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17 December 2007
Warning: Mature Burlesque Humor
Radio-play Transcript
"The Four Fools" show:
'Syndicated Saps'
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 "Syndicated Saps” ZYPR broadcast, Thursday April 1, 1937, 2230 Seathl time Broadcast rights reserved [GRAMS: Sound of approaching plane, moving at a high rate of speed] Announcer: Do you hear that coming? Who could it be? [GRAMS: Sound of plane going into a dive and smashing into the ground 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, put the daughters to bed and leave the kids 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, apparently in the iron grip of insanity, presents “Syndicated Saps,” a new episode starring the Four Fools. Sponsored by Four Graces Distillery, makers of Pribiloff Vodka, 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, are at it again. You’d think the people running this station would have learned by now . . . Hey Alan, where’s Chuck? The air in the studio’s the freshest it’s been in weeks. [GRAMS: Loud farting noise] Announcer: Spoke too soon. Bobby: Announcer Guy, what are you doing in front of my microphone? Announcer: Announcing, Bobby. Bobby: Well, you made your announcement, so piss off or I’ll kill you! [GRAMS: Whooshing sound] Alan: I wish he’d stay away. All he does is depress people. Dexter: How does he do that? Chuck: Letting people know you’re still on the show, Dexter. Dexter: (splutters) Now, that’s not fair! Bobby’s a lot worse than I am, and here you stand, a lupine gasworks. What are you chewing on now? Broccoli again, or asparagus? Chuck: Neither. (chewing sounds) Boston baked beans. [GRAMS: Sound of lupine head getting smacked] Chuck: Ow! What’d you do that for, Dexter? Dexter: I’m getting pretty sick of you stinking up the place all the time, Chuck. I’ve half a mind - Bobby: Well, that’s half more than you usually have. Alan: Bobby, are you drinking up our pay again? Bobby: No, I bought this myself. And it’s nearly empty . . . Hey, Dexter, look over there! Dexter: What? [GRAMS: Sound of bottle breaking over vulpine skull] [GRAMS: Sound of postman’s whistle] Dexter: Am I hearing things? Alan: Dunno, every time I see you I wonder if I’m seeing things. Who could that be? Bobby: The mailman, Alan? Alan: That’s what I like about you, Bobby. Nothing gets past you. Let’s see what they’ve got, shall we? Chuck: I can see what she’s got, and I like the arrangement. [GRAMS: Farting noise, loudly] Mailman (Melanie Haber): Damn! If that’s what I get for ringing the doorbell I’d just as soon stuff these letters under the door. Dexter: Just don’t bend over – Alan’s known for being playful. Alan: And how would you know that, Dexter? Dexter: Your sister told me. Alan: Remind me to hurt you later. Hey doll, what’ve you got for me in that mailbag? Mailman: A letter for each of you, and this fat envelope for the marten with the headfur problems. Bobby: Not my fault the fireball frizzed it all up . . . Alan: Yes, but it IS your fault that you blew up the Fellowship Church Ammunition Plant. Bobby: I was bored. [GRAMS: Farting noise] Mailman: (coughs) Here, take your mail and let me get out of here. Gad, it’s like delivering to a family of skunks – with no self-control. Chuck: It’s just the beans. [GRAMS: Door slamming] Dexter: Now that she’s gone, there’s nothing pleasant to look at. May as well read the mail. [GRAMS: Sound of tearing paper] Dexter: Five monkeys in a phone booth! Alan: What? Are we drafted again? Bobby . . . Bobby: Wasn’t me! [GRAMS: Sound of mustelid head getting smacked) Chuck: What’s in the fat envelope, Bobby? Bobby: The latest Spontoon Island Maiden calendar. Here’s Miss August. Chuck: Yeah, she’ll start a heat wave, all right. Dexter: Can we get on with the plot, please? It’s worse, Alan. [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head being smacked] Dexter: OWW! Alan: Sorry, missed. How can it be worse, Dexter? Dexter: We’ve all been nominated by the Artist’s Syndicate! Bobby: Nominated as what? Chuck: What’s