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Radio-play Transcript
"Rosie's Place":
'Show 2: It's Shot From Guns'
Transcribed & Edited by
E.O.Costello
Update 16 March 2013
(Re-broadcast 24 February 2013 on KFAI radio)
The audio file for this show is now posted at
the Great Northern Audio Theatre website, and is a free download.
http://www.greatnorthernaudio.com/gnrt/spontoon.html
| Columbia
Broadcasting System transcription "Standard of Rhode Island Show" Rosie's Place: Show 2: It's Shot From Guns Sunday, September 18, 1938 West Coast Repeat Show 7:30 pm Los Antelopes Time [Orchestra flourish] Harlow Wilcox: Standard of Rhode Island, the makers of Fire Cheetah premium gasoline, present "Rosie's Place." [Steel guitar plays "When My Dreams Come True" in Hawai'ian fashion under song] Andrews Sisters: Ever since I met you all that I seem to do is dream Wonderful dreams Heaven's before my eyes, when will I realize my dreams Wonderful dreams? The skies will all be blue When my dreams come true And I'll be smiling through When my dreams come true... Harlow: Starring Georgia Ellis as Rosie, with Mel Blanc, Bea Benadaret, Sara Berner, Bert Gordon, Franklin Pangborn and Stanley Adams, with the Andrews Sisters and the Raymond Scott Orchestra. The Orchestra opens with "I Want to Be Happy." [Orchestra plays "I Want to Be Happy"] [Cut into music] Harlow: The cars from Deertroit are bigger and better than ever before, with new, powerful engines that make cruising the highways a real pleasure. But are you fueling these beauties with ordinary gasoline? Ordinary gasoline contains impurities that, over time, will cause vital engine parts to clog and lose their efficency, reducing power and performance. In order to get the most out of today's car engines, you need a gasoline that's pure and powerful. In a word, or rather, two words: Fire Cheetah. Yes, Standard of Rhode Island's Fire Cheetah gasoline, the product of a patented triple-hydrofining process that makes Fire Cheetah the purest gasoline you can buy today. So get the most out of your engine: stop in at any one of the more than 3,000 Standard of Rhode Island service stations from coast to coast, and fill your tank with Fire Cheetah premium gasoline. Don't be unsafe...be SORI. Standard of Rhode Island. [Orchestra finishes song] Harlow: On Meeting Island in the Spontoons, there's one place nearly every fur goes to have lunch. And lots of lunches mean, among other things, lots of napkins and tablecloths that need attention. So what is this place that is a laundryfur's dream? Why, it's none other than... [GRAMS: Sound of telephone ringing twice, then being picked up.] Rosie Baumgartner: Luchow's, this is Rosie Baumgartner speaking...oh, hello Mr. Chow...no, no laundry for the restaurant this week...what?...no, no, we haven't switched to paper. Yes, putting paper in front of some of our customers might be misinterpreted. What's that? Oh, well, you know my handyfox, B'onss?...yeah, that's right, the little guy...yeah, the one that looks like an apricot dipped in chocolate...yes, well, he's promised to rig me up an automatic washing machine...no, it won't have a mangle in it. And I'd prefer if you didn't mention "mangle" to B'onss, there's another misinterpretation I don't want...hmm?...am I sending my clothes to be done by B'onss? Look, Mr. Chow, that's one part of your business you won't lose. I don't care to go around without any clothes on. (pause) Mr. Chow, PUH-lease! Yes, I'll let you know how things go with B'onss. Good-bye. [GRAMS: Sound of telephone being hung up.] Victoria Knox: What was Mr. Chow talking about, Rosie? Rosie: Indelicates. Vicky: Indelicates? Rosie: Especially if Mrs. Chow catches him talking like that. Vicky: Well, all the same, I'm glad you're sending my waitress outfits to get cleaned by him. I'd just as soon not wear a grass skirt and flowers at work. Customer (off): Speak for yourself! Vicky: (growls) See what I mean? Customer (off): I can't see what I mean! [GRAMS: Sound of knife whistling through the air, and impacting wood with a quivering sound] Rosie: Now, now, Vicky, the gentlefur doesn't need assistance cutting his meat. Vicky (growls): I was planning on cutting something else... Nicholai Ivanovich Lopanearov: Rosssssie? I, Nicholai Ivanovich Lopanearov, have been *thinking*... Rosie: Don't. You might sprain something. Nick: Ah-ha!