Round III The Day Before the Contest
[There's a loud heavy song "Animal" by the Anti-Nowhere League playing on a stereo system in the living room. Eddie is sitting on the sofa skinning & filleting a bucket full of road kill he's peeled off the M1. He's wearing a butchers apron covered in blood, occasionally swigging a gallon of gin at his side. He's watching a VCR tape of Road Runner & Coyote cartoons on the television, constantly rewinding a part where the Coyote is getting smashed by a 20 Ton weight. Richie is in the kitchen sporting a butchers smock that has the "Meat Is Murder" by 'The Smiths' album cover picture on it. He's preparing the animal meat(roadkill) Eddie peeled of the road. The knee's of Eddie's trousers are worn and soiled from kneeling to scrape the dead varmints from the road. Richie is staring at Eddies trousers, as usual, but notices his trousers knees are severly worn]
Eddie: Will you please quit starring at my trousers Richie, your making me nervous!
Richie: Well, it's almost impossible not to notice the HUGE, GIGANTIC, MAMOUTH size hole in each of your knee caps. Why are the knees of your trousers so worn Eddie?
Eddie: [He thinks of a lie so Richie doesn't find out were the meat came from] From praying. I've grown quite religious recently.
Richie: Oh, how wonderful! I never knew you fancied religion?
Eddie: Yes. I try to keep it to myself. I'm secular.
Richie: Do you pray for any thing in particular?
Eddie: As a matter a fact I do, actually.
Richie: And what might that be, pray tell! Ha! I made a joke! [He laughs aloud] Get it? Pray tell? Pray on you kn...
Eddie: YOUR DEATH!!! (Richie suddenly quiets and cringes into a ball like a catapilar bug) AND IF GOD DOSN'T ANSWER ME, I'LL DO IT MY SELF! So get back in the ruddy kitchen and finish the horderves!!!
[Richie resumes to his culinary activities.]
Richie: So are ya all ready for the shin-dig tommorow? I know I am. Ya know Eddie, one of these days you'll have to tell me where you by our meat. It's fresher than the markets, and tastier too!
Eddie: Thanks, I knew you'd fancy it. That idea you had of preparing horderves to bribe the contest judges was clever as well!
Richie: Yes, oh what ever would we do without eachother.
Eddie: Now THAT'S something i'm dying to find out!
Richie: I just thought of something. What if one or more of the judges are veggies?
Eddie: Don't worry. Handicapped people get around quite well these days, with all the electric wheelchairs and bus discounts.
Richie: Not that kind of veggie, you four-eyed-knob-end! I mean VEGITARIAN. Non-meat eaters. I'll have to make them something special.
Eddie: Well, you know what they say then, don't you, "When in Rome..."
Richie: No, I don't know. What? "When in Rome, throw a bucket of poo and wee out the window like the Ities do?" When in Rome, WOT?
Eddie: "When in Rome, do what the Romans do". In other words, if there are any vegatarians there, we'll prepare vegetarian horderves for them.
Richie: We don't HAVE any vegatables. I've been banned from every grociers in the greater London area.
Eddie: Whatcha expect? I told you a million times not to stuff fruit down ya underpants! H'mm, that reminds me... when I was young, my folks were poor and we couldn't afford REAL vegatables, so we formed meat pate into the shapes of parsnips, carrots, etc, add some spices to them, and Voila! Instant veggies! At least until we were rushed to the clinic with a case of Mad Cow Vegatablitis. If we can do it without making them ill, or get out of there before they vomit and have the runs, we just might get away with it!
Richie: Edward E. Hitler, your a bloody genious!
Eddie: It's remarkable what ya can think of when your starving to death.
[They go to the kitchen and start to prepare the Meatgables. They prepare 2 huge baking pans of horderves]
Richie: Eddie, what if the judges think were tring to get all poofy on them by serving them horderves, and start to fancy me?
Eddie: Ya mean, that would actually BOTHER you?
Richie: (He thinks) Well, out in public perhaps. All I'm saying is we should get a bird we know to serve the horderves, preferably a relative. We don't know any other women, well, that like us anyway.
Eddie: Which spins right back around to you. Vicious circle, aye?
Richie: What are you talking about? [then it sinks in] Oh, no... not that! Just cause you did it last time doesn't justify it to be my turn. It,s not going work that way. I will NOT be feathered. That's not gonna happen.
Eddie: Ya might as well get your moneys worth out of those old dresses in your closet before the moths do them in.
Richie: For a thousand times, the're not mine. You know very well I've been holding them for the Hammersmith acting society.
Eddie: Ya mean the one that broke up 13 years ago?
Richie: That's the one.
Eddie: Then why don't you bring them to the Salvation Army or Good Will and save one for the competition? Just hold onto the sexiests one you got, wriggle into it and act natural.
Richie: Sounds flawless Pythagarus, except for one thing; How can I be a bird in a dress and a bloke at the same time?