so bad about that? [GRAMS: Sound of smack across back of lupine head] Chuck: OWW! Dexter: We’ve been nominated - Alan: And we all know how painful that can get for men over thirty, right guys? Dexter: - to represent the Artist’s Syndicate in the Governing Syndicate in Seathl! Alan: Sweet tapdancing succubi, you’re right. That is serious. Well, you three run off and have fun – I’ll hunt up that sweet mailman and play ‘Post Office’ with her. [GRAMS: Sound of badger head being smacked] Bobby: Oh no you don’t, Alan. They want all four of us, apparently. Alan: And where do YOU get off hitting me? Bobby: It says so in the script. Alan: Let me see that. [GRAMS: Paper rustling] Wait a minute – this is DEXTER’S paw-writing! Dexter . . . Dexter: Ye-es, Alan? Chuck: Oh, you’re in for it now, Dex. Dexter: Another fart, Chuck, and you’ll be in for it. Alan, I did it with the best of intentions. Alan: They say the road to Hell’s paved with good intentions. Chuck: So what’s the Seathl Turnpike paved with? Bobby: Oyster shells and broken beer bottles. Why do you want to know, Chuck? Chuck: Just in case you knock me down again, Bobby. I’ll remember to pack the first-aid kit. Bobby: Knock you down? You mean like this? [GRAMS: Sound of lupine head getting hit; sound of body hitting floor] Chuck: Yeah, like that. [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine squealing, cut suddenly short; sound of choking] Alan: And that beer bottle down your throat’s just a sample, Dex. Okay, guys, let’s head to Seathl and find out what this’s all about. (Musical bridge) [GRAMS: Crowd noises, muted] Dexter: Hey, this place is huge! Chuck: Yeah. I hear that the Artist’s Syndicate do concerts and stuff here. Bobby: So why haven’t we ever performed here? Alan: They only let people with talent perform in here, Bobby. Dexter: You’re saying that you’re untalented, Alan. [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head getting smacked] Alan: I was here three years ago, you pointy-eared jerk. Bobby: Doing what? Mopping out the toilets? Alan: No, I would have seen you face-down in the toilet after the night Millie dumped you. Bobby: (growls) [GRAMS: Farting sound] [GRAMS: Disjointed crowd sounds, gagging and coughing; shuffling sounds] Dexter: Well, that certainly cleared a space for us. Chuck: Phew, that made MY eyes water. Alan: Beans on top of everything else you eat, Chuck? I’m surprised we’re not all dead by now. Chuck: Come on, it’s not that bad . . . Is it? Dexter: Yes, it damned well is, Chuck. Alan: Man, this place brings back a lot of fond memories. My performance, the cute little collie I met . . . Dexter: Alan, why the hell are you throwing up the fact you’ve performed here, like some sort of strutting ass? Alan: A what? Dexter: A strutting ass. Damn this crowd noise. Alan: A strutting ass? That’s her, over there. Dexter: Who? Alan: Anna Dragamanoff, the hottest dancer this side of Dante’s Inferno. She’s a jenny known for her high kick, so she’s billed as The Strutting Ass. Chuck: Her ass is certainly strutting – er, striking. She’s – well, how can I put it? She’s built like a brick - Alan: In every way, Chuck. If she likes you, you’ll just have minor injuries. Bobby: And if she doesn’t like you? [GRAMS: Sound of mustelid head taking a hit] Alan: I’ll dance on your grave, Bobby. Bobby: That’s a kind sentiment, Alan. Uh oh, here she comes. [GRAMS: Sound of heavy hoof-steps] Anna Dragamanoff (Betty Jo Bialowsky): Hallo, Alan! Always nice to see you! Come, give Anna a hug! [GRAMS: Sound of bones creaking; badger wheezing] Alan: (wheezing) Great to see you again too, Anna. These are some guys I know. Bobby, Chuck and Dexter, this is Anna. Dexter: You know Alan, Anna? I didn’t think any woman would admit to that. Anna: Ha-ha! You make the joke with Anna, yes? Alan, here, is the great in bed with Anna. We do the Biblical method years ago. Bobby: Biblical method? Alan: Yeah, “seek and ye shall find.” Works really well, but you both have to be blindfolded. Bobby: I’d like to try that some time. You game, Anna? [GRAMS: Sound of mustelid squealing and bones creaking] Anna: Hmm, you are a bit scrawny for Anna’s taste. But I like a change now and then. Tonight, my little marten, you may climb me. [GRAMS: Sound of body hitting the floor] Alan: So the Artist’s Syndicate has you here too, Anna? Sorry, folks, but we have to move the plot along. Dexter: For what it’s worth. ZYPR’s writers must all be on strike. Anna: Ha-ha! No, they not on strike. Just too much wodka. Chuck: It’s a bit early for the advertisement, isn’t it? Bobby: Hardly. I’m a bit thirsty. Anna, shall I bring rope and climbing gear tonight? Anna: Ha-ha, my little weasel fellow, I promise you, you reach the summit tonight. Chuck: Followed by six months in the hospital? Dexter: Only if she likes him, remember. Anna: Is true – you must please me, little fellow. It is not horosha to leave Anna the sexually frustrate. Chuck: Yeah, that’d be a horror show all right. [GRAMS: Farting sound] Anna: Pah! You smell like rubbish heap, Chuck. Bobby, I see you tonight. [GRAMS: Heavy hoof-steps, receding] Alan: And with that we redirect our attention away from the lovely and dangerous Anna – by the way, nice knowing you, Bobby – and see what’s going on up on the podium. Dexter: Looks like people are starting to vote. Chuck: What are they voting on? Seems we do a lot of voting here in Rain Island. Bobby: Well, we’re not fascists, Chuck. Chuck: Who’s a fascist, Bobby? Bobby: That little creep over in Germany, for one. And I hear that half the furs in Ottawa are, too. Chuck: Otter-wha? [GRAMS: Sound of lupine head being hit; sound of body hitting floor] Bobby: Boring conversation anyway . . . Oy! You up on the podium! Kyle Redpaw (Alvin Bradshaw): What do you want? Dexter: What the hell are we voting for now? Redpaw: Whether to agree on the new members of the Governing Syndicate, or to break for more discussion. Dexter: I’d rather break for some Pribiloff Vodka. Alan: No appealing to the sponsor, Dexter. Dexter: Five monkeys in a phone booth, I’m thirsty. Look, let’s finish up voting and break for the commercial. Bobby: That’s an amazingly intelligent idea, Dexter. Spending time in the sack with that vixen gymnast is paying off. Dexter: What do you mean? Bobby: You don’t jump to conclusions like you used to. Dexter: (splutters) Chuck: Look, can we just vote and get it over with? Alan: Good idea, Chuck. The faster we do this the faster we can all get home. (musical bridge) Redpaw: Friends, I have the results right here. The new delegates to the Governing Syndicate are – wait a minute, this isn’t right . . . oh dear sweet Lord . . . Bobby: Well? Dexter: Come on then! Chuck: Yeah! Alan: How bad can it be? Redpaw: Alan, Bobby, Chuck and Dexter. Alan, Bobby, Chuck and Dexter: WHAT! [GRAMS: Sound of crowd noises, groaning, off-mike fistfight] Redpaw: Wait! Order! Settle down! It gets worse! Bobby: How can it be worse? Redpaw: After voting with the other syndicates and collectives, the new Chief Syndic of Rain Island is . . . Chuck. [GRAMS: Sound of running feet, whooshing sound] All: GREAT TAPDANCING SUCCUBI! [GRAMS: Dead silence for two seconds] [GRAMS: Small, almost apologetic fart sound] Announcer: Well! This is certainly a turn of events. (off-mike) I can’t believe they wrote this tripe. (clears throat) While Chuck gets sworn at – er, in, now would be a great time for a drink of the sweet, clear vodka that’s as cool as a Siberian breeze. Yes, friends, we’re talking about Pribiloff Vodka, another fine product of the Four Graces Distillery. Made from choice grains and pure spring water - Bobby: - melted from snow the sled dogs have pissed on - Announcer: - then put through the Four Graces’ very own triple-distilling process and filtered to remove the impurities that can cause hangovers - Chuck: Is that what causes hangovers? I always thought it was Bobby bouncing empty bottles off my head. [GRAMS: Sound of lupine head being hit; sound of body hitting floor] Bobby: Like that? Alan: So Pribiloff Vodka’s triple-distilled? Announcer: That’s right, Alan. Alan: Will it take stains out of