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Radio-play Transcript
"The Four Fools" show:
'Military Morons'
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 "Military Morons” ZYPR broadcast, Thursday March 25, 1937, 2230 Seathl time Broadcast rights reserved. [GRAMS: Sound of approaching car, speeding down a road; squealing tires] Announcer: Do you hear that coming? Who could it be? [GRAMS: Sound of car skidding out of control 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 I suppose, but 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 “Military Morons,” a new episode starring the Four Fools. Sponsored by Chilikoot Brewery, makers of Thunderbolt Lager, 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, continue to assault our morals and the fine country we live in. And you may want to keep Chuck out of the broccoli, or the smell will start killing the trees. [GRAMS: Loud, sustained farting noise] Announcer: So brace yourselves, folks! Dexter: Clear off, you horned nuisance! Go drink your Orca-Cola and leave us alone! Announcer: Fat lot he knows – I get Cougar Whiskey when I’m on break. Alan: Why, you - [GRAMS: Whooshing sound] Chuck: And stay away this time. Cougar’s not the sponsor tonight, either. Alan: Great Tapdancing Succubi! Dexter: Where? And can I afford one? Alan: Never mind that, Dexter – foxes aren’t even randy enough for them. A thought just occurred to me. Chuck: That’s something new. [GRAMS: Sound of lupine head getting smacked] Alan: Where’s Bobby? He’s usually abusing one of you by now. Dexter: Yeah, where is he? Chuck: I think he’s behind these crates of Thunderbolt Lager. [GRAMS: Sound of crates being moved] Alan: Careful! That’s our pay for this week! [GRAMS: Sound of snoring] Chuck: Here he is, out cold and mumbling in his sleep. I think he’s been dipping into the pay a bit early. Dexter: What’s he saying? Bobby: (mumbled) Millie . . . Millie . . . Alan: That’s actually quite articulate for our marten friend. Still going on about his girlfriend, eh? Chuck: Do you think we should wake him up? [GRAMS: Farting noise, loudly] Dexter: Phew! That should about do it, one way or the other. (coughs) Bobby: Ew! Damn! Chuck, get any closer and I’ll kill you. Alan: NO killing until you tell us what you’re doing, loafing on the job with a skin full of beer in you, Bobby. Bobby: I wasn’t loafing on the job; I was drinking. Dexter: That’s OUR booze too, Bobby! Bobby: Shut your hole, Dexter, before I stuff an empty bottle in it. Big end first. Alan: Wouldn’t work, Bobby – he’s used to that. Dexter: (splutters) [GRAMS: Farting noise] Dexter: Good God, another one! Chuck, you should be lucky the boys in Geneva don’t know about you. The League of Nations would have you posted up along with the Kaiser. Chuck: It’s not my fault. I tried something new today. Alan: What? Chuck: Asparagus. Dexter: That explains my eyes burning. Alan: Getting back to the point – and no, not your head, Dexter – Bobby, why were you whimpering in your sleep? Bobby: I wasn’t whimpering. Dexter: Yes, you were – you were whimpering “Millie.” Bobby: Dexter? Dexter: Yeah? [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head being smacked] Dexter: OWW! Alan: It’s true, Bobby, you were going on about your girlfriend. Again. Bobby: Oh. Well, Millie’s a great girl and all . . . Dexter: With a body that won’t quit – if you’re into mink. Chuck: Yeah, and her show’s more successful . . . [GRAMS: Sound of smack across back of lupine head] Chuck: OWW! [GRAMS: Doorbell] Dexter: Who the hell could that be? Bobby: Probably your Charles Antler body-building course. Alan: Go see who it is, Dexter. Ah, Spring, when a young fur’s thoughts turn to love. Bobby: Who said anything about love? She