you know. [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head getting smacked] Dexter: Oww! Bobby! Are you going to stop hitting me on the head? Bobby: Let me think. Hmmm. No. Dexter: Oh. Just checking. Chuck: Look, are we going to get jobs, or stand around listening to these two ‘outsiders’ run down Rain Island? I can’t stand that kind of negativity. Alan: More to the point, we should be running down Rain Island, not them. Rains all the time – Chuck: Well if it didn’t, it wouldn’t be Rain Island then, would it? Bobby: Chuck? Chuck: Yes, Bobby? [GRAMS: Sound of lupine head being hit; sound of body hitting floor] Alan: This might be a good time for a commercial. Bobby: Does it involve a lot of violence? Alan: Possibly from the sponsor if we don’t work something in. Announcer: You’re right, Alan! Now is a great time for a bit of a break. Dexter: Oh, like Chuck’s head? Announcer: No, Dexter. Now’s the time to sit back and relax, and have a sip of smooth Cougar Whiskey! Cougar, another fine product of the Distiller’s Collective, is as refreshing as a mountain brook – Bobby: - downstream from an open sewer - Announcer: - and has a clean, smooth taste because it’s made of the finest grain and pure spring water from glacier-fed streams. Dexter: And is it passed through a cougar before it’s aged? [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head being smacked] Dexter: Ow! Announcer: No, but fine Cougar Whiskey is aged to perfection, kept in specially made oak barrels for at least ten years before bottling! Bobby: And the bottles make great clubs, too! Watch! [GRAMS: Sound of bottle being broken across a marten’s head] Bobby: See? Announcer: Er, yeah. So folks, whether you’re having a party or just sitting back to relax over the weekend or holiday – Alan: - or you’re trying to get a girl under the table - Announcer: - remember the brand with the leaping cougar on the label! Cougar Whiskey! Alan: Yeah, it’s smooth enough to make any girl wetter than a salmon’s swimsuit. Chuck: Why is the cougar leaping? Dexter: He’s hoping to make it to the outhouse in time. Announcer: That’s Cougar Whiskey, made at the Pineway Distillery. Another fine product of the Distiller’s Collective. And now – Chuck: What? You expect us to get back to this show? We want some whiskey! Announcer: Or what? Bobby: Well, we could switch from comedy to a re-enactment of certain of the more violent parts of the Thirty Years’ War. Alan: Don’t mess with him. He spent eight years in college. Bobby: Two of them sober, even. Announcer: All right then, Bobby. Enjoy your drinks while the Rubbish Tip Buskers regale us with their latest song, “So, Your Brother’s in Jail?” [MUSIC: Song “So, Your Brother’s in Jail?”] (Pause for applause) Announcer: So, here we are, with the second part of our show featuring the Four Fools. The plot of this show could have been written on a napkin. Dexter: How do you mean? Announcer: Because it’s a tissue of lies. [GRAMS: Sound of running feet] Bobby: And STAY OFF the stage from now on! No one steals our lines! Chuck: Yeah! Especially since we’ve stolen them fair and square! Bobby: (sniffs) Chuck? Chuck: Yeah? Bobby: You’ve been into the broccoli again? Chuck: Yeah. Sorry, I can’t help it. First it’s one spear, then two, then three, then before you know it . . . [GRAMS: Sound of lupine head being struck] Bobby: We’ve got a bloody lupine gasworks. Ernest: Ahem. As I was saying . . . Francine, do you know about the job opening up in the town? Francine: Oh, yes. It’s a job waiting tables – Dexter: Who wants to wait for tables? Sounds stupid to me. Alan: Right up your alley then, Dex. Dexter: (splutters) Francine: No, it’s a job at a restaurant. Alan: What kind of restaurant? Do they serve a blue plate special? Bobby: From the looks of this burg, it’d be more like a brown plank special. Francine: I think it’s a Chinese restaurant. Dexter: Oh, so it’s a lestaulant, then? Bobby: Dexter? Shut up, before I kill you! Dexter: Oh, that’s nice Bobby! Maybe you should get a job up here at the theater, with devastating repartee like that. Good Lord, you’d think you were trying out for – Bobby: I’m warning you. Dexter: - for a part on “Amateur Night!” Bobby: That does it! Where’s a club? [GRAMS: Sound of wood breaking] Bobby: Dexter, I warned you never to mention that show in my presence. It’s not MY fault that my girlfriend has a more popular show than I do. Now come here so I can smash your teeth in. Dexter: Why? Bobby: Why not? Dexter: You’ve got me there, mate. Rock-solid logic. [GRAMS: Sound of running feet] Alan: Guys! Guys! Stop a moment! Bobby: Yes, Alan? Alan: Bobby, where’d you get that two-by-four? Bobby: Right over there, where it was – uh, oh. [GRAMS: Sound of wood creaking] [GRAMS: Sound of canvas tearing] [GRAMS: Sound of stage backdrop falling in a heap] Alan: Bobby? Bobby: Yeah? Alan: Get a job at that restaurant. Bobby: Why? Alan: I don’t know. Call me a selfish bastard, but we need to advance the plot somehow. Bobby: You’re right. Alan: I am? Bobby: Yes. You’re a selfish bastard. (Musical bridge) Customer: Hey! Gin Seng (Warner Oland): Yah, sah? Customer: This chicken is rubbery. Gin: Ahh! Fang you sah, velly much. [GRAMS: Sound of door opening, bell rings] Gin: Ah, werrcome to House of Gin! Is velly finest chop suey prace in arr Lain Irsand! Chuck: Can you understand him, Alan? Alan: I can understand you, can’t I? House of Gin, eh? Where’s the drinks? Bobby: Yeah, all we’ve had so far today is some stinking Cougar Whiskey. Dexter: It’s better than stinking broccoli. Gin: Ah, Cougah Whiskey velly fine. Dexter: Is he the spokesfur? Alan: Dunno, he might own the company. See here, are you looking for someone to work here? Gin: Eeh, yes! Need one piecee fly cook and waitah. Bobby: Fly cook? How do you cook them? Alan: I’d be more worried about serving them. I mean, where’s the white meat? Gin: Yes, fly cook. Cook arr food in wok. Dexter: Do you get to wok your dog later? (laughs) [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head being struck] Alan: Bobby here’s looking for a job. Gin: Ahh, velly good. Hmm. (sniffing noise) Hmm! He smerr rike open outhouse, but is okeh – so do moo goo gai pan on Flidays. Bobby: So what’s all that mean? Gin: (suddenly switching accent) You’ve got a job! Don’t you understand good English? Or are you college-educated? Bobby: Not coming from you, mate. Hey, what happened to your accent? Gin: Oops. So solly – must go back to kitchen, and pehpetuate condescending laciah steleotype for Lain Isrand audience. Herro, fohks! Customer: Gin! Gin: I terr yah befoh, no gin! Whiskey! Customer: Bugger! Gin: No, Cougah! Alan: Same difference. Customer: You’re a panda, aintcha? Gin: Oh, velly yes. And is how I panda to plovinciah Lain Isrand sensibirities. Now, escuse prease. Come on, Bobby. Alan: There, that’s jobs for all of us now. Let’s go back to the theater. Ernest might have dug Francine out from under the scenery by now. (Musical bridge) Ernest: Are you all right, my dear? Francine: Yes, dear. I’m sorry that your backdrop got broken. Ernest: It’s quite all right, dear. Your head broke its descent quite admirably. [GRAMS: Sound of door opening] Ernest: Ah, gentlemen! Chuck: Who walked in? Ernest: I need your help in getting the scenery put back together. We need to get ready for tonight’s performance. Dexter: What’s that then? “Importance of Being Earnest?” Ernest: No, we’re performing Shakespeare. Chuck: Why? Can’t he perform on his own? Dexter: Maybe he should try Harper’s Elixir. 160 proof. Drink it and you get stiff. Alan: Wrong sponsor and wrong stiff, Dexter. No booze ration for you tonight. Dexter: Who’s getting my ration? Alan: I am, because I ratted you out to the sponsor. Dexter: (Vulpine growling) Ernest: Now, here are your scripts and costumes. [GRAMS: Sound of papers and cloth rustling] Chuck: We’re supposed to wear THESE? Alan: What are you complaining about? They look better than what you’ve got on. Chuck: But I’ll catch cold. You know I have a delicate constitution. Alan: Your constitution needs amending. No, wait, what it really needs is a coup d’etat. Like this. [GRAMS: Sound of lupine head being smacked] Dexter: Now, now, Chuck . . . this is no time to bring up your illness. We don’t need any pathos here – or any of the other Musketeers. Alan: Dexter? Dexter: Yes, Alan? [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head getting slapped] Ernest: We’ll be doing Shakespeare’s “Merchant of Venice” tonight. Alan: Sorry. I don’t like guys. Ask Chuck. Ernest: No, no, we’ll be performing the play “The Merchant of Venice.” Alan: Oh. Well why didn’t you say so? You know, you’re hard to understand, with that accent. Ernest: Hmmph! I’ll have you know, sir, I performed before the King. Chuck: Which one? Ernest: What? Chuck: Which King? I knew an Eddie King, back in school... Francine: Gentlemen, please! Can we please get on with it? Alan: I’d love