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1 August 2008
Warning: Mature Burlesque Humor
Radio-play Transcript
"The Four Fools" show:
'Fools' Gold'
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 "Fools’ Gold” ZYPR broadcast, Thursday April 29, 1937, 2230 Seathl time Broadcast rights reserved [GRAMS: Sound of approaching truck, diesel engine roaring] Announcer: Do you hear that coming? Who could it be? [GRAMS: Sound of truck heeling over and crashing] 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 kids, put the liquor to bed 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 (who should know better by now) presents “Fools’ Gold,” a new episode starring the Four Fools. Sponsored by Pineway Distillery, makers of Cougar Whiskey, and based on characters created by W.D. Reimer and E.O. Costello. (Music fades down) Announcer: Once again, we find our four heroes, Alan, Bobby, Chuck and Dexter . . . (longish pause) . . . . Never mind. Anyway, the Four Fools are fast asleep in their luxury bachelor accommodations . . . [GRAMS: Heavy snoring; metallic echo effect] Announcer: I think our ratings will improve if they stay asleep. [GRAMS: Phone ringing] Announcer: Hello? Yes? Oh . . . yes . . . yes . . . yes – what? No . . . yes . . . um, size nine . . . Yes? . . . oh, all right, if we have to. [GRAMS: Sound of phone being hung up] Announcer: Unfortunately, I’ve just been told by the Syndic that we have to get the show started. [GRAMS: Sound of large garbage bin being beaten by nightstick] [GRAMS: Loud gonging sound] [GRAMS: Four screams, followed by a fart] Officer Krupke (George Papoon): Right, you idiots, here’s your seven o’clock alarm call! Dexter: Are you MAD, you fascist bastard? We quite clearly specified SEVEN-THIRTY! Krupke: Shut up, you mangy fox! [GRAMS: Nightstick on vulpine head] Dexter: OW-WOW-WOW! Krupke (off-mike): Now there’s something I couldn’t do over on the “Highwayman” set. Bobby: What? Krupke: This. [GRAMS: Nightstick on vulpine head] Dexter: OW! Bobby: That was great. You want a job with us? Krupke: Nah. I’m under contract. Alan: All right, all right, we'll go quietly. Bobby, help Chuck over the side. Bobby: (grunts) You’re getting heavier, Chuck. You’d better not be - uh,oh . . . [GRAMS: Loud fart] Bobby: (screams) [GRAMS: Slide whistle, then crash] Bobby: (coughing) AIYEE! I’m blind! I’M BLIND! Dexter: Oh, open your eyes, you stupid marten. Bobby: Oh. Thanks, Dex. Alan: Not bad, Bobby, I think you've broken your old record. Chuck: (bitterly) You're right, Alan. I landed on a stack of them. Bobby: What? My precious Shirley Swine records? Chuck, you'll pay for that! Chuck: Yeah? With what? You know we're skint. Alan: Shirley Swine records ‘precious?’ I suppose they might be, if you’re into torturing yourself. Bobby: Well, Alan, they do come highly recommended by certain people. Alan: Certain people? Bobby: Yeah. I really can’t say who, since the Standards Office folks are still awake. I keep waiting for the Mickey I slipped them to work. [GRAMS: Sound of two bodies falling; snoring] Bobby: Ah, about time. Those records are recommended by the Whips and Chains Guild. Alan: That’s what I like about Rain Island. Chuck: What’s that, Alan? Alan: We’re a thoroughly modern country. Dexter: Well, Chuck, if it’s a job you want you'll simply have to do like *I* do and become a successful ladies' escort through the Prostitute’s Union. Why, just last week, I earned one hundred and seventy-five dollars and twenty-five cents. Alan: Who gave you the twenty-five cents? Bobby: THEY ALL DID! Dexter: (growls) Bobby, you lying swine! [GRAMS: Fistfight and crash] Krupke: Right, you two, break it up. Bobby: I already have. Over Dexter’s pointy head. Dexter: (groans) Krupke: Now, why don't the lot of you go and find a decent job? (Long pause) (All five laugh heartily) Krupke: I mean it, now. I want the lot of yez on the first train to the Klondike. They've struck gold up there, you know. Dexter: GOLD! Alan: GOLD! Bobby: GOLD! Chuck: But that means we have to become capitalist pigs. Alan: So? Chuck: And it means I wind up doing all the work. Dexter: So? Chuck: And it means I wind up getting covered with clay and all. Bobby: Look. Chuck. Given what