Eddie: Elementary Dr. Twatson, Just serve the horderves first, run somewear to change real quick, and come back ready to win the lot!
Richie: H'mm (he thinks a bit), I'll be pressed for time, but it sounds do-able!
Eddie: Must I think of everything?
Richie: Well, it sure saves me alot of work.
[They finish preparing the horderves and start to clean up. Eddie picks up the animal skins all connected together as if they were a string of paper dolls, except there in the shapes of racoons, rabits and other assorted road victims.]
Richie: [Pointing at the row of hanging pelts] And what on earth do you plan to do with those?
Eddie: Dun know yet, but I can feel an idea brewing! Hmm, brew? Lager? Varment Bitter! Racoon & Squirrel Ale at the Lamb & Flag Pub! Brilliant advert, aye Richie?
Richie: Well, I guess if pubs can have names like the Kings Head, or the Bird In Hand, than your idea fits right in with them!
Eddie: Which reminds me, ya got that fiver ya owe me from that bet from last week?
Richie: How does that remind you of a bet?
Eddie: It dosn't, actually. [He turns his jug upsidedown and nothing drips out. He's sobbing] I just want a fin for a refill.
Richie: You were serious? That bet made no sense at all! It was just a scam to nick a fiver off me! How could I spend the fin if I was dead, and why should I give it for NOT killing my self? (He mimics Eddie) "Betcha five quid ya wont kill your self " he says. What a load of bollocks! Just because I contemplate suicide now and then dosn't make it a wagerable event.
Eddie: Which is exactly why it should be. There's always a first time for everything! Maybe it will catch on and they'll make it into an Olympics sport. Pathetic virgins from all over the world will kill them selves, televised in front of billions of spectators. I'm certain it packed 'em in during the Roman colloseum days.
Richie: What is it with you and the Romans? Maybe you fancy blokes in togas, is that it? Eddie the organ grinder! [Richie imitates an Italian organ grinder, the kind with the tin can and the monkey on his shoulder, moving his hands like he's grinding the music box] I made a joke! Laugh at it this instant OR ELSE, you great steaming arse!
Eddie: If that was it, which it isn't, then your arse mining cooties must of rubbed off on me! YOUV'E probably seen more knobs than a royal navy NURSE, which is what your mum was, wasn't she you androgenous twit! I heard she had the chaps qued up for blocks, and THAT was on her OFF hours. She's so slaggy that the AIDS virus is afraid of contracting her!
[They start fighting again. Richie gets kicked in the groin. Eddie gets punched in the face, they carry on and camera fades off.]
Round IV: The Main Event
[Eddie and Richie are standing on cue with many others outside the local odeon preparing to be registered into the contest]
Richie: Funny, I don't see any sign of a congeniality contest being held here? All I see is that poster saying "Virgins Sign In HERE." Is this some kind of a joke? If it is, I don't find it the LEAST bit amusing!
Eddie: Thats because there probably having more than one type of contest tonight. First, they'll probably start off with the most congenial non-virgins, then they'll go to the congenial virgins, and so on...
Richie: You better not be playing any of your sordid tricks on me!
Eddie: Now why would I do something like that?
Richie: Because your a complete and utter BASTARD![he pauses] What did you do with the hordserves and my dress?
Eddie: I hid them under the back-stage door steps so no one would muck about with them.
[There's a man at the door registering every one. Richie and Eddie finally reach the door]
Doorman: Name? [he ask's Richie]
Richie: Richard Richard
Eddie: That's his solo performance! [he makes the wanking jesture and laughs at his own joke.]
Richie: Occasionally! Not as much as I used to, mind you. Before I shoved off to the Falklands and won that one single-handedly, I was a regular lady killer I was. Couldn't beat'em off with a cricket bat!
Doorman: I mean your gender. Are you a male, female, straight, gay,... What?
Richie: Isn't it obvious?
Doorman: If it was, I wouldn't of asked!
Richie: Listen here young man, I've had just about enough of your third degree Nazi tactics...
[At this point, the doorman yanks Richies' trousers down to see for himself, the camera goes to a view of the back of doorman's head in front of Richies crotch, but he still can't tell and turns his head side to side.]
Doorman: [He writes down something] Hermaphrodite! [He says to himself] Sorry, but there's no catagory for your types here tonight!
Richie: Alright, alright. I'm a bloke! Are you satisfied?
Doorman: [Pulls out a magnifying glass from his back pocket and takes a second glance, but still can't decide.] I guess I'll have to take your word for it. Now move along!
[Eddie shoves Richie near a nurse waving an instrument in front of everyone's groin.]
Richie: What the hell is that?
Nurse: It's a Knack-ometer.
[The device appears to be a garden spade with an alarm clock cellotaped to it in the crudest form.(Watcha' expect on a NO budget script!)]
Richie: Don't you mean a Tach-ometer?