was great in the sack! She had this little trick, you see, where she puts her - [GRAMS: Sound of mustelid head being smacked] Alan: Enough of that, Bobby. Remember those nice people from the Standards Office. Chuck: The ones with the pitchforks? Alan: No, the ones with the boiling tar. And I don’t know why we’re discussing your love life – the contract says I’m the one who’s the hit with the ladies. Dexter: FIVE MONKEYS IN A PHONE BOOTH! Chuck: Must be bad news. Bobby: Either that or Dexter’s got a new hobby. Dexter: Worse! We’ve got a letter from the Military Collective. Alan: And they want us to perform for them? Chuck: Or have us perform for the Vostokies? Bobby: Great! I hear their Grand Duchess is a goer. Alan: Too much information, Bobby. Well, Dexter? I hear grinding noises, so you’re obviously thinking. Dexter: We have to report to the nearest Naval Syndicate base for training. Flight training. Alan: Right. Which one of you signed the contract for this? Bobby: I was drunk at the time, and this shaman fellow told me it was the right thing to do. [GRAMS: Sound of mustelid head being smacked] Dexter: A shaman told you that? What was his spirit totem, a cockroach? (Musical bridge) [GRAMS: Distant sound of aircraft engines] Chuck: Look, there’s a plane. Dexter: It’s an aerodrome, you idiot – there’s supposed to be planes here. Bobby: I’m not interested in planes – I want to join the Army and drive one of those big metal things. What are they called? Chuck: Tanks. Bobby: You’re welcome. [GRAMS: Sound of mustelid head getting smacked] Alan: Hmm, there go a few pilots. You gotta love how the flight suits hug those curves. Bobby: Christ! Look at that antelope doe over there. I don’t think she’s wearing any knickers under that suit. Dexter: Why don’t you go ask, Bobby? I’m sure the base hospital’s open by now. [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head being smacked] Dexter: Speaking of which, I think I should see a doctor. My ears are ringing. Alan: If it’s for me, tell ‘em I’m out. Chuck: What if it’s ZYPR? Alan: Tell ‘em I ran away to join the circus. Bobby: Oh, like ZYPR’s worse than a circus? Dexter: They’ve got more freaks than the usual sideshow. Alan: Careful – I heard that for every time we piss off ZYPR they take away one case of beer from our pay. Chuck: What! Wait a minute! We LOVE ZYPR, don’t we guys? Bobby: No we don’t. We love their payment scheme. And not a word out of you, Chuck – the last thing we need around here is a combination of asparagus and beer farts. Dexter: Yeah, that’d be deadly. [GRAMS: Footsteps] Ernest Beary (Alvin Bradshaw): Attention! Alan: Well, you’ve got my attention, at least. What are you shouting for, Purrshing? Beary: My name’s not Purrshing. Alan: Oh, so it’s my fault that Rain Island doesn’t have any generals with famous names? Dexter: Well, there’s General Nuisance, you know. [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head taking a hit] Bobby: And General Confusion. Beary: I’m Sergeant Beary, and you’re assigned to me for drill and flight training. Chuck: Drill? Great, I have a cavity right here, on one of my back molars - [GRAMS: Sound of lupine head being smacked] Alan: Shut up, Chuck – the only cavity you’ve got is between your ears. And there’s not enough concrete in Rain Island to fill it. Dexter: That wasn’t very nice, Alan. Alan: Well, flight training ought to be great for you, Dexter. You fly off the handle constantly. Dexter: (splutters) I DO NOT! Alan: See what I mean? Okay, Sergeant, you have our attention. Where’s our beer ration? Beary: You’ll get it at dinner, like everyone else. Now, stand at attention. [GRAMS: Sound of shuffling feet; sudden loud, sustained farting noise] Beary: Gad! Who did that? Chuck: Sorry . . . Alan: Tap Dancing Succubi, Chuck! Asparagus and beer – that’ll get you arrested for sure! Beary: Remind me to have my gas mask handy when I’m out here with you lot. Bobby: Can we each get one as well? Alan: Yeah, where’s the equality in not letting us all have gas masks? This is Rain Island, after all. Beary: You’re USED to him. Alan: He’s got us there, lads. Beary: Now, right – FACE! And we’ll march down to the quartermaster to get your uniforms. Dexter: The quartermaster? Sounds cheap – is there a half-dollar master? Bobby: Try the Chief Syndic. I hear he’s tight with a buck. Chuck: That may be true, but never mind what he does at night. How is he with money? [GRAMS: Sound of lupine head getting smacked] Alan: Hey, Sergeant. You shouldn’t hit Chuck on the head. Dexter: That’s our job. Beary: Oh, is it? What are you four, communists? Share the labor, that’s our motto here. Bobby: Do we also share the blame if the job’s a balls-up? Chuck: Well if we do, I want my fair share. Bobby: Chuck? Chuck: Yes, Bobby? [GRAMS: Sound of lupine head being hit; sound of body hitting floor] Alan: Hang on a moment, Sergeant. I think it’s time for a commercial. Beary: Not yet. So, let’s get marching. Dexter: Wait a moment! Who told you that you could say whether it’s time for a commercial or not? Beary: The sponsor. Dexter: Oh, well – that’s different. Come on you guys. Left, right, left, right . . . (musical bridge) Dexter: Five monkeys in a phone booth, these uniforms make me look like I’m in a sack! Bobby: I’m not surprised. You’re half in the bag most of the time anyway. Dexter: (splutters) Chuck: At least mine fits right this time. [GRAMS: Loud, sustained farting noise] Alan: Good Lord, Chuck – I didn’t smell that one! These jumpsuits are pretty good. Bobby: And pretty strong too. Look! Chuck’s inflated like a balloon! Chuck: It’s a bit hot and stuffy in here. Does someone have a pin handy? Dexter: I have one right here. Hang on, Chuck, before all that gas makes you float away. Beary: Yeah, we have enough barrage balloons. Dexter: Hold still. You might feel a little prick. Alan: Why? He doesn’t have his paw down your pants again, Dexter? Dexter: (vulpine growling) [GRAMS: Sound of popping balloon, followed by hiss of escaping gas] Chuck: Phew! That’s better. Bobby: That’s a bloody matter of opinion. No one strike a match. Alan: Can we take a break now, Sergeant? Beary: Yeah, while we wait for the air to clear. Announcer - Announcer: Thanks, Sergeant. Now would be - Beary: WAIT FOR IT! Announcer: Sorry. Beary: Announcer, do the – AD! Announcer: Thank you, Sergeant. Right now would be a great time to enjoy a refreshing ice-cold bottle of Thunderbolt Lager, a product of the Chilikoot Brewery! Thunderbolt is made of only the finest ingredients – Dexter: I used to dream of having stuff with ingredients in it when I was a kit. Announcer: - the best hops, barley and water go into Thunderbolt Lager - Dexter: - and only the finest urine from the choicest vixens - Announcer: No, Dexter. Thunderbolt Lager uses only the best all-natural ingredients. Dexter: And who says vixen urine ISN’T natural? Announcer: That’s a bit too much information, Dexter. Chuck: Yeah! Especially since we’re drinking it right now, Dex. [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head getting smacked] Dexter: Hey, watch it Bobby! Bobby: Why? Dexter: You almost made me spill my beer. Alan: Sorry, had to step out for a moment. What are we up to? Bobby: No good, Alan. Dexter’s going on about pissing in the beer, Chuck’s trying to drink, and I’m rapidly starting to sober up. Alan: Well, drink up then! Hey, you! Do we have a musical number this week? Announcer: Right you are, Alan! In fact, here’s the Albert