you're covered with now ... it'll be an improvement. Dexter: Five Monkeys in a Phone Booth! Alan: Dex, we’re not interested in what you do at night. Dexter, No, Alan – although don’t turn your striped nose up at it if you haven’t tried it – a thought just occurred to me. Chuck: This should be interesting, I guess. Dexter: The gold’s been found in the Klondike, right? Bobby: Unless Krupke’s telling us a west side story, right. Chuck: If he is, we’ll feed him to the sharks. Krupke: Why would I lie? The local would have my hide for lying. Dexter: The Klondike’s in Canada. (Pause) Bobby: Oh. We’d have to wear flannel. Chuck: Worse, Bobby – we’d have to wear plaid. Alan: Well, it can’t be all bad. Canadian women are real goers. I knew this one polar bear femme who was amazing in the sack. One little problem, though. Dexter: Oh? It was actually a guy? [GRAMS: Sound of nightstick striking vulpine head] Dexter: OW! Alan: Thanks, Krupke. Krupke: No problem. All Rain Island policefurs stand ready to help whenever called upon. Alan: No, Dexter. She had mood swings. Chuck: So she was actually – Alan: Yes. A bi-polar bear. [GRAMS: Sound of badger head being hit by nightstick] Alan: OW! Krupke! Krupke: Alan, I had to do it. You were straying away from jokes into actually harming the good folks who listen to this show. Chuck: Wait a minute. Good folks listen to this show? I thought anyone who was up this late was a moral degenerate. Bobby: No, Chuck. They just want to stay up and drink their Cougar Whiskey in peace. Anyway, Canada sounds like my kind of place – beer and women who don’t mind a roll in the sack. Let’s get over to the Travel Syndicate office and see about getting visas and tickets. (Musical bridge) (GRAMS: Train noises, continuing over action) (All four scream) (GRAMS: Four thuds) (All four grunt as they land) Conductor (fading as train noises fade) And STAY off! Alan: Right, lads, here we are in the Klondike. Bobby: God, I need a drink. Chuck: Yeah, but... Dexter: But WHAT, you stinking swine? Chuck: I was just wondering: What are we going to do for a Klondike bar? (pause, about 2 seconds) (GRAMS: Sound of lupine skull being dented) Alan: Enough fun, Bobby. We need to find shelter or we’ll freeze to death. Bobby: I know a way around that, Alan. Alan: Oh? Bobby: Sure! Watch this. Come here, Chuck. Now, where are my matches? (GRAMS: Sound of matches being struck) (GRAMS: Sound of fart, followed by whooshing sound and crackling of fire) Bobby: See? Nothing to it. I figure as long as we’ve got Chuck, we have a way to make a fire. Dexter: Yeah, but you melted a hole in the snow, Bobby. You know, something bad might happen if Chuck keeps farting. Alan: What, Dexter? Dexter: Well, he might end up melting the polar ice caps, flooding all the coasts. (pause) (All four laugh) Dexter: You’re right, silly me. That’ll NEVER happen. Bobby: Well, for right now we have a burning bush. Chuck: No sign of Moses? Alan: Hush, Chuck, you’ll get the Synod mad at us. Let’s get some more wood on that fire, warm up and we’ll look for the nearest town. Dexter: Say! I had a burning bush once . . . (GRAMS: Sound of vulpine skull being dented; sound of body hitting snowy ground) Bobby: No one’s interested in your social life, Dexter. Or your medical history. (musical bridge; honky-tonk type piano) Announcer: A bunch of the guys were drinking their pay in Ted Malamute’s saloon; Bobby: Ted Malamute’s! Sounds like a nice place! Dexter: For all your drinking needs! Announcer: The kid that plays the piano was slaughtering an old rag-time tune; Chuck: He plays worse than you, Bobby. Bobby: That’s because I’m usually beating your head on the keys, Chuck. Announcer: At the back and losing at solitaire sat Murderin’ Mike Trudeau, Dexter: You can’t play a jack on a king! That’s cheating! Alan: Bad player – loses even when he CHEATS. Announcer: And trying not to laugh was his own true love, a prostitute known as Jo. Dexter: He loves a prostitute, then? Good labor relations, this guy. Chuck: You SURE we’re not in Rain Island? Dexter: Sure I’m sure! The women are so ugly here you just say “eh.” Announcer: When out of the night, covered in snow, and into the bar’s bustling glare, Alan: Damn, it's bright in