-ha! Yassssssss. Well, nevairthelessssss, Nicholai Ivanovich has been thinking. This suggestion of the grass skirt made by the charming Vicky, it is *warrry* appealing. Rosie: Would this have anything to do with the fact you're a rabbit, Nick? Nick: Ha-ha-ha-ha! Silllllllly chee-tah! Noooooo, it is only the sight of the charming and beautiful Vicky that remind Nicholai Ivanovich of his salad days... Vicky: I'm warning you, Nick... Nick: Whaaaaaaaat? Is it something Nicholai Ivanovich say? Vicky: Salad and grass skirts don't mix. Nick: Ho! You are there being wrong. Vicky: Yeah? Nick: Yassssss, certainly. They both require dressing, no? Rosie: Nick, that's the sort of joke that killed vaudeville. Vicky: It'll kill something else in a... Nick: Hmmmmm! Nick is just remembering, he need to make special Gnu York salad, riiiiiight now. Rosie: Waldorf? Nick: No, is out in open. [GRAMS: Double doors swinging open and shut] Rosie: Oy, what a crew. Well, one bright side. Maybe two. Vicky: What's that, Rosie? Rosie: At least the Lack-of-Brain Trust is out of my tailfur. Vicky: Just what exactly are they doing, anyway? Rosie: B'onss promised me that he'd rig up a motor-driven clothes washer and dryer. He said he found some plans for it in one of those mechanical magazines. As long as he's doing it far away, where he can't explode anything, I figure it's safe. Vicky: But how does that keep K'nutt out of your tailfur? Rosie: I promised K'nutt I'd listen to his suggestions for advertising the restaurant. Vicky: And? Rosie: I told him to think about it. Vicky: You...(pause) ...told K'nutt to *think*? Rosie: Yup. Vicky: First time for everything, I s'pose. [musical bridge] [GRAMS: Indeterminate metal clinking sound] B'onss: Okeh...metal clamp. K'nutt: M-m-metal clamp. [GRAMS: Faint clinking sound] B'onss: Okeh...screwdriver. K'nutt: S-s-screwdriver. [GRAMS: Faint ratcheting sound] B'onss: Okeh...wrench...wrench...'ey, I sez... [GRAMS: Louder wooden-type sound.] B'onss: K'nutt? K'nutt: Y-y-yeah, B'onss? B'onss: Dis what yez gives me, is what most furs calls a cocoanut. K'nutt: Uh-hunh. B'onss: It's a nice cocoanut. K'nutt: Y-y-yeah. B'onss: It's a big cocoanut. K'nutt: Y-yep. B'onss: BUT IT AIN'T WHAT I ASKS FER! K'nutt: I-i-i knows, B'onss. B'onss: So whatcha gives it t'me fer? [GRAMS: Metal rattling sounds] K'nutt: I'm lookin' fer th' wrench, B'onss. B'onss: Awright, I'll bite. So why th' cocoanut? K'nutt: It's me lunch. B'onss: Yer lunch? K'nutt: Yeah. I likes cocoanuts. Th-th-they're brain food. B'onss: Brain food, hanh? K'nutt: Y-yeah. B'onss: How long ya been eatin' cocoanuts, leave us ask? K'nutt: Uhhhh...urrmmmmm....ahhhhhhh.... B'onss: Never minds. Y'answered it already. Finds dat wrench yet? K'nutt: Yeah. Here. B'onss: T'anks. [GRAMS: Ratcheting sound] B'onss: Dere. All finished-like. Ain't she a beaut? K'nutt: Ummmm. B'onss: What? What? You gonna have th' brass t'sit dere on yer brush an' tells me dat dis ain't a worka genius, right here? K'nutt: I dunno, B'onss. I ain't never hearda no washin' machine powered by no a-a-airplane motor. B'onss: Dey laughed at Edison, too. K'nutt: I didn't know...an' ain't it kinda funny t'have a big l-l-l-long stack like dat stickin' out th' s-s-s-side? B'onss: Never minds th' design woik. Lookit all dat horsepower. K'nutt: Oh, oh. B'onss: What? K'nutt: I'll f-f-fetch a broom. B'onss: Aw, skip it, K'nutt. Lookit, th' idea