Berenstain Jazz quartet to regale us with their newest tune, “Your Smile’s Like a Sunbeam.” Dexter: And her frown’s like a – [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head getting smacked] Dexter: OWW! (Music: “Your Smile’s Like a Sunbeam.”) (Wait for applause) Announcer: That was the Albert Berenstain Jazz quartet, appearing every Saturday night at the Grand Hotel ballroom in Seathl. And now, back to our show if you want to see how this ends – I mean, you could just sit back and drink some Thunderbolt Lager rather than listen to this rubbish. Bobby: Hey! [GRAMS: Whooshing sound] (musical bridge) Alan: Now that that’s over with, what are we doing for the rest of the day, Sergeant? Beary: I’m turning you over to Lieutenant Bennett for flight training. Lieutenant? Francis Bennett (Melanie Haber): Thank you, Sergeant. Now, can any of you tell me what’s the most important part of an airplane? Dexter: The exit? [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head getting smacked] Dexter: OWW! Alan: Never mind him, Lieutenant – may I call you Loo for short? He’s a virgin when it comes to flying. Bobby: Dexter’s a virgin when it comes to everything else, too. Dexter: (splutters, vulpine growling) I am NOT a virgin! I’m saving myself for marriage. Alan: Why? Dexter: (splutters) Bobby: And WHAT are you saving? Chuck: It sure doesn’t draw much interest. Dexter: (splutters) Alan: So anyway, Loo - [GRAMS: Sound of badger’s head getting smacked] Alan: Ow! Bennett: There. That’ll teach you. Alan: Teach me what? Bennett: Not to get fresh with me, you little badger. Alan: No need to teach me how to get fresh, you frisky doe. I already know how. Bennett: I’ll have you know I’m the best pilot instructor here. We’ll be going up for a check flight. Bobby: Check flight? Nope, cash only. Chuck: Yeah, checks can bounce. Bennett: I never bounce. I’m a very good pilot. Alan: You never bounce? First I’ve ever heard about that – what kind of knickers are you wearing? Solid steel? [GRAMS: Sound of badger head being hit] Alan: Ow! Bobby: Ha, ha! Alan got hit by the doe! Bennett: I won’t bounce, but I guarantee you will if I throw you out of the plane. Bobby: That reminds me – and don’t ask why – but why are Rain Island uniforms red and green? You’d think they’d be plaid. Dexter: Everyone wears plaid in Rain Island. Chuck: So what do they wear in Spontoon, then? Dexter: Nothing. The women there all have plaid tits. Alan: Damn that Rain Island cultural imperialism. Chuck, what are you doing? Chuck: Lighting a cigarette. Alan, Bobby, Dexter: LOOK OUT! [GRAMS: Loud fart sound, followed by a bang and a whooshing sound that fades into the distance] Bennett: Your wolf friend’s trying to log some flying time solo. That won’t do; he needs training. Alan: Chuck doesn’t need training to fart. He’s sort of self-educated in that regard. Bobby: Neat skyrocket, though. Where’s he gone to? I don’t see him. Dexter: I think he went behind that building. Bennett: Ah, good. He’ll be okay, then. Dexter: Why do you say that? Bennett: That building there is the kitchen. There’s a huge compost heap out back. Alan: So he’ll come up roses? Bennett: More like mint. We plant it there to keep the stink down. Bobby: Maybe we should plant some mint on Chuck. Who knows? It might even work. Alan: Yeah, except your idea of digging holes involves dynamite, Bobby. Bobby: Hey, didn’t that last job work out all right? [GRAMS: Sound of mustelid head being struck] Alan: Cutting ten miles of road through wooded mountains wasn’t a fun job – even if it DID last only twenty minutes. Dexter: But what was the point of giving us just two shovels and a bucket? What was the bucket for, anyway? Bobby: Too much information, Dexter. Besides, the