here! Bobby: They got any beer? Announcer: There stumbled a quartet thrown off a train, all filthy, and smelling like bear - . Alan: Watch it! Bobby: Why? The Standards people ran off after Chuck farted that last time. Alan: Oh. Well, carry on then. Announcer: They looked like men with their feet in their graves and no longer had any heart, Chuck: That'd be Dexter. He's got no heart. Dexter: Hah! Who needs heart when you're well-endowed? Bobby: You do, Dexter, since you’re endowed like a flea. Dexter: (splutters) Announcer: Yet one – a wolf – bellied up to the bar, and he let off a thunderous fart. [GRAMS: Fart sound] Customer #1: Cor! Customer #2: What the hell was that? Customer #3: Made my absinthe change color. Customer #1: Oh? Customer #3: Yeah, from green to black. I think the stink killed the Green Fairy. Green Fairy: (mincing voice) No, you thavages, but I'm NOT at all well! I’m going home! (off-mike) TREVOR! MY COAT! (GRAMS: Sound of mincing footsteps, receding) Alan: Well, we’re well rid of him. He would’ve lowered the moral tone of the show. Dexter: Um, Alan? Alan: Yeah, Dex? Dexter: We have no morals, Alan. We work for ZYPR. Bobby: You’re wrong, Dexter. We have morals – just no standards. (GRAMS: Fart sound) Bobby: See what I mean? Chuck: Look, can I get a beer? Bartender: We have Labatt’s. Alan: You say you have Labatt’s in your belfry? Bartender: We have to keep it there – otherwise it’d get stolen. (GRAMS: Sound of bottle being opened; glass grating across wood) Bartender: There you are. What can I get the rest of you gents – other than a bicarbonate of soda? Alan: What can bicarbonate of soda do for us? Bartender: Ask not what bicarbonate can do for you. It’s not for you lot – it’s for the rest of us. Bicarbonate of soda might stop our eyes from burning so much. Murdering Mike Trudeau (Mel Blanc): You made me interrupt my game, you gassy wolf! Chuck: Not my fault, honestly – it’s the beans. Dexter: And the broccoli. Bobby: And the asparagus. Bartender: So THAT’S what’s making my eyes burn. Alan: Put it all together and the Kaiser would be impressed. Dexter: Besides, what are you moaning about? You were losing! Trudeau: Do you know who I am, you greasy-furred fox? Dexter: Why? Have you forgotten? (GRAMS: Sound of vulpine head being smacked) Trudeau: I’m Murderin’ Mike Trudeau, the meanest wolverine in the Yukon. I can chew nails and spit out barbed wire, and I’m tougher than a ten-cent steak. Bobby: Ten-cent steak? Since when do you have luxuries like that in Canada? Alan: Yeah, decrepit empires can’t usually afford things like that. Jo (Melanie Haber): Shut up! (GRAMS: Sound of lupine head being dented) Bobby: Hey, girl, what’d you hit Chuck like that for? You usually hit him like this. (GRAMS: Sound of lupine head being hit; sound of lupine body hitting floor) Jo: Say, that’s pretty good. Nice technique. Bobby: Thanks. Jo: Could you be a dear and give me that spittoon over there, sugar? Bobby: Sure, darling. I really can’t see a class dame like you spitting. Jo: There are other uses for a spittoon. Bobby: Oh? Like what? Jo: This. (GRAMS: Sound of full brass spittoon being upended and jammed onto a marten’s head) Bobby: ACK! GUYS! GET ME OUTTA HERE! Dexter: Why, Bobby? Bobby: BECAUSE THE SPITTOON WASN’T EMPTY! Dexter: Why should *you* care? It’s not like you’ve never been in anything worse up to your ears . . . and I include Anna Dragamanoff in that category. Bobby: (mustelid growling) Dexter, I swear, if I could see you, I’d hit you so hard your brush would fall off. Dexter: Oh, you can’t see me? Bobby: No. Dexter. Just as I hoped. Chuck: What are you going to do with that chair, Dexter? Dexter: This. (GRAMS: Sound of heavy brass bell being struck, splintering wood; marten hitting the floor heavily) Alan: At the tone the time will be ten forty PM, Beluga watch time. Bobby: Who cares about the time, Alan? Get this damned thing off my head! Alan: The sponsor cares, Bobby. Only about five minutes before the advert. Trudeau: Only five minutes? Here, let me help you boys out, eh? You there, the weasel with the brass noggin. Bobby: I’m not a weasel! I’m a marten! Trudeau: So *you* say, pardner. Bend over and I’ll get that spittoon off your head. Bobby: Okay . . . Trudeau: Now, I take this board in my paws – tail up, boy, tail up, I need a good broad target to aim at . . . Bobby: Hey, wait a – (GRAMS: Swishing sound) (GRAMS: Sound of board cracking against a hard object; mustelid scream) (GRAMS: Slide whistle as Bobby flies through the air; sound of heavy body striking a bar full of bottles, breaking glass; sound of brass spittoon hitting floor) Trudeau: There! Now I can get back to my game. C’mon, Jo. Alan: And there’s Bobby, out cold in a sea of broken glass and spilled liquor. Bartender: Who’s going to pay for all this? Chuck: Er, the sponsor? Mr. Announcer Man? Announcer: (sighs) Oh, all right Chuck. I suppose Pineway Distilleries is good for it. It’s all Canadian beer and whiskey, though – hardly worth the bother because – Dexter: Here it comes. Announcer: Nothing beats the smooth, clean taste of Cougar Whiskey, one of the many fine products of Pineway Distilleries! Brewed from the finest grain and pure spring water, then aged to perfection in – Alan: A vixen’s bladder? Bobby: As if you’d know that, Alan. Announcer: *Ahem*. Aged to perfection in oak barrels for exactly ten years, Cougar Whiskey is one of the finest products of Rain Island! Get yours today! Chuck: Before Bobby drinks it all. Announcer: You know, guys, the sponsor’s not going to pay for all of this. Alan: Then who is? ZYPR? Dexter: ZYPR’s so stingy they won’t even pay attention. Announcer: No, not ZYPR, Dexter. They’ve told me that you’re all going to work off the cost of the breakage. Bobby: Oh yeah? And who’s going to make us? Announcer: Oh, don’t worry about *that.* Okay, guys. (GRAMS: Sound of clubs striking heads; four bodies hit floor) Announcer: Ahh, blessed silence. Well, folks, while we wait for our friends to regain consciousness, we’re honored to have as our musical guests tonight the Rhyolite Jazz Quintet from Anchorage Canton, FSA, under the direction of their leader, jazz trumpet virtuoso Missy Giuseppe! They’re going to play their original composition, “The Northern Lights Are in Your Eyes,” and singing along will be our very own Seathl Nightingale, Miss Jennifer Yi. Take it away, Missy! (Music: “The Northern Lights Are in Your Eyes”) (Pause for applause) Announcer: Weren’t they great, folks? That was the Rhyolite Jazz Quintet under Missy Giuseppe, with our very own Jennifer Yi. And now, let’s see if those idiots have woken up yet . . . (GRAMS: Long, sustained farting noise) Announcer: Yep, they’re awake now. Dexter: Good Lord, that was a hard hit to my head. You should take lessons from them, Bobby – no, wait . . . Bobby: Never mind that, Dexter – where are we? It’s flippin’ freezing. What is this, the Frozen North? Chuck: Who’s the Frozen North? Ethel North, the studio manager’s wife? Dexter: No, you’re thinking of the Frozen South on that one. She’s so cold you’d think a light comes on when she opens her legs. Alan: Never mind about that – the Standards Office is listening. Lads, I don't want us to panic, but I think we've been Shanghaied. Dexter: Shanghai? This is the bloody North Pole! (GRAMS: Dexter's head being thumped) Bobby: Besides, we can’t be Shanghaied – ZYPR’s too cheap. We’ve probably been Clevelanded. Alan: Well, where the hell are we, then? Schultzie (David Casman): Atten-SHUN! You vill now be listen-INK to Kommandant Klunk, our beloved camp kommandant! Dexter: Who’s this reject from the Great War? Klunk (Mel Blanc): GentleMEN! Welcome to North Pole Giftstalag Thirteen, where there has never been a successful escape. If you attempt to escape, the punishment will be severe! Alan: Oh, BOY! Vixens with whips! (GRAMS: Alan's head being thumped) Klunk: (unperturbed) On the other hand, if you do well and make lots of presents for the kiddies, you will receive thin potato soup and black bread for each and every meal! (pause) Alan: Oh, what the hell. It beats what the Syndicate pays up. Carry on, lads. Bobby: Wait a minute, Alan. What the hell are you lot doing up here? Schultzie: After der Var, ve vere all out of der jobs, you see. Chuck: And? Klunk: Und Santa gave us jobs running his toy factory. Chuck: Doesn’t he have elves for that? Schultzie: SILENCE! (GRAMS: Sound of lupine head being smacked) Schultzie: No one talks