to Good-looking, but shouldn’t we wait until everyone else is gone? Dexter: You’ll need to – no one wants to see what a flea-ridden badger’s you-know-what looks like. Alan: And how would YOU know what my you-know-what looks like? Sorry if I’m using such advanced medical lingo. Dexter: Er. Ah. Um, Chuck told me! Chuck: No I didn’t! Alan: Well, it was probably Bobby. Chuck, that costume looks a bit tight on you. Ernest: Now, boys, remember – the audience can always recognize genius. Alan: They’ll be recognizing something else, with a costume like that. I didn’t know you were Catholic, Chuck. Chuck: Is it that obvious? Dexter: Only if you use a magnifying glass. Ernest: Come, come now gentlemen. We must get ready for our audience. (Musical bridge) [GRAMS: Loud quacking and squawking, sound of pots and pans being knocked to the floor] Gin: Bobby! Bobby: Yeah? Gin: I terr you to PRUCK the duck! Bobby: Oh. Solly. Hey! Now you’ve got ME doing it . . . Gin: Nevah mind that. Why you no makee egg foo yung rike customah ask? Bobby: ‘Cause it ain’t egg or young. It’s just ‘foo.’ Gin: I rike you, Bobby. I sweah, I kirr you rast. [GRAMS: Sound of door opening, bell jingling] Gin: Herro! Werrcome to House of Gin! Customer: My usual today, Gin – sweet and sour pork, please. Gin: Ah, velly good, sah. Bobby! One piecee sweet an’ souah pohk, prease! Wait! Wheah you going? Bobby: To find a pig with a bad disposition. Gin: Why? Bobby: (sighs exasperatedly) You said you wanted sour pork, didn’t you? Gin: I take it back – I kirr you now. [GRAMS: Shouting in Chinese off-mike, marten squealing, sound of pots and pans being thrown around] (Musical bridge) [GRAMS: Crowd noises briefly, then quiet down] Ernest: Hath not a Jew eyes? Audience Member 1: Look damned silly without ‘em, you jerk! Ernest: Hath not a Jew hands, organs- Audience Member 2: Ask his wife! Ernest: - dimensions, senses, affections, passions – A M 1 + 2: Careful . . . Ernest: - fed with the same food – A M 2: Better not be broccoli like that gasbag over there! Ernest: - hurt with the same weapons – Alan: (undertone) Good thing Bobby isn’t here . . . Ernest: - subject to the same diseases – A M 1+2: WHICH ONES? Ernest: - healed by the same means, warmed - A M #1: We can’t hear you back here! Alan: So what the hell are you complaining about? Dexter: You really can’t hear us? Audience Member #2: Nope. Dexter: THEN HOW CAN YOU ANSWER MY QUESTION? A M 1: I can read lips. A M 2: That’s a bleedin’ talent in these parts. Alan: I once had a girl almost break my head open because I offered to read her lips. Chuck: Really, Alan? Alan: Yeah. I suppose I shouldn’t have made the offer while kneeling. Dexter: I’d rather read my girl’s lips than her mind. A M 2: Why? Dexter: I hate blank verse. (Audience groans) [GRAMS: Splattering sound of thrown fruit] Chuck: You might get a riot started with jokes like that, Dexter. Alan: Or a salad. Watch out for the guy in the sixth row – he’s got a watermelon and a nasty glint in his eye. Dexter: Well, why not? It’d be more exciting than this hashed up play. Why are we performing a play with a prince in it? This is Rain Island – we don’t have no royalty. Chuck: Then who do we blame if things go wrong? Alan: Look, Chuck, I’ll explain it again for you. We’re an anarcho-syndicalist society. So when things go balls up, we need a damn committee to figure out why things went balls up. Dexter: Yeah. We’ve got a Department of What the Hell Happened, and a Department of What the Hell Do We Do Now? Chuck: Well, how’s that different from everywhere else? Alan: In a capitalist society, the stockholders make a balls up of everything. A M 1: And the communists – over there the proletariat makes a balls up of everything. Dexter: Oh? And what do they do in New Haven, Clever Trousers? Ernest: They talk about how much better their balls ups are compared to other peoples’ balls ups, of course. Chuck: That takes a lot of . . . (Audience groans) [GRAMS: More splattering of fruit, and some angry chicken clucking] Alan: Don’t look now, Chuck, but I think the play’s going to take a sausage. Chuck: What do you mean, Alan? Alan: A turn for the wurst. [GRAMS: Sound of doors banging open, followed by Chinese shouting off-mike] Alan: See? Bobby: Look out! He’s mad! Gin: I not mad! I onry want kirr you! Alan: See? That’s the advantage of a planned economy. Bobby: Who says this economy’s planned? I’ve seen better organized riots! Gin: Come on, Bobby – Gin onry