here is dat dis machine what is right here kin does th' woik of twenny furs. I'm tellin' ya, we'll be rich wit' dis gizmo. An' you knows what dat means. K'nutt: Y-y-yeah, cocoanuts fer dinner! B'onss: Y'know, K'nutt, youse is got what dem fancy guys wit' th' beards call a poifect monongahela 'bout dem cocoanuts. K'nutt: I likes cocoanuts. B'onss: I know, but... K'nutt: I'm g-g-gonna write a song 'bout cocoanuts. B'onss: Yer WHA? K'nutt: T'a-a-advertise Luchow's. See, Rosie ast me t'c-c-come up wit' an idea t'advertise Luchow's, an' I figger cocoanuts gotta enter inta it s-s-s-somewheres. B'onss: How come? K'nutt: I likes cocoanuts. B'onss: Yeah, I s'poses ya got t'ings in common wit' cocoanuts. Now look, turns on dat tap, dere... [GRAMS: Faucet sound, then water filling sound] B'onss: Awright, K'nutt, add some detergent, and den somea dem napkins... [GRAMS: Faint rustling sound, then sound of metal door being closed] B'onss: Now, leave us start up th' motor... [GRAMS: Off-mike, but sufficiently loud sound of airplane motor starting up and revving] [Musical cue: Orchestral undertone of "Powerhouse" "B" theme] B'onss (somewhat louder): Okeh, we turns it on, like *so*... [GRAMS: Rapid, mechancial "CaCHUNKacha-CaCHUNKacha-CaCHUNKacha", continuing throughout lines] B'onss: An'...violins! Th' napkins is gettin' cleaned up, th' modern, efficient way. Lookit! K'nutt: Unnnnnnhhhhh. B'onss: Whassamatter? K'nutt: I'm gettin' dizzy...dem t'ings is goin' r-r-r-r-round and r-r-r-r-round and r-r-r-round... B'onss: Oh, brudder. Lissen, K'nutt, why dontcha have yer lunch, while I watches th' motor an' such-like? K'nutt: Oh-okeh, B'onss...hmmm...s-s-s-say, dat pipe is gettin' warm, w-w-wit' all dat steam. I wunner... [GRAMS: Sliding sound] B'onss: K'NUTT! WHATCHA DOIN'?!? K'nutt: I-I-I-I'm cookin' me lunch, B'onss [Orchestral cue: "Powerhouse" "B" theme gets faster and louder] [GRAMS: Washing machine sound gets faster and clunkier] B'onss: GET IT OUTTA DERE! GET IT OUTTA DERE! K'nutt: But i-i-i-it ain't done yet... [Orchestral cue: "Powerhouse" "B" theme gets faster and louder] [GRAMS: Washing machine sound gets even faster and clunkier] B'onss: K'NUTT! TURN TH' MACHINE OFF! K'nutt: W-W-WHAT? B'onss: I SEZ: TURN TH' MACHINE OFF! K'nutt: I C-C-CAN'T HERE YA, B'ONSS. TH' M-M-MACHINE'S MAKIN' TOO MUCH NOISE. YA WANT I SHOULD TURN IT OFF-L-L-LIKE? B'onss: YOU LAMEBRAINED...WHEN I GETS MY PAWS ON YEZ, I'LL... [Orchestral cue: "Powerhouse" reaches a crescendo] [GRAMS: Washing machine goes in a blur of sound] [GRAMS: Loud "PAFOOOOOOOM" sound is heard] [GRAMS: Artillery shell sound slowly fades into the distance] [GRAMS: Washing machine sound stops.] [GRAMS: Airplane motor sound stops.] [GRAMS: Faint bell sound is heard in the silence.] K'nutt: Awwwwwwwww. D-d-dere goes me lunch. Ya sees where it went, B'onss? B'onss: Nah. I sorta lost it behind a cloud. Y'know, K'nutt, I'm gettin' an idea. I figger we can mix advertisin' and laundry, all at th' same time. You knows where we kin get more cocoanuts? K'nutt: Oh, y-y-yeah, B'onss. I likes cocoanuts. [Musical bridge] [GRAMS: Door opening with bell sound; door closing] Right Hon. A. Cadbury Mouchoir: Ah, fair maiden! I wish to bandy conversation with the chatelaine of this fair establishment with a view toward obtaining a modicum of sustenance to fill certain gastronomical imperatives of the most urgent grist. Vicky: Uh-huh. Just a minute. Hey! Rosie! Rosie: Yes? Vicky: Mooch is hungry and he wants to scam you outta a half sandwich and a cuppa coffee. Mouchoir (slightly wounded dignity): Really, my dear Miss Knox. Such a vulgar disquisition of the fact. Rosie: Is she wrong, Mooch? Mouchoir: Errrrr. Not as such, Miss Baumgartner, no. Rosie (sighs): Okeh, Mooch, what happened this time? Bad luck with the postal orders, again? Mouchoir: Ah, Miss Baumgartner, bad luck has dogged my family tree for