about our Beloved Leader in anything but the most respectful tone! He gave us jobs overseeing the factories after der Kaiser was deposed. Klunk: Hoch der Santa! Schultzie: Hoch der Santa! Both: HOCH DER SANTA! Chuck: “Hock der Santa?” How much do you think you’ll get for him? Alan: Are you two going to do that all the time? Klunk: Only if someone says “Hoch der Santa!” Schultzie: Hoch der Santa! Both: HOCH DER SANTA! Bobby: Knock it off, will you? I still have a headache from that spittoon. Dexter: Well, Bobby, you have a new headfur style out of the experience. Bobby: I do? Dexter: Yeah, the tobacco juice and spit matted into your headfur and froze. A new style, fresh out of Seathl! We’ll call it the Bobby Tobacco Bob! Bobby: Dexter, I’m gonna . . . where’s an icicle? Chuck: Here’s one, Bobby. What do you need it for? Bobby: You’ll see. Come here, Dexter. (GRAMS: Chase music, vulpine screaming) Schultzie: He runs verry well over der ice, does he not? Chuck: Dexter’s gifted that way – he can outrun Rain Island’s entire Olympic team so long as Bobby’s chasing him. Schultzie: (laughs) Vell, now dat ve are all having our fun, let us set you lot to vork, eh? Alan: Wait for it . . . (GRAMS: Slide whistle, ascending, sound of bell ringing; vulpine screaming) Alan: I think Bobby just made his point. Are we overseeing the elves? Schultzie: Elves? Who told you ve haff elves here? Chuck: Then vhat – er, what do you have? Schultzie: People like you, unvanted und unloved. Bobby: (sounding a bit out of breath) What do you mean by that? People in Rain Island LOVE us! Isn’t that right? (GRAMS: Crickets) Schultzie: Verrrry eenteresting . . . but you are going to vork now. Alan: I suppose we have to. (GRAMS: Musical fanfare – Wagnerian version of “Jingle Bells”) Bobby: What the hell’s that? Klunk: HE is comink! Hoch der Santa! Schultzie: Hoch der Santa! All: HOCH DER SANTA! Alan: Well, someone has to say it. Dexter: I’m going to get you for this, Bobby. That icicle was cold, you know. Bobby: Oh shut up, Dex. (GRAMS: Farting sound, followed by soft thump) Dexter: Chuck – wait a minute! Chuck, what have you been eating again? Chuck: Broccoli. Bobby: Then how come we can’t smell it? Alan: Must have frozen. All this cold’s good for something. Now, shut up, here comes Santa. Chuck: Wow, I always thought Santa was a short pudgy bear – been taking his vitamins, has he? He looks six feet tall and solid muscle. Schultzie: Vell, he gets der exercise hefting zose bags of toys, you know. Santa (Alvin Bradshaw): Ahh, Klunk. We are having a problem in Factory Number 3. Klunk: Ja, sir? Santa: Ja – er, yes. One of the crossbeams has gone out of skew on the treadle. Alan: What? Santa: I said, one of the crossbeams has gone out of skew on the treadle. Alan: That’s too much information, Santa old bear. Take some ointment for it and shut up about it. Bobby: You’re a bit big through the shoulders to go sliding down chimneys. Don’t you chafe? Santa: Never do – built-in bear grease, y’know. Are you the new workers? Dexter: We’d like to negotiate a new contract, Santa. Schultzie: Hoch der Santa! Klunk: Hoch der Santa! All: HOCH DER SANTA! (GRAMS: Spitting sound) Santa: What the hell do you think you’re doing, spitting on me? Alan: I thought they said, “Hock ON Santa.” (GRAMS: Badger head being struck, hard) Santa: Ho Ho Ho! Negotiate a new contract? My, my, you are a group of idiots, aren’t you? Where the hell do you think you lot are? Rain Island? Chuck: It’s too cold to be Rain Island, and it’s not raining so it can’t be Great Wolf Lake. Bobby: Oh, who cares about them up in Great Wolf Lake? The only good things to come out of there are hockey players and loose women. Dexter: Hey! My mother comes from Great Wolf Lake! Bobby: Really? What position does she play, then? Dexter: Left wing – why you . . . (vulpine growling) Alan: Dexter, here’s a buck – call someone who cares about your mother. I hear her team’s in the cellar anyway. Santa: Look, enough with the buck and wing, already. Get to work, you lazy good-for-nothings. Chuck: But we are good for something! Santa: Such as? Chuck: Um . . . (GRAMS: crickets) Alan: I guess we’ll go to work, then. Come on, guys. (musical bridge) (GRAMS: off-mike factory