my fur? Dexter: What kind of stains do you have in your fur, Alan? Announcer: We don’t want to know that, Dexter. Chuck: He’s right. Do we have a musical number, Announcer? Announcer: You know we do, Chuck. ZYPR has to put at least a few talented people on the air during this show, or we lose listeners. So, without further ado, here are the lovely Engebretsen Sisters with their a cappella version of “Somewhere My Love Lies Sleeping.” Bobby: With a male chorus? Dexter: God! What a quartet of cute and cuddly canines! I wonder if they’re any good in the sack . . . [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head getting smacked] Dexter: OWW! (Music: “Somewhere My Loves Lies Sleeping”) (Wait for applause) Announcer: That was the Engebretsen Sisters, currently on tour from the United States. Lovely singing voices, eh folks? And now, back to our show. Although, I have to say it – this is probably not going to look pretty. Alan: Prettier than you, at least. Now piss off! [GRAMS: Whooshing sound] (musical bridge) [GRAMS: Door opening] Redpaw: Here’s your office, Mr. Chief Syndic. Chuck: Thanks. Wow, this is quite the place. Dexter: Looks a right dump to me. When do you clean it? When the fjord floods? [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head getting smacked] Dexter: OWW! Bobby! Bobby: What? Dexter: Stop hitting me. Bobby: Why, you whimpering nancy? Dexter: Because Chuck’s appointed me Syndic for Agriculture. Alan: Wait a minute – what the hell do you know about growing things, Dexter? Bobby: He does grow mushrooms, Alan. Alan: Where? Bobby: In his pants. Hasn’t bathed in a year, the rank, oily-furred bastard. Dexter: (splutters) Redpaw: Anyway, Chuck, here’s your desk. There’s a few items you need to read over and sign – the outgoing Syndic left them for you. [GRAMS: Sound of paper rustling] Chuck: Hmm. The Distiller’s Collective’s asking to raise the cost of Cougar Whiskey. Dexter: Doesn’t matter. Even at ten dollars a bottle, it’s still rat’s piss. Alan: And how would you know what rat’s piss tastes like, Dexter? Dexter: Never mind, Alan. The Standards Office is listening. Alan: How can that be? I left warm milk and cookies out for them. Okay. What’s next, Chuck? Chuck: A request for a new supervisor from the secretarial pool. Alan: I’ll handle that. All those poor, lonely, young, large-breasted vixens and such down there . . . Excuse me. Bobby: Little excuse for you, Alan. You’re randy enough to pass as a fox, not a badger. Alan: Bobby, did you ever hear of reincarnation? Bobby: So, you’re saying that you were a fox in a previous life? And does that mean that Dexter was a nun in his previous life? Dexter: (splutters, vulpine growling) Bobby, I’m warning you for the last time... Bobby: Come over here to the window, Dexter. Dexter: Why? Bobby: I want to show you something. Dexter: Okay, I’m here. What? Bobby: This. [GRAMS: Sound of scuffle, glass breaking, vulpine screaming growing fainter; off-mike sound of glass shattering] Chuck: Bobby, what did you do? Bobby: I was showing Dexter the greenhouse. Chuck: But we’re on the fifth floor! Bobby: I wanted him to see it up close. Alan: Well, I’m going to introduce myself to the secretaries. Have fun, Chuck – and lay off the broccoli. Chuck: It’s not the broccoli – it’s the onion in the baked beans. Alan: I’m glad I’m going downstairs, then. Bobby: Hey, Chuck! If you made Dexter Syndic for Agriculture, can I be Syndic for Communications? Chuck: Why, Bobby? I thought you wanted to be Syndic for War. Bobby: I have my reasons. [GRAMS: Limping footsteps, door slamming shut] Dexter: Yeah, he’s got a reason – and it’s got tits and mink fur attached to it. Bobby: Dexter, say her name and I swear you’ll get another view of that greenhouse. Chuck: Bobby, you shouldn’t have thrown him out the window – he might have been killed. Bobby: Impossible. The greenhouse broke his fall. [GRAMS: Running feet growing nearer, followed by door opening and slamming shut] Bobby: Alan! What’s up? The secretaries all ugly? Dexter: He went to check on the Governing