Fragments of "The Affair of the Prime Minister's Trousers"
Grytpype: Moriarty, quick! After them!
Moriarty: How? We’ll never catch them on foot.
Grytpype: Curse. Wait! There’s a saw in that timber yard over there. Now, on you get –
FX: RIP
Grytpype: Er, the other side, maybe. I’ll take the handle, now:—
FX:MAD SAWING OF WOOD, SPEED UP AND OUT. THEN FADE IN RUNNING BOOTS AND SLOW TO A HALT.
Seagoon: Good heavens! The trouser-nappers fled before we arrived too late. If only we’d started earlier, then we’d have been late enough to be on time. Or maybe the criminules are running fast — (big joke) running fast, get it? Hahaha… ahem.
Willium: Ohh, look ‘ere, Inspector Seagoon mate. An unoccupied trouser seat loitering in the middle of the road there.
Seagoon: Well, fine it ten pounds for loitering and bring it in for questioning.
FX: TILL
Seagoon: Wait — this trouser seat may the one abducted by the thieves. I shall conduct an experiment.
ORCHESTRA: VERY AMATEURISH TUNE UP
Seagoon: Thank you. Mr Prime Minister? Try this trouser seat on.
FX: EXCRUCIATING PEELING OFF OF STICKING PLASTER MIXED WITH CREAKS, TWANGS. FINISH WITH A LOUD POP.
PM (Spike): Doesn’t fit me at all.
Seagoon: Gad! Gid! Then this trouser seat must belong to one or more of the dreaded trouser abductors. They’ve got cheek, I must say.
Willium: ‘Ere Inspector. I ‘ave been examining the marks on the trouser seat, and they fit the saw marks in this ‘ere timber yard perfectly mate.
Seagoon: True, but what made them?
Willium: This ‘ere saw mate.
Seagoon: Which saw?
Willium: The one what’s not ‘ere mate.
Seagoon: Where’s it usually?
Willium: ‘Anging up in that space, right there.
Seagoon: Right. Sergeant?
Throat: Yes?
Seagoon: Take that space away for evidence.
Throat: Right.
Seagoon: What a minute! We can’t have the Prime Minister walking the streets in a trouser-free condition!
Minnie: (off) Why not eh? Why not?
Crun: (off) Minnie, come away from that Prime Minister, you don’t know where they’ve been… (both fade off arguing)
Seagoon: Thank heaven they’ve gone, but they might come back. Right then, into the crate sir.
PM: What crate?
FX: HAMMERING DOWN CRATE LID
PM: (muffled) Never mind.
Willium: The ‘orse is ready sir. All aboard, next stop, the naughty trouser nappers… hold tight.
FX: VERY, VERY SLOW COCONUT SHELLS... ABOUT ONE CLOP A SECOND OR LESS. STRETCH PAUSES AS LONG AS POSSIBLE, CARRY UNDER.
Seagoon: Shouldn’t we hurry it along a bit?
Willium: Oh yern, yern.
FX: CRASHING OF GEARBOX. COCONUT SHELLS DO NOT SPEED UP.
Seagoon: Ahh, that’s better. They’ll never escape us now.
ORCHESTRA: GALLOPING CHASE TYPE LINK
Bill: Onward the avengers sped through the night, gradually closing on their quarry. By sunrise the following century, they had their prey in plain sight.
FX: SAME SLOW COCONUT SHELLS. FADE IN SAWING.
Seagoon: Aha — there they are, two men on a saw, and one with the seat of his trousers removed! Willium, hail them.
Willium: (shout) ‘Alt! ‘Alt in the name of the law, mate! (aside) I oughtn’t ter be doin’ this y’know, man of my age…
Bill: Meanwhile, on the speeding saw.
FX: SAWING
Moriarty: Grytpype — we’re trapped. We must give ourselves up!
Grytpype: You defeatist Continental cold collation — whatever for?
Moriarty: We’re out of wood. (aside) And you can’t get it you know.
Grytpype: Alright. Then again, we don’t have the PM’s trousers on us, do we? We should be safe…
Bill: Meanwhile, on the police horse.
FX: SLOW, SLOW CLOPS, FAINT SAWING
Grytpype: (off) All right officers, we’ll stop.
Seagoon: Aha ha ha, they’ve given up. Don’t worry sir, your trousers are as good as found.
FX: SAWING STOPS, CLOPS CONTINUE
Seagoon: I say, shouldn’t we stop too?
Willium: There is somethin’ in wot you say. Woah back there mate…
FX: CLOPS
Willium: Woah back there.
FX: PING, CLOPS SPEED UP SLIGHTLY
Willium: (worried) Woah mate.
FX: CRASH GEARBOX, METAL BITS DROPPED ON GROUND
PM: (muffled) What’s happening?
Seagoon: Don’t worry sir, it’s just that —
FX: ENGINE FALLS TO PIECES — HOOVES SPEED UP GREATLY — CRASH — FALLING BRICKS.
Willium: I think we lost the brakes mate.
Posted in Articles (Writings,Fiction) by R Cruickshank 30/07/07 08:23 PM Tags: fiction, goons, script, silly
Comment
Last: The End of Waiting: A SubGenius Story of X-Day | Next: The Conspiracy Attitude