generations. Rosie: Yeah, I guess you wouldn't want your family tree dogged. Mouchoir: Mine is a Border clan, you know. Rosie: Bordering on what? Mouchoir: Errr, genteel poverty, most of the time. Rosie: No, I mean physically. Mouchoir: Ah! I comprehend. We are from the marches of Scotland. Rosie: Your family comes from the marches? Mouchoir: Given our unhappy history, most of the time it has not been a march, but a dead run, you see. Rosie: Uh-hunh. Mouchoir: That stack of freshly laundered napkins I espy upon the table yonder puts me in mind of my ancestor, Yellow Hubert Mouchoir. Rosie: Yellow Hubert. Mouchoir: Indeed. Poor chap, never could shake off that jaundice. You see, oh, I believe it was about 1435 or thereabouts, he made the mistake of incurring the wrath of Mad James Strathdern, of that ilk. Rosie: Of that ilk. Of course. Mouchoir: Well, there was a slight misunderstanding regarding the unauthorized acquisition by Yellow Hubert of certain wool-bearing quadrapeds, resulting from a well-intentioned but ultimately erroneous judgement as to the title applicable to those chattels. Vicky: Hubie tried to swipe some sheep, hanh? Mouchoir: Errrrr, yes. In any event, Mad James took umbrage at this action, and demanded single combat with Yellow Hubert. Rules of the game prevailing in those times, you see. Rosie: Of course. Mouchoir: So, out came the assorted paraphenalia of war, the broadswords and such, and the affair of honour was scheduled for an appropriate day in an appropriate glen. Strictly a case of combat for two, whisky for one, you understand. Rosie: Oh, I follow. Mouchoir: It was most fortunate for Yellow Hubert that the trees and flowers were rather vigorously in bloom that year, and he noted the usual symptoms on the visage of Mad James, to wit: runny nose, watery eyes, sneezing, and such. Vicky: Put you off your game. Mouchoir: Yes, well, Yellow Hubert was a gentlefur, of course. Rosie: I wouldn't expect otherwise. Mouchoir: I say, thank you. In any event, he had taken the precaution of supplying himself with an extremely large pawkerchief, which, as you know, is from where the family name is derived. Rosie: I wasn't aware. Mouchoir: Oh, my yes. The medieval chappies note it prominently. In any event, he graciously supplied Mad James with this article of linen shortly before the combat was supposed to begin. Just as the swords were raised, however, Mad James felt a sneeze of epic proportions begin to emerge, and he whisked out the pawkerchief that my ancestor had supplied him, flourishing it mightly. Vicky: Quite a sight, I'm sure. Mouchoir: Indeed. The snowy linen flashed in the early morning light. Yellow Hubert saw his opportunity, and quick as a wink thanked Mad James for flying a flag of surrender, graciously called the matter even, and made a somewhat hasty departure for points south. This was not unaccompanied by certain arrows fired by the retainers of Mad James, who took a rather less sporting view of this demarche. Rosie: Spoilsports. Mouchoir: To be sure. Yellow Hubert collected a few arrows in a rather senstive part of his anatomy, and was forced to take his meals standing up for some days. He had, however, escaped with feline fur more or less intact, and it inspired him to coin a motto for our family. Vicky: A motto? Rosie: Oh, oh. Mouchoir: "The truce may hurt, but the truce shall let ye flee." Rosie: Mooch? Mouchoir: Miss Baumgartner. Rosie: I have a half-sandwich and a cup of coffee here. If you promise to go tell that story to Sergeant Brush, I'll let you have it. Mouchoir: Ah, I knew your generousity would not fail you, ma'am. I shall remember you... Rosie: ...in your will, yeah, yeah. Just go, Mooch. Go. Mouchoir: Fare thee well and au revoir! [GRAMS: Door opening and closing with a bell] Vicky: Rosie, do you believe any of that malarkey? Rosie: Vicky, if you had never met B'onss or K'nutt, and