Syndicate’s secretaries, you fool, not ZYPR’s secretaries. Chuck: They’re ugly, then? Dexter: Ugly enough to make a freight train take a dirt road. Well, Alan? Alan: (panting) S... some are... but that’s not... why I ran up here. Bobby: Well? Alan: A . . . a guy made a pass at me. Dexter: Well, Alan, you’re the one saying how up to date we are here in Rain Island. You like to chase the ladies, you’d figure at least one guy likes to chase guys. Bobby: Yeah, Alan – look at Dexter; he chases guys whenever they’re slow enough. Dexter: (splutters) (musical bridge) Bobby: Send her in, please. [GRAMS: Door opening, closing] Hello, Millie. Millie (Melanie Haber): Bobby? What the hell are you doing in the Communications Syndic’s office? Did they run out of furs to scrub out the toilets? Bobby: You’re looking at the new Communications Syndic, Millie. Millie: I’d tell you what I’m looking at, but the Standards Office is listening. So, what do you want? Bobby: I want you and me back together again. Why are you laughing? Millie (laughing): You and me? Back together. Bobby, that’s a hoot – and here I used to say you weren’t funny. Bobby: Well, here’s a funny for you – I can move “Amateur Hour” to midnight. On Sundays. [GRAMS: Sound of mustelid head being smacked] Millie: You wouldn’t dare! Bobby: Don’t bet on it. Millie (sultry voice): You know, Bobby, there IS something I can do for you . . . Bobby: Yes, Millie? Millie: THIS! [GRAMS: Sound of thump, followed by ascending tin whistle noise, then large bell ringing once] [GRAMS: Sound of mustelid hitting floor] Bobby: (screams) Millie: Threaten me or my show like that again, Bobby, and next time I’ll kick you in the nethers even harder. Bobby: (whimpers) [GRAMS: Sound of receding footsteps, door opening, slamming closed] (musical bridge) [GRAMS: Sound of opening door] Redpaw: Chuck? [GRAMS: Farting sound] Redpaw: I was going to ask if you were in here, but I see – or smell – that you are. There’s someone here to see you. Chuck: Who is it? Dexter: Does she have big tits? Bobby: As if you’d care about that Dexter, you nancy. Redpaw: No, it’s the Canadian Ambassador. Alan: Ambassa-dore? Is he an open-and-shut kind of guy? Bobby: What’s this guy’s name, Kyle? Redpaw: The Right Honorable Sir Henry Francois Clifton Maurice Spilogale, Baronet, LVO, MC with Bar. [GRAMS: Pregnant pause] Chuck: An aristo? Redpaw: I’m afraid so. Alan: Why the hell did they send us one of those? Dexter: To screw with us, Alan? Alan: That’s what I like about you, Dexter – master of the obvious. Dexter: Thanks, Alan. I’ve always wanted to be the master at something. Chuck: What, isn’t being the Master of Stupidity enough? Dexter: (splutters) That does it – I’m going off – Bobby: You’ve been off for years. Dexter: - to find Anna. If YOU managed to survive her, Bobby, I should have no trouble. [GRAMS: Door slamming] Bobby: Boy, is he in for a shock. Alan: That reminds me – for some reason known only to our writers – how DID you survive, Bobby? Bobby: Well, we martens are rather limber, you know. Alan: No, I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to know. [GRAMS: Off-mike vulpine screaming] Chuck: I bet Dexter knows now, though. Send the Ambassador on in, Kyle. Kyle: Right. (off-mike) Where did we go wrong? [GRAMS: Door opens] Henry Spilogale (Anselmo Pederazy): Good day, Mr. Chief Syndic. Chuck: Hello, Mr. Ambassador Man. Welcome to Rain Island, I guess. Henry: You guess? Chuck: Sure. Well, you’re from Canada, after all, and we’re practically neighbors. Bobby: Just wish the fence was higher. [GRAMS: Sound of ambulance in the distance] Alan: What’s with the ambulance noises? Bobby: That’s probably for Dexter. Chuck: Well, come on in and sit, Mr. Spilogale. Can I get you a drink? Henry: “Mister?” My correct title’s “Your Excellency.” Alan: Title, eh? Does that mean we can read you like a book? Bobby: And just how are you “excellent?” You good in bed with the girls? Alan: I doubt that, Bobby; look at him. He’s so fat he looks like a balloon with strips of white and black fur glued on. Chuck: You mean stripes, Alan. What kind of skunk has that much white in his fur? Henry: I’ll have you know, my good man, I’m a spotted skunk. [GRAMS: Sound of ambulance, receding] Chuck: And there goes Dexter. Spotted skunk, eh? Henry: Yes. Chuck: If you’ll have some Pribiloff Vodka with me, we’ll try to make you a potted skunk. [GRAMS: Sound of lupine head getting smacked] Bobby: That was too far to go for a joke, Chuck, but a neat way to mention the sponsor. Alan: So anyway, Henry, care for a drink? Henry: I am to be addressed properly. I’m the official envoy of His Majesty’s Canadian Government. [GRAMS: “OOOOOH!”] Chuck: Well, if it’s his government, why doesn’t he do something for the poor furs out in Alberta? Henry: What’s poor about them? Bobby: Have you seen Alberta lately? [GRAMS: Sound of mustelid head getting smacked] Alan: Sorry about that, Your Impressiveness. Now, how about a drink? Henry? Why? Alan: Well, to celebrate Rain Island’s cordial relations with our neighbor to the east – Chuck: - or get drunk and stop by the local Prostitute’s Union hall. Bobby: There might be a meeting, so you’ll get to see them in their union suits. Henry: Well, if you put it that way, I’ll have a drink for the first reason. Bobby: Why not the second? Henry: My wife. Bobby: Good reason. Where’s your wife from? Henry: Newfoundland. Alan: I’ll bet she was to you on your wedding night, Your Extreme Fatuity. (musical bridge) Henry: ...so the woman says, “My God! I left my baby on the bus!” [GRAMS: Crickets chirping] Henry: You had to have been there. Let’s raise a toast to continued good relations between the British Empire and Rain Island. Chuck: Why the British Empire? Why not just Canada? Henry: Because Canada is part of the Empire. Alan: Seems pretty imperialist to me, Your Giddiness. Henry: For the last time, Alan, it’s “Your Excellency.” It’s the correct title for ambassadors. Bobby: Yeah, we got all that, but you don’t hear our ambassadors calling themselves “Your Plaidness” or “Great High Flannelled One,” now do you? [GRAMS: Door opening, closing] Chuck: Dexter! You’re not dead! Bobby: You say that like it’s a good thing, Chuck. Dexter: I barely survived. Alan: Too bad for us. Now we have to calculate the booze by fifths instead of quarters. Dexter: Wait a minute – who’s the stinky guy? Bobby: Chuck, of course. Dexter: No no no, the OTHER stinky guy. Henry: I, sir, am the Right Honorable Sir Henry Spilogale, Baronet. Canada’s ambassador to Rain Island. Dexter: Oh, so you’re “right” as well as “honorable,” huh? What makes you so right, hm? Did you win on “Brain Pan Alley?” [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head being smacked] Dexter: OWW! Bobby! Henry: That looks like jolly fun. Here, let me try. [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head being smacked] Dexter: OWW! Henry: Quite nice. Bobby: Nice uppercut there, Your Ponderousness. Henry: Thank you. I took a first at Cambridge in boxing. Chuck: Took a first? Is that anything like taking a piss? Henry: Another drink and I’ll be taking the piss out of you. Alan: That sounds rather disturbing. Here, Your Extremosity, what do you think of the foreign problem? Henry: What foreign problem? Bobby: Well, you’re a foreigner – you tell us. What’s your problem? Dexter: His problem is that he represents an offshoot of a decrepit empire. [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head being smacked] [GRAMS: Soft stamping feet sound] Chuck: What’s that noise? Bobby: Henry’s stamping his feet. I think you’ve made him mad, Dexter. Dexter: So what? Henry: I’ll have you know, you lop-eared fox, that Canada’s a great country with a great future. Alan: Is that so? And what do we have here in Rain Island, Your Most High Odoriferousness? Henry: Rain Island used to be part of Canada. And not the best part, either. Dexter: Better watch it – we’ll start exporting more plaid to you. Bobby: Won’t work, Dexter. They wear the plaid over there in Canada. Alan: Why? Bobby: If they wore white they’d vanish when it snows. Dexter: And that’s a bad