bucket wasn’t good for anything after I woke up and finished puking in it. Alan: WHEN you FINALLY woke up, you mean. You ought to be in charge of the Sleeping Late Syndicate. Bobby: Do they have one of those? We’re certainly up to date in Rain Island. Dexter: All the modern conveniences. Hey! What’s that smoke trail? Bobby: Looks like Chuck needs a new uniform. Alan: And maybe some new tailfur. Say, darling, does the RINS sell tailfur toupees? [GRAMS: Sound of badger head being hit] Bobby: That’s what you call getting a little behind in your work. [GRAMS: Loud, sustained farting noise; sounds of people coughing and gagging] Dexter: Christ, Chuck! You smell worse – if that’s possible. Chuck: Well, all my tailfur’s blown off and there’s a gaping hole in my jumpsuit. What do you expect, Dexter? Alan: I guess we underestimated the filtering power of your fur, Chuck. Bobby: Yeah! You should have sold it all to the Fortuna Company for cigarette filters. Alan: Shut up! [GRAMS: Sound of mustelid head being smacked] Alan: I can see the advertising campaign now – “Try new Fortuna Cigarettes, now with the Flatulent Wolf Fur Filter!” Dexter: Definitely hard on the draw. Bobby: I can see Fortuna going tits-up a week after it comes out. Chuck: Hey, that’s not very nice. Bobby: No? How about this, then? [GRAMS: Sound of lupine head getting smacked; sound of body hitting ground] Dexter: We’d best cover him up. Who wants to see a naked wolf’s rear end? Alan: You mean besides you? Dexter: (splutters) (musical bridge) [GRAMS: Sound of seagulls, sound of water lapping against a boat hull] Bennett: Okay. Let’s get aboard. Careful where you put your feet or - [GRAMS: Loud splash] Bennett: - you’ll get wet. Alan: Dexter, stop clowning around and get up here. Of course, this is the wettest you’ve been since your last bath. When was that, by the way? Dexter: Monday. Bobby: Oh yeah? Which year? Dexter: 1934. Alan: We’d better fish him out then, or he’ll leave a ring around the bay. [GRAMS: Sound of soggy vulpine being pulled out of the water] Dexter: Man, that water’s cold! Bobby: You do what I think you’re going to do, and I’ll kill you, Dexter. Dexter: What, this? [GRAMS: Sound of wet vulpine shaking vigorously] Bennett: Enough! Get in the plane. Chuck: Get out of my way Alan, you bourgeois. Alan: No, I call the copilot’s seat. And who the hell are you calling bourgeois? Chuck: All badgers are bourgeois. Alan: Who says? Chuck: Your sister. Last night. Alan: Why, you - [GRAMS: Scrambling noises; sound of aircraft door closing] Bobby: Stuffy in here, what with it smelling like wet mangy fox and all. Don’t you dare fart in here, Chuck! Chuck: I won’t, Bobby. I got a cure for that from the doctor while he was treating the blisters on my tail. Alan: Oh? And what was it? Chuck: Well, you take this cork, see, and you – Bobby: Shut up, Chuck! That’s too much information! You don’t want the Standards Office on us again. Dexter: You mean the ones with the boiling tar? Alan: No, the ones with the skinning knives. [GRAMS: Sound of airplane crashing] Dexter: Five Monkeys in a Phone Booth! What the hell was that? [GRAMS: Sound of ambulance in the distance] Chuck: Better get used to that sound, guys. Bobby: Yeah? Why? Chuck: That’s going to be us soon, knowing our luck. [GRAMS: Sound of lupine head getting smacked] Bobby: SHUT UP! Do you want to jinx us? Dexter: Too late for that, ever since you tried to get that lucky rabbit’s foot, Bobby. Bobby: It was supposed to bring us good luck. Dexter: Yeah, but the original owner was still using it. Trust you to piss off a shaman. Alan: I know a lady bunny who gets lucky every night. Chuck: Hoppy go lucky, eh? [GRAMS: Sound of lupine head getting smacked; sound of running feet] Alan: More of a bouncing up and down go lucky. Bennett: Ensign Richards, hang on! Where are you going? Richards: (panting) Sorry, Lieutenant . . . just trying . . . to catch my plane . . . don’t stop me now . . . Bennett: It’s a little late for that. Richards: Why? Bennett: It went over the cliff, Richards. Richards: What!? Christ, there goes my summer holiday. Thanks, ma’am. [GRAMS: Sound of running feet, receding] Bennett: Well, that’s enough of that. Strap in, everyone, I’m switching on the engines. [GRAMS: Aircraft engine noises start, then sound of seaplane lifting off] (musical bridge) [GRAMS: Muted aircraft engine noises throughout scene] Bobby: Wow, we’re really high up! Hey, Dexter! Dexter: Yeah, Bobby? Bobby: I want to get a picture of you. Go out and stand by the wing, okay? Alan: Dexter, don’t. Bobby, stop trying to kill Dexter. Bobby: Why, Alan? Alan: Because it’s too hard to figure the salary cut by thirds. Dexter: (splutters) [GRAMS: Aircraft engines sputter] Dexter: Now that was interesting. Hey, Lieutenant, is something wrong? Bennett: We’re losing engine power! Alan: Too bad you didn’t use Fire Cheetah gasoline. [Sound of badger head getting hit] Bobby: Wrong sponsor again, Alan. Bennett: May day! May day! Dexter: What’s with this May day crap? It’s still March! And we’re not Communists! Chuck: I think she’s just being nice to whoever’s on the radio, Dexter. Dexter: Hell with that! WE’RE on the radio! Why isn’t she being nice to us? Alan: Because we work for ZYPR? Hey, Loo, if you don’t mind my asking at this point, does this plane have a back seat? Bennett: (flustered) No. Alan: Then where do you fool around? [GRAMS: Aircraft engine sounds go silent; sound of wind] Dexter: Well, that irritating noise finally stopped. Alan: That irritating noise was all that was holding us up in the air, idiot. Chuck: Yeah, Alan? Alan: Not you, idiot – the other idiot, Dexter. Bobby: The engines have quit! Dexter: If they’re getting paid what we are, what do you expect? Bobby: We’re all going to crash! Chuck: Good. I could use a nap. Bennett: Speak for yourselves. [GRAMS: Sound of hatch opening] Dexter: Christ! She’s jumped and took the only parachute! Alan: I guess we are going to crash then. Hold on! Bobby: Get your paws off me, Dexter! Alan: Dexter, stop pawing Bobby. It makes people wonder what you’re up to. I’ve just had an idea. Chuck: Well, that’s a first . . . Bobby: Does it involve your paws, Alan? Alan: I’ll thank you to stay out of my social life, Bobby. Chuck, I know I’m probably going to regret this, but – pull the cork out of your arse. (Dramatic musical sting) Bobby and Dexter: WHAT!! Alan: Don’t look at me like that. I said, I have an idea. Bobby, grab that rope there and tie an end to something. Bobby: Like this? Alan: Not around Dexter‘s neck. To a part of the plane. Dexter: (splutters) Bobby: Okay. Now what? Chuck: I’ve got the cork out. Alan: Right! Bobby, tie the other end of the rope to Chuck’s ankle. Bobby: Okay, Alan. There he is, fastened securely. Now what? Alan: Chuck? Stand by the open window. Chuck: Okay - [GRAMS: Scuffling sound, followed by lupine screaming] Bobby: Hell! If all you wanted to do was shove Chuck out the window, Alan, you could have done it sooner. Dexter: I hope we land on something large and soft – other than my last girlfriend’s chest. Bobby: Last girlfriend? The last person I saw you with was a guy with an enormous deer gut. Who knew pumas could get so fat? Alan: Any moment now . . . [GRAMS: Wind sounds; muffled farting sound] [GRAMS: Wind sounds decrease abruptly] Alan: See? Great idea. Bobby: You’re right, Alan. That was clever. Chuck’s fart inflated his suit and acts as a balloon to hold us up. Dexter: Nice job spoiling the illusion of