I described them to you, would you believe me? Vicky: Errrrrrrr....point taken, Rosie. [Musical bridge] Cuthbert Calico: Really, this is simply outrageous! Rosie: What is, Mr. Calico? Calico: This outbreak, this rash, of cocoanutings. Rosie: Of...wha? Calico: Good heavens, woman. Cocoanutings! Cocoanutings! Haven't you read the papers? Rosie: Not closely, no. Calico: For the last five days, there have been several frightening near misses, furs almost being struck by flying cocoanuts. There isn't a single island, and hardly a village, that hasn't had a cocoanut aimed at it. Vicky: Cocoanuts don't fly. Calico: Well, these cocoanuts do. I don't know how... Vicky: Brawny seagulls? Clams must get boring after a while. Maybe they're on a diet. Calico: Really, Miss Knox, this no laughing matter. As Deputy Assistant Under-Secretary to the Vice-Minister of the Interior, the matter of cocoanuts flying about the Islands naturally concerns me. Rosie: So THAT'S what you do. (musingly) I always wondered. So...that's on the books somewheres? Some fur in the Althing actually keeps track of flying cocoanuts? Calico: Yes...I mean, no, dash it. It falls under my broad authority. Vicky: It falls under your broad something else, I think. Calico: Oh! Really! Rosie: Well, Mr. Calico, what *are* you doing about it? Calico: The Constabulary are investigating the matter, and I have been promised a full and complete report when further information is available. Vicky: You mean, after they give the cocoanut trees the third degree? Calico: Now see here, Miss Knox, I will not tolerate any fur making a fool of the Althing. Vicky: Yea, that's your job, isn't it? Calico: I... Rosie: Hey, isn't that Sergeant Brush? Bless his pointy ears and equally pointy head. Looks like something's on his mind... [GRAMS: Door being opened and closed with bell] Brush: Y'know, dat Mooch gets weirder alla time. Rosie: Really? Hadn't noticed. Brush: Yeah, he jus' tol' me some weird story 'bout some lace hanky. I t'ink he may needs a checkup from th' neck up. Rosie: (snickers) So, what can I get ya, Sarge? Brush: Nuttin' right now, Rosie. I gotta talk witcha. Dere's a lil' problem...you knows 'bout da cocoanuttin's been goin' round, right? Rosie: Mr. Calico was just filling us in on the details. Sergeant Brush: Wellll, we finally gots a break in th' case. Vicky: You did? What got broken? Sergeant Brush: Plate glass winder over on Casino Island. But we gots a chunka th' cocoanut what done it. Dere's writin' on it. Rosie: Is there? Sergeant Brush: See fer yerself, Rosie. Rosie: Hmmmmm..."Lushow-w-ws" Sergeant Brush: Yea. Funny, ain't it? Rosie: You mean the spelling? Sergeant Brush: Naw, I mean, how come dis joint's name is on th' cocoanut. Rosie: How would I know how it got there? Sergeant Brush: Dis ain't yer doin'? Rosie: Sergeant, put on your thinking cap, okeh? I'm a busy cheetah, running my own restaurant. Am I going to take time out during the day to fling cocoanuts, Heaven knows how, for hundreds of yards all over the Islands AND misspell the name of my own restaurant on the cocoanuts? So it could be traced to me? Nuts. Sergeant Brush: So, lemme get dis straight. Yer sayin' dat only somefur what has a lotta time on his paws, and ain't gots no more common sense than a bucketa chum, has come up wit' some met'oda flingin' cocoanuts about, an'...an'...an'... (long pause) Sergeant Brush: Rosie? Rosie: Yeah? Sergeant Brush: When's th' last time ya seen dem dimbulb brudders a' mine? Rosie: Now, look. I realize this cocoanut thing is stupid enough to have their names all over it, but it can't be them. Nitwits they may be, but they've actually come up with a mechanical washing machine that works. They've been doing all the linens for the restaurant for five straight days, and they haven't lost a tablecloth or a napkin. Sergeant Brush: How many days? Rosie: Five. Sergeant