thing? [GRAMS: Soft stamping feet sound increases, in both pace and volume] Chuck: Hey, it snows here too, you know. Bobby: You’re right, Chuck. But here we like the plaid, so we can be seen. Dexter: Unless you’re Bobby, in which case nobody cares. Bobby: Dexter, you ought to work full-time for ZYPR. Dexter: Why? Bobby: Well, you’re a completely gormless idiot, just like His Imperial Whatsitness over there. Hey, Henry! What’s the “LVO” stand for? Little Vicky Oral? Alan: Who? Bobby: Girl I knew back in college. I tell you, Alan, she could - Alan: Careful, Bobby. It’s not quite bedtime for the Standards Office yet, and we don’t want to hurt their delicate ears. [GRAMS: Sound of prolonged liquid fart, going on for several seconds with muted foghorn mixed in] Dexter: Five monkeys in a phone booth! Chuck! Chuck: I was trying to hold it in. Henry: So! Not content to insult me and my country, you resort to gas warfare! Chuck: It’s just the beans . . . Henry: Two can play that game, sir. Take that! [GRAMS: Sound of liquid spraying] Alan: Ewww. That’s almost as bad as you, Chuck. Bobby: Uh-oh, Chuck looks mad. No one out-stinks him. Dexter: Might be a good time to seek cover, guys. Duck! Bobby: Where? [GRAMS: Alternating staccato volleys of farting and liquid spraying sounds, rising to a crescendo once or twice, over the next 30 seconds; assorted screams from the others] Chuck: Hang on a minute. I’m exhausted – and my arse hurts. [GRAMS: Sound of lupine skull being dented] Henry: (panting) As soon as I get my wind back, you’ll regret it. Bobby: You have wind too? Head for cover again, guys. Dexter: Someone open a window! [GRAMS: Door opening] Redpaw: Holy Christ! (voice becomes nasal, as if a paw is over his nose} It’ll take months to scrub the stink out of the walls. You four! Get the hell out, now! Bobby: Why? Redpaw: The Governing Syndicate just found out there was a mistake in the voting. Alan: (coughs) Oh? Redpaw: The Village Idiot’s Collective voted twice. Dexter: Bobby! You can go to prison for voting twice, you know. Chuck: So I’m not Chief Syndic? Redpaw: No, and we voted that the four of you are banned from any post higher than that of public restroom attendant. Forever. Dexter: (splutters) Chuck: Can we keep the Pribiloff Vodka? Redpaw: Yes, just get out. [GRAMS: Door slamming open, ponderous hoof-steps] Anna: Where is he? Where is my little blini? Aha! My Favorite Marten! Bobby: EEK! Redpaw: 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 – Dexter: Driving nails into your ears. It beats listening to ZYPR any day. Announcer: Ahem, for a last drop of that refreshing beverage known as – Bobby: Kerosene? Announcer: - known as Pribiloff Vodka. Look for the sign of the polar bear on the label! Another fine product of the Four Graces Distillery! Chuck: Who are the Four Graces, Alan? Alan: Never you mind, Chuck. They don’t like wolves. Chuck: Oh. Announcer: For some reason that escapes me, you’ve been listening to the Four Fools in their production of “Syndicated Saps,” 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. Kyle Redpaw was played by Alvin Bradshaw, Anna Dragamanoff was played by Betty Jo Bialowski and Melanie Haber played the Mailman and Millie. Ambassador Spilogale was played by Anselmo Pederazy. Dexter: You’d think they’d have better things to do. Announcer: Music by the Engebretsen Sisters, who are on tour through the sponsorship of the Distiller’s and Artist’s Collectives. Why they appeared here tonight, I have no idea. The show was produced by W.D. Reimer – Chuck: - who really needs to find a new hobby - Announcer: - with additional material by E.O Costello, M.M. Marmel and J.T. Urie. And I, on advice of my lawyer, shall remain anonymous. This has been the Rain Island Radiocast Collective, Station ZYPR, wishing all of you out there a very pleasant night. All: GO TO BED, DAMMIT! Dexter: Unless you’re a cute vixen – then just wait till I drop by. [GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head being hit] (Music rises, then fades). Transcribed and edited by W.D.Reimer |