radio. So much for the theatre of the mind. Bobby: Oh right – as if anyone’s actually listening to this crap. Yes, this is the theatre of the mindless. Chuck: (off-mike) Hey! Someone get me down from here! Dexter: He’s right, you know. How do we get down? Alan: Simplicity itself, Dex. We poke a hole in the suit. Bobby, you still have that pistol they gave you? Bobby: Yeah, Alan. Although I don’t know why they only gave me one bullet. Alan: I’ll explain later. Give me the pistol. Now, I just take careful aim, and . . . [GRAMS: Gunshot] All: Uh, oh . . . [GRAMS: Sudden whooshing sound, all four screaming; sound trails off to a blattering sound like a whoopee cushion, then a large splash] (musical bridge) Bennett: Good job, boys. You saved our plane. Those things are expensive, you know. Chuck: You really should have aimed better, Alan. You almost hit me. Alan: There was no way I could have hit you, Chuck. I was aiming at your crotch. Bobby: Yeah, no chance of injury there. Dexter: But this leaves us wet, cold and still in the Naval Syndicate. Bennett: Boys, we’re going to make it up to you. First, we’re going to give you all the Naval Issue Ale you can drink. Bobby: Great! A lot better than that piss-water Thunderbolt Lager. Alan: Then what, darling? [GRAMS: Sound of badger skull being dented] Bennett: Then we’re transferring you out of the Naval Syndicate. Beary: Yes, you’ll have a fine cozy indoor job. Chuck: Doing what? Beary: Testing artillery shells. Chuck: Oh, that sounds pretty good. Bobby: What will we test them with? Beary: Steel mallets. Dexter: Sounds like a nice job – we’re fulfilling our duty to society and helping keep our fellow furs safe. Bobby: Dexter, I swear you’ve fulfilled your Five-Year Plan for Stupidity in just twenty minutes. Dexter: (splutters) Bennett: Gentlemen! Alan, Bobby, Chuck, Dexter (together): Where? Huh? Who walked in? (Music rises, then fades.) Announcer: Right now, dear friends, this would be a good time for – Alan: A nice romp in the sack. See your local Prostitute’s Union worker tonight! Announcer: Ahem, for a last drop of that refreshing beverage known as – Bobby: Donkey piss? Announcer: - known as Thunderbolt Lager. Look for the sign of the lightning bolt on the label! Another fine product of Chilikoot Brewery! Dexter: What’s all these deductions from my pay? Alan: Dues for the Actor’s Syndicate. Dexter: But I’m IN the Actor’s Syndicate! I’m paying myself? Alan: You need to dock your pay, Dex. You’re not that good. Announcer: You’ve been listening to – although God knows why – to the Four Fools in their production of “Military Morons,” 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 Beary was played by Alvin Bradshaw and Melanie Haber was Lieutenant Bennett. Ensign Richards was played by Anselmo Pederazy. Bobby: In other words, the usual gang of idiots. Announcer: Music by the Albert Berenstain Jazz quartet, who were here by invitation. No, we didn’t hold a gun to their heads - Dexter: No, but they probably wish that we had by now. Announcer: The show – if you can call it that – was produced by W.D. Reimer – Bobby: - who redefines the word ‘hack’ – Announcer: - with material written by E.O Costello, M.M. Marmel and J.T. Urie. Chuck: Great bunch of guys. Dexter: Why do you say that, Chuck? Chuck: They each slipped me a ten to say that. Dexter: Funny – they each slipped me a fiver to hit you. [GRAMS: Sound of lupine being punched] Announcer: I, for one, prefer to remain anonymous. This has been the Rain Island Radiocast Collective, Station ZYPR, wishing all of you out there a very pleasant night. Bobby: So piss off and get some sleep! [GRAMS: Sound of mustelid head being hit] (Music rises, then fades). Transcribed and edited by W.D.Reimer |