want pray wit’ your entlaihs! Dexter: Well, this is certainly more exciting than the play, isn’t it? (Applause) Ernest: You seem to be right, lad. Vox populi, vox Dei. Alan: What the hell’s that mean, then? Ernest: It’s Latin – “the voice of the people is the voice of God.” A M 2: Vox off, then! Dexter: Well, thank Nobody I’m an atheist. Gin: AIYEEE! Bobby: Watch it with that cleaver, Gin! [GRAMS: Sound of steel chopping wood] [GRAMS: Ominous creaking] Alan: Uh oh. You know, I’m getting the strangest sense of déjà vu. Either that, or it’s the four glasses of Cougar Whiskey I’ve drunk. [GRAMS: Sound of wood breaking, canvas tearing] Francine: Ow! My head! Chuck: It’s okay – she’s not badly hurt. Dexter: Badly? Ernest: No, quite well. Bobby: You could drop a safe on her head, and dent the safe. Look, I’ll prove it . . . Alan: Save the experiments for later, we’ve got to take our bows. Look, the audience seems to like it. [GRAMS: Audience applauding, chickens clucking] Alan: Tap Dancing Succubi! Bobby: Where? Alan: Dunno, but I wish they were here. Might distract the audience so we can escape. Ernest: No need to escape, lads. The audience loves you. [GRAMS: Audience applauding] Alan: Too much information, mate. Never trust an audience that carries chickens with them. Bobby: Doesn’t take much to amuse them, does it? Alan: I dunno. Ask the chickens. [GRAMS: Wood and canvas being moved aside] Dexter: Watch it! Gin’s coming out from under the set! Gin: That does it! This job no good foh broody cameo! Me reaving! [GRAMS: Footsteps receding] Bobby: Don’t let the exit smack you in your two-tone arse. [GRAMS: Sound of blade whizzing through air] [GRAMS: “Thwack!” sound as cleaver strikes the stage] Chuck: Leave it to Gin to make a last cutting remark. Get it? (Audience groans) [GRAMS: Sound of squishing fruit and eggs, angry chicken noises] Chuck: What’d I say? [GRAMS: Sound of lupine head being hit] Bobby: Well, with Gin gone, now I’m out of a job. Alan: If the gin’s gone, you can always drink Cougar Whiskey. Bobby: I hate being that damned desperate. Dexter: Don’t worry – you can get a job at ZYPR. Bobby: If you can call that work. It’s more like spending time in prison, making plaid shirts. Alan: So that’s where they come from? Has anyone told the League of Nations? Ernest: Gentlemen! Alan, Bobby, Chuck, Dexter (together): Where? Huh? Who walked in? Ernest: Gentlemen, since the audience seems happy with the performance tonight, I think that Francine and I will be happy to have all four of you working here. Dexter: Wait a minute – I thought it was your wife who got hit on the head? (Music rises, then fades.) Announcer: About now, dear friends, this might be a good time for – Alan: A frontal lobotomy. See your local Medical Collective tomorrow! Announcer: Ahem, for a last drop of that deliciously smooth elixir known as – Bobby: Piss off! Announcer: - known as Cougar Whiskey. Cougar! One of the fine products of the Distiller’s Collective! Alan: I hope we get in-kind payments – I could use a drink after reading this crud. Announcer: You’ve been listening to – voluntarily, yet – to the Four Fools in their production of “Trouble at Mill,” brought to you by the Distiller’s Collective. [GRAMS: Three raspberries and a farting noise] Announcer: Alan was played by Alan Bryant, Bobby by Bobby Donaldson, Chuck by Chuck Miner, and Dexter by Dexter Mayhew. Ernest and Francine Beary were played by Alvin Bradshaw and Melanie Haber. The part of Gin Seng was played by our special guest, Warner Oland. Alan: See if he shows up here again. Announcer: Music by the Rubbish Tip Buskers, who come to us courtesy of their mothers. Oh, if they’d only known . . . Chuck: Well, they can make birth control retroactive, can’t they? Announcer: The show – such as it was – was produced by W.D. Reimer – Bobby: - who should get out more often – Dexter: Speak for yourself. I wouldn’t want him out in public. Announcer: - with material written by E.O Costello, M.M. Marmel and J.T. Urie. Dexter: Lot of initials there. Alan: Well, it’s an initial success. [GRAMS: Sound of badger skull being hit] Alan: Ow! Announcer: I, for one, prefer to remain anonymous. This been the Rain Island Radiocast Collective, Station ZYPR, wishing all of you out there a very pleasant night’s sleep. Dexter: When you’re not making babies. [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head being hit] (Music rises, then fades). Transcribed and edited by W.D.Reimer |