Brush: Hey, Calico. How long dese cocoanuttin's bin goin' on? Calico: Five...days. Oh, my. Sergeant Brush: Aw, saints preserve me. Rosie, kin I use yer phone? Rosie: Over there, Sarge. Gosh. Who'd believe that B'onss and K'nutt would be stupid enough to go on a cocoanutting rampage? Vicky: Pretty much everybody. Rosie: Good point. [Musical interlude] [GRAMS: Metal creaking sound] B'onss: Range, one t'ousand yards. K'nutt: R-r-range, one t'ousand yards. [GRAMS: Moistening-finger sound] B'onss: Wind, 'bout t'ree miles an hour. K'nutt: W-w-wind, t'ree miles an hour. B'onss: Dryer, t'irty five minutes [GRAMS: Dial-ratcheting sound] K'nutt: T'irty five minutes B'onss: Elevation, twenny nine degrees. (silence) B'onss: Elevation, twenny nine degrees. (silence) B'onss: I *sez*...hey! Hey, K'nutt, where ya t'ink yer goin'?! K'nutt: I-i-i-i gotta go home fer a minnit, B'onss. B'onss: What fer? K'nutt: I needs a sweater. B'onss: A sweater?! K'nutt: W-w-well, ya just *said* it wuz twenny n-n-nine degrees... B'onss: Aw, nuts. Get over here, ya lamebrain. I gots half a mind t'give ya half a mind, which would be half a mind more'n ya gots now. Now get back here an' load up th' cocoanut gun an' th' dryer. [GRAMS: Rustling sound, dryer door closing, cocoanut being slid down pipe.] [Orchestral cue: "Powerhouse" "B" theme starts in undertone] [GRAMS: Repeat engine motor and dryer sounds from before] B'onss: Awwright, just a bit more, an'... Harlow: Say, fellows, what gives? K'nutt: Oh, h-h-hi, Mr. W-w-wilcox. B'onss: Heyas, Harlow. We're just finishin' yer towels now. Harlow: That's swell. That's some machine you've rigged up there, B'onss. B'onss: Ain't it, though? I'm t'inkin' asellin' dis t'onea dem big, ya knows, merchants of deaf. Harlow: You mean "merchants of death." B'onss: Stands next t'dat airplane motor a buncha times, Harlow, an'... Harlow: I see what you mean. But how do you think an arms company is going to be interested in this? That looks like an ordinary washing machine. Well, except maybe for the airplane motor... B'onss: Just choo wait...annuder few... [Orchestral cue: "Powerhouse" "B" theme reaches climax] [GRAMS: Dryer makes climactic noises] [GRAMS: Launching sound of cocoanut] [GRAMS: Artillery shell whistling sound] (silence) [GRAMS: Distant sound of church bell ringing] [GRAMS: Nearby sound of dryer bell ringing] K'nutt: H-h-hey, bull's eye. B'onns: Yeah, right on th' old steeple bella St. Paul's. Howdja like dat, Mr. Wilcox? Went pretty far, dinnit? Harlow: Well, it sure did, fellows. But you know, there's a way to go farther. B'onss: Dere is? Harlow: Certainly. You'll always go farther when you use Standard of Rhode Island's Fire Cheetah gasoline. Fire Cheetah is the triple-hydrofined gasoline. B'onss: The wha? Harlow: Triple-hydrofined. It's Standard of Rhode Island's patented process to remove the impurities from gasoline, the kinds of impurities that can clog automobile engines, reducing performance and costing you more money in expensive repairs and maintenance. But not with Fire Cheetah. It's a gasoline that leaves no deposits on your car's engine, allowing it to run fast and smooth, at full power. And full power is the reason that more highway patrol officers use Fire Cheetah gasoline in their private cars, than any other nationally-distributed gasoline you can buy today. They know that Fire Cheetah delivers, when you need it most. K'nutt: I-i-is it easy t'get? Harlow: It certainly is, K'nutt. K'nutt: Izzit in cocoanuts? Harlow: No. K'nutt: I likes cocoanuts. Harlow: Fire Cheetah gasoline doesn't come in cocoanuts. K'nutt: Oh. Then h-h-howdja gettit? Harlow: You can find Fire Cheetah only at the more than 3,000 service stations of Standard of Rhode Island from coast to coast. K'nutt: Does they sells cocoanuts? Harlow: I don't think so, K'nutt. K'nutt: D-d-dat's too bad. I... Harlow: ...likes cocoanuts, I know. Are