noises, including random steam whistle) Chuck: Lord, it’s noisy in here. Dexter: At least we can’t hear it when you fart, Chuck. Bobby: We can smell it again, though. You damned near took the paint off the hobby horses with that last one. Chuck: It’s not my fault. Bobby: Like hell it isn’t. No one’s forcing you to be a vegetarian, you know. You have to learn to control your impulses. Alan: You’re a fine one to talk about impulses, Bobby, after that little stunt you pulled with the plush minks. Bobby: Can I help it if they reminded me of Millie? So soft, so brown, so . . . Dexter: Do you need another bucket of ice water, Bobby? We’ll throw you out in the cold this time so it freezes. Bobby: Um, no, Dexter. The last one was enough, thanks. I was almost as small as you after that cold water hit me. Dexter: (splutters) (GRAMS: off-mike scream, followed by sound of falling boxes) Alan: What the hell was that? Chuck: Looks like a mouse. Dexter: He must be freezing, wearing short pants in this place. Hey you! Ricky (Anselmo Pederazy): WHATWHATWHATWHAT!? (pants) Sorry; this place gets to me. Alan: Who the hell are you? Bobby: And why the hell should we care? Ricky: Name’s Rrr . . . Chuck: Come again? Ricky: Rrr . . . Dexter: Sounds like he’s having trouble getting his motor started. Here, let me. (GRAMS: Sound of mouse head being smacked) Ricky: . . . Rrricky van Gelder. (whimpers) I used to . . . used to be . . . be a p-postman . . . Alan: Gave up ringing twice, eh? Ricky: B-but then I endeded up h-h-here . . . where EVERYONE’S SO DAMNED HAPPY! WHY? WHY IS EVERYONE SO DAMNED HAPPY!?! Chuck: Could it be the happiest place on Earth? Ricky: WHY? IT’S TWENTY BELOW OUTSIDE! MY PISS FREEZES! Bobby: So do Chuck’s farts, but you won’t hear us complaining, you stupid rodent. Ricky: (lower tone, desperate voice) Someone’s responsible for all this cheer. And . . . I know who. Dexter: You do, huh? Ricky: Yeah. It all makes such perfect sense to me now. It all makes sense. It's all about the Beavers of Baden-Baden. (ominous musical sting) Dexter: That sounded ominous. Bobby: Could have been worse, Dexter. So, "the Beavers of Baden-Baden,” huh? Is that like the Phillies of Philadelphia? Ricky: No, these guys can hit the curve. What's more, they control the world. With gyros. Alan: There’s a Greek restaurant up here? Must get kind of messy, with all that tzatziki getting everywhere. Dexter: Better than the ice cream joke, Alan. Alan: Truer words were never spoken, Dexter. Ricky: N-n-n-no, auto-gyros. Bobby: I didn't think motor oil went with shredded beef. Ricky: No, no. Black auto-gyros. You can't see them. Dexter: If you can't see them, how do you know they're black? Ricky: It's to contrast with the sky. Bobby: But the sky's blue. Well, outside of Cleveland. Ricky: That's exactly what they want you to think. Chuck: Who? Ricky: Them. (ominous musical sting) Dexter: What about them? Ricky: They want you to think the sky is black. Alan: Why? Ricky: So you can't see their auto-gyros. Dexter: But you've seen them. Ricky: Only because of the tinfoil. Alan: Tinfoil? Ricky: Yes. If you wrap it around your ears, the noise that water makes sounds more like cheddar than bifocals do. Chuck: Why do you want to know what cheddar sounds like? Ricky: It takes my mind off the black auto-gyros. Dexter: Which only you can see. Ricky: Which is what they want you to think. Bobby: Who? Ricky: Them. (ominous musical sting) Chuck: Them? (ominous musical sting) Ricky: Them. They're putting additives in the cheddar to control our minds. Bobby: Who are? Ricky: Them. (ominous musical sting) Bobby: NOW CUT THAT OUT! Chuck: The same ones with the black auto-gyros? Ricky: That's what they want you to think. Alan: But if they're flying around in black auto-gyros, and adulterating the cheddar supply, how come I haven't heard about this? Ricky: You don't have tinfoil wrapped around your ears. Chuck: How does wrapping tinfoil around my ears help me hear? Ricky: It makes water sound like cheddar. Chuck: Makes sense to me. Dexter: And they want me to think water sounds like cheddar. Ricky: Who does? Chuck: Them? (ominous musical sting) Bobby: I’m warning you, Bandleader . . . Ricky: Who? Dexter: The guys in the black