my towels ready yet? B'onss: Sure, Mr. Wilcox, here dey is. Harlow: Thanks. Say, you boys better keep a sharp lookout. The word is that the Constabulary is getting wind of what you're up to. B'onss: Eeeeeeeh, I doesn't pay 'em no neverminds. Me older brudder is a de-tec-tive. K'nutt: Y-y-yeah, Karok. Harlow: You mean Sergeant Brush? B'onss: Yup. I ain't skeerd a him. (pause) Much. Harlow: Well, you be careful. K'nutt: Ain't we a-a-always? (long pause) Harlow: I'll let Doctor Meffit know he should be ready. Good-bye! [Musical flourish] Harlow: The Andrews Sisters, with Raymond Scott and his orchestra, perform "In Old Manila" [Orchestra plays "In Old Manila"] Andrews Sisters: Take me, where the silver moon is beaming and a million stars are gleaming in the tropic skies. In the tropic skies... Take me where the mission bells are ringing And the recollection bringing of the days gone by... In the days gone by... Someone, is calling me it seems... I hear them call... Back to the land of dreams In Old Manila, down beside the moonlit bay In Old Manila, after twilight and today A voice is call-ing on the summer breeze And on that beeze, sweet memories come back to me. Guitars are playing dreamy songs and a dance and dark eyes straying, with my heart, with a glance Two lips are pressed to mine With kisses so divine In Old Manila land of sweet romance! (bridge) Each melody's entrance dark eyes will softly dance all thru the night they're filling my heart with each tender glance Two lips are pressed to mine With kisses so divine In Old Manila land of sweet romance! [Pause for applause] [Musical bridge] Kara Karoksdottir: Look, Rosie, I'm telling you, and I've been a lawyer for years, now... Rosie: Are you absolutely sure? Kara: Yes. "Dumb as a hod of bricks" is not a recognized defence in any courtroom. Vicky: Yeah. How else would you convict a politician? Rosie: But Kara, B'onss and K'nutt, they're, well, you know... Kara: Look, do you think I'm disputing the fact that they're dumb as a hod of bricks? Rosie: No. Kara: I'm their big sister, you know. I know better than nearly any fur alive that they're as dumb as a hod of bricks. Vicky: Aren't they going to get sore, you talking about them like that? Kara: I doubt it. I once told B'onss to his muzzle exactly that, and he spent a half-hour arguing with me that he was as dumb as *two* hods of bricks. I gave it up. He was starting to give me a headache. Rosie: Well, talking to either of 'em for more than five SECONDS will do THAT... Kara: It's furs like those two that single-pawedly refute the theory that furs are advancing in evolution. Vicky: So, you figure a way to bail out your little brothers, yet? Kara: Well, there is a plea of insanity, but I don't want to try that. Rosie: Why not? Kara: If the judge heard that I was admitting I was their sister, he might think *I* was insane. Rosie: Mistake? Kara: Nope. B'onss and K'nutt are stupid on purpose. Rosie: This doesn't look good for the boys. Isn't there ANYTHING that'll keep their tailfur out of jail? Kara: Well, I've got this. It's Section 239-j, subsection 4-z of the Spontoon Islands Native Militia Act of 1914. Vicky: What's that, when it's at home? Kara: Well, it's like this. (clears throat) [GRAMS: Paper riffling] Kara: "Each of the aforesaid members of the population native to the Islands, hereinafter called a native, shall be permitted to maintain one or more mechanisms by which the aforesaid native shall be permitted to engage targets that threaten the aforesaid native in time of hostilities as may be declared by the Althing and furthermore each aforesaid native shall be permitted to use the aforesaid mechanism in practice in times of peace without legal liability attaching to any effort by the aforesaid native to use the aforesaid mechanism for the aforesaid practice, in order that the aforesaid native may efficiently use the aforesaid mechanism against the aforesaid target in the aforesaid time of hostilities as may be declared by the aforesaid Althing." (pause) Rosie: Those aforesaids are giving me a sore forehead. Vicky: Kara, could we have that again? In English? Kara: If I can talk a judge into believing that B'onss and K'nutt were secretly building a cocoanut gun for the defence of the Spontoons, they'll get off without having to pay for all the messes they've made. Rosie: Will that work? Kara: It's either that, Rosie, or "dumb as two hods of bricks." Rosie: Ah. Nick: Orrrrrrr, you could dress, in grass skirt, yesssss? Kara: NO. Well, not for court, anyway. And don't get your hopes up. Vicky: Uh, oh. Here comes trouble. Rosie: What's wrong? Vicky: The Constabulary has warmed up the paddy wagon. Looks like they've located our two hods of bricks. And Baby Bertha. Rosie: Let's go outside for a closer look [GRAMS: Sound of door opening with bell, and then closing with bell.] [GRAMS: Sound of chugging truck engine] Rosie: Yup, there it goes. At five miles an hour. Somewhere, a horse is laughing. Vicky: What's that chalked on the side? Kara: "Available for parties. Call the Constabulary for details." Rosie: Aah, memories. Going to the Castor Hotel in a Packherd Limo. Dancing 'till dawn. Leaving in a Studebaker paddy wagon. (theatrical sigh) Kinda makes me miss little ol' Gnu York. [GRAMS: Sound of paddy wagon fades] Rosie: I wonder where the boys are, anyway? [Orchestral cue: "Powerhouse" "B" theme played on piccolo] [GRAMS: Faint whooshing sound] [GRAMS: Faint sound of smashing and crashing.] [GRAMS: Sound of metal falling downhill, gradually getting louder. Finishes with sound of hubcap rolling along the road, and eventually coming to a rest at the footpads of Rosie, Vicky and Kara.] Kara (sighs): Well, it's been fun kids, but I have to be going. Rosie: Work? Kara: Yup. I need to work on a speech to the court about the inalienable right to be stupid. See you around. Vicky: Rosie? Rosie: Yes, Vicky? Vicky: You want me to fetch a broom and dustpan? Rosie (sighs): I suppose you'd better, yes. [Musical flourish] [Full orchestra plays "When My Dreams Come True"] [cut into music] Harlow: Your Standard of Rhode Island service station doesn't sell just Fire Cheetah, the super-premium gasoline. Each service station has complete facilities that can keep your car in repair when it's on the road. Whether you're bringing a car in for a regular service check, or whether there's an emergency while traveling, you can always rely on Standard of Rhode Island to give you first-class service and care. Your Standard of Rhode Island mechanic has access to parts for all the major brands of automobiles. Simple repairs can be done on the spot, and the network of more than 3,000 service stations from coast to coast means that access to those hard-to-get parts is easy, when you rely on Standard of Rhode Island. So when you're on the road, don't worry, be SORI! Standard of Rhode Island. [Brief cut back into music] Harlow: Featured in the cast tonight were Georgia Ellis as Rosie, Mel Blanc as B'onss and K'nutt, Bert Gordon as Nick, Franklin Pangborn as Calico, Stanley Adams as A. Cadbury Mouchoir, Bea Benadaret as Kara Karoksdottir, Jackson Beck as Sergeant Brush, and Sara Berner as Victoria Knox. The show was written by E.O. Costello. "When My Dreams Come True" is copyright Irving Berlin Music Company, and "I Want To Be Happy" is copyright Warner-Chappel Music Company. Tune in again this same time next week over most of these CBS stations for another visit to "Rosie's Place," courtesy of Standard of Rhode Island. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System. [Fade back into music] Station announcer: This is K-N-X, Los Antelopes. Stayed tuned for "The Mercury Theatre of the Air," and its production of "Jane Eyre." Transcribed and edited by E.O.Costello |