auto-gyros. Ricky: Who told you about the black auto-gyros? Alan: You did, just now. Ricky: I deny it all, and you can't prove a thing. Chuck: But you just told me that the cheddar supply is being adulterated. Ricky: Well, everyone knows that. Bobby: How is it being adulterated? Ricky: It forces people to do strange things. Dexter: Like what? Alan: Other than listening to you? Ricky: Like wear tinfoil around your ears. (silent pause) Bobby: Who'd be zany enough to wear tinfoil around their ears? Ricky: That's what they want you to think. Alan: Who? Ricky: Them. (ominous musical sting) Bobby: That does it. (GRAMS: Pistol shot; scream from the ZYPR bandleader; body falling) Bobby: There, that takes care of that. Now then, where were we? (papers rustling) Ah. Them? Ricky: Them. As sure is the sky is black. Chuck: But the sky is blue. Ricky: That's what they want you to think. Chuck: Why do they want me to think the sky is black? Ricky: Because then you won't see the black auto-gyros. Bobby: Which... Dexter: ...you can only see if you're wearing tinfoil around your ears. And eating cheddar. Alan: Can I ask a question? Ricky: Only if no one is listening. Alan: What happens if everyone starts wearing tinfoil around their ears? Ricky: Then no one will hear the black auto-gyros coming. Chuck: But if they can't see them, why would they want to hear them? Ricky: Because of the cheddar. Bobby: I thought cheddar sounds like water. Ricky: That's what they want you to think. It comes from eating adulterated cheddar. Hey, where are you going? Dexter: We’re going out for a gyro. You want one? Ricky: (sighs) Yes. With extra cheese. (musical bridge) (GRAMS: Off-mike factory noises) Alan: Lads! Hey! Dexter: What, Alan? Alan: Look, we’ve been here a week now, and I have to tell you I’m worried. Chuck: What about? Alan: It’s this relentless cheerfulness up here. Bobby’s been heard singing while he smashes up the dolls’ heads with a hammer. Dexter: That’s actually pretty normal behavior for Bobby. Alan: Yeah, but he was singing songs by Steve Holmes. Dexter: Good Lord! He HATES that guy! Alan: And there’s another thing – Chuck, you’ve been farting just as much as usual - Chuck: Have I? Alan: Yes. The last one you let off should have blown all the fur off your tail. Instead it smelled of candy canes. Chuck: Good Lord. What are we going to do? Alan: We need to start planning an escape. Dexter: But you heard Klunk – no one’s ever successfully escaped from here. Alan: Hey, he’s German. They were wrong about the War, weren’t they? Dexter: Point taken. Bobby: Hi guys! What are you talking about? Chuck: Escaping, before you decide to sing a Steve Holmes medley. Bobby: (snorts) No chance of that – I hate that guy. Dexter: Alan overheard you singing one of his tunes. Bobby: I WAS!? Damn, I’ve got to get out of here before I end up like that crazy mouse! Alan: Okay, we’re agreed. Now, I think we should steal some of the guards’ uniforms and use Santa’s – Bobby: Hoch der Santa! Schultzie and Klunk (off-mike) Hoch der Santa! All: HOCH DER SANTA! Alan: Anyway, we steal his sleigh. Dexter: One flaw in that plan, Alan. Chuck: Yeah, he doesn’t use a sleigh. Alan: Then what does he use? Bobby: That huge white Zeppelin over there. Alan: Is that what that is? I thought it was his wife. Okay, let’s get some uniforms and get out of here. (musical bridge) Dexter: Okay, guys, let’s keep quiet and act normal. We don’t want to give away our disguise. Chuck: Bobby, you march in front of me. Bobby: Why, Chuck? Chuck: Because when you goose-step you kick me in the arse. Bobby: There's a reason for that, Chuck. Chuck: Oh? What? Bobby: This. (GRAMS: Sound of lupine skull getting dented) (GRAMS: Off-mike sound of engines, confused shouts, occasional gunfire; musical bridge) Dexter: Woohoo! We've escaped! Alan: Well done, lads! This calls for a rare bit of generosity on my part. Cigars all around! Bobby: Thanks, Alan. Damn, the minute I get back to Rain Island I’m heading straight for the Prostitute’s Union. I need to warm up. Dexter: Why not go down to the docks? You’ll get more action from the sailors. Bobby: I don’t want to muscle in on your clientele, Dexter. (GRAMS: *snk* *snk* *snk*) Chuck: Stupid lighter... (GRAMS: Fart sound, followed by a “foosh!;” sounds of an explosion and fire; sounds of metal falling from a height) (musical bridge) Dexter: Oh, thanks a LOT, Chuck! Thanks to your gas the Zeppelin’s blown up and here we are stranded on the ice! We’ll probably all die out here! Chuck: Sorry, I can’t help it . . . it’s the beans, you know. Alan: Never mind that, lads. I see people coming. Bobby: Great! We’re saved by the Eskimos! Eskimo Joe: We saw the fire. You guys okay? Dexter: Yeah! We’re trying to get back to Rain Island. Eskimo Joe: Well, we can get you to Great Wolf Lake. We’re going there to watch the regional hockey tournament. Alan: Great! So, you’re real Eskimos, huh? Eskimo #1: Hungh, boss. Allow one to introduce self. One's parents name him using parts of their names. One's father was Na-Nook. One's mother was Lilisums... Chuck: Brace yourself, guys. Something tells me this is going to hurt. Eskimo #1: One's name is Lil-Snookums. Bobby: You were right, Chuck. Eskimo Joe: Gentlemen! Allan, Bobby, Chuck, and Dexter: Huh? What? Who walked in? (Music rises, then fades) Announcer: Right now, folks, you’re probably wondering what I’m going to say next. Dexter: Another advert for Cougar Whiskey? Announcer: You’ve been listening, Dexter. Good for you. Yes, friends, the smooth and distinctive taste of Cougar Whiskey is like a comfortable sweater or an old friend. Chuck: You mean it sleeps on your couch and won’t leave? (GRAMS: Sound of lupine skull getting dented) Announcer: For reasons known only to yourselves, you’ve been listening to the Four Fools in their production of “Fool’s Gold,” 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. Officer Krupke was played by George Papoon, Melanie Haber as Jo, David Casman as Schultzie, Alvin Bradshaw as Santa – Alan, Bobby, Chuck, Dexter: HOCH DER SANTA! Announcer: Er, yes, right. Ricky was played by Anselmo Pederazy. The bartender and the Green Fairy have asked to remain anonymous, as they don’t want to damage their careers. Our special guest tonight was Mel Blanc as both Murderin’ Mike Trudeau and Kommandant Klunk – Alan: Hey! He did two parts! Does that mean he gets paid twice? (GRAMS: Papers rustling) Dexter: Damn! He gets two paychecks! Announcer: Our musical guest tonight was the Rhyolite Jazz Quintet from Anchorage, under the direction of Missy Giuseppe, and Rain Island’s very own Jennifer Yi. Bobby: Who comes to us courtesy of her mother. Dexter: And her Mom’s cute too! Announcer: The show was produced by W.D. Reimer – Dexter: Who escaped again - Announcer: - With additional material by E.O Costello – Bobby: Who’s been freed on bail – Announcer: M.M. Marmel – Chuck: Who’s still on the lam – Alan: Yeah, and the lam’s getting tired – Announcer: And J.T. Urie – Dexter: Who hasn’t escaped yet, but is thinking about it. Announcer: And I’m not talking. This has been the Rain Island Radiocast Collective, - Bobby: Urging you to wrap your ears in tinfoil and eat LOTS of cheddar. Alan: Yeah, the Dairy Collective needs the extra revenue – they’re still building their Fortress of Cheese. Announcer: *Ahem.* Wishing all of you a very good night. All: GO TO BED, DAMMIT! Dexter: Or not. We've got enough babies as it is. (GRAMS: Vulpine head getting hit) (Music rises, then fades.) Transcribed and edited by W.D.Reimer Transcriber’s Note: This episode of the Four Fools’ radio show, featuring the destruction of a Zeppelin airship, aired on the 29th of April, 1937. One week later the Zeppelin LZ-129 Hindenburg exploded and crashed at Lakehurst Naval Air Station in the United States. Out of consideration for the survivors and the families of the victims of the tragedy, the Radiocast Collective archived the script and the recordings of the show and never repeated the performance. Over the decades both the script and the disc were lost. When the Radiocast Collective moved to a new broadcasting center in the 1990s a cache of old recording discs was discovered. One disc, suspiciously labeled as a Snakespeare production titled “Please Pass the Bacon,” was revealed to be the long-lost ‘missing’ episode of the radio show. It was digitally re-mastered and was included in the Four Fools retrospective collection that was released in 2005. |