Nurse: No, I mean a Knack-ometer. It can tell how much intercourse a person has had in their life time, or if they ever had any at all. Truly an amazing invention. All ya do is wave it in front of some ones knackers, and...
[As soon as she says that, she waves it in front of Richies knackers. Suddenly, the knack-ometer starts making "humming" noises, begins smoking and finally explodes! After the smoke clears Richie, Eddie and the nurses' face are covered with soot.]
Nurse: [Flapping away the smoke] Cor! Thats the last time I'll buy anything from Rumbelows. Lucky I have a spare one. Well, I guess you qualify. You may proceed. [She starts to wave it in front of Eddies groin, but Eddie pushes it away and says...]
Eddie: Oh, don't bother. I'm just a spectator. I won't be participating this time.
Nurse: Alright then, carry on.
[Eddie and Richie enter the Odeon and proceed down one of the aisles and take a seat. They wisper to each other.]
Eddie: Ya ready?
Richie: I think.[with uncertainty]
Eddie: Now, all ya have to do is sneak through the back stage entrance, put your dress on, ask the judges if they'd like a snack and tell them that your friend Richie Richie is in the contest and he's the nicest bloke youv'e ever met. And try rubbing up against some of them. They might like that.
Richie: Bloody Hell!!! Why don't I just stick my tongue STRAIGHT down the back of there trousers![Sarcastically]
Eddie: [Takes Richies tongue advice seriously] What ever works! Then, as soon as they start stuffing their faces, sneak back out and get ready for the contest!
Richie: I hope this is one of those plans that are easier done than said.
[Richie proceeds down the aisle, looks to see if the coast is clear, ducks down out of view and crawls out of sight.]
Round V: Richina
[The scene changes to the back alley of the Odeon. The trays of horderves are lying on the ground with a bunch of cats eating them. Richie shoo's the cats away, but only half of the treats are left and some are half eaten. As the cats run away, several small farting and squirting sounds are heard from the felines direction. Richie holds his nostrils closed and waves the cat fart odor away. He puts on his dress and make up. Looking like an insane drag queen from The Rocky Horror Picture Show or someone whos' just escaped from a sanitarium. He enters the back stage door waitressing around the horderves. In this room is a table with all the judges sitting about and discussing this evenings event. A TV monitor hangs from the ceiling showing the face of Fingers' Maclester, hand cuffed along with a prison guard on each side of him. He's wearing a shirt with the faces of Myra Hindly and Ian Grady on it which reads "Free The Innocent!" He's looking into the camera lens with the Twenty-Mile-Stare, mumbling some insane giberish about his mother.]
Richie: Hello and good evening to all! Complements of Richinas' Catering Service!
Miss Quimbuttons: [With a look of confusion on her face] What the...? We didn't order a caterer?
Richie: That's because this is a surprise! I'm trying to promote my new business. This one's on the house, kiddies!
Judge#2: Oh well, we shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, should we. Besides, I'm bloody famished!
[The judges start chowing down on the goodies. Richina starts going on about how a good friend of his, Richie Richie, is in the contest and why he should win; having 9 children to feed while being disabled from the Falklands War and how the British Goverment dosn't take care of it's veterans and such.]
Judge#3: Your not trying to bribe us, are ya? [Mumbling as he stuffs his mouth with food.]
Richie: [with a look of tension] Now why on earth would I go and do that? [He pats the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief.]
Miss Q: 'Cause if ya are, ya won't get any favoritism from us!
Judge#2: Oh leave her alone. She DID bring us horderves. How often do ya meet kind people like this. Not very, that's how!
Miss Q: Well, maybe your right. But I still think she's up to something. [Ms Q asks Richina to talk in private for a minute. They go to a private room and she locks the door]
Miss Q: Ya know, you look familiar, but I just can't quite place the face? Do you go to my church where I preach?
Richie: [Sweating and nervous] Oh, I doubt you've ever seen ME before, I'm from the northern country. A blue blooded Geordie I am. Besides, I don't have to go to church, I AM church of England, on my mothers side that is.
[At that point, a grapefruit falls out of his bra, thus foiling his plot. Miss Q proceeds to pull off his wig]
Miss Q: AH HAA!I knew it all the long! Richie Richie! Your were the little boy who used to flip me the "Vee's" in the middle of my sermons and nick money out of the church basket! You spotty, greasy little Bastard! I have the right mind to...
[At that point, Miss Q grabs Richie and lays a big kiss on him. The camera changes to a view of outside their door. Long pervy and growning sounds are heard coming from the room. The walls are shaking with thumps so loud that knick-knacks are falling of their shelves, sounds of glass breaking, pictures are becoming crooked and falling off the walls. Archive footage is shown of oil wells spuing, valcano's erupting, V-2 rockets launching and so forth. After some time, they both exit the room smoking cigarettes, with their hair and clothes disheveled. They are now trying to straighten them selves up.]
Richie: Crikey! What the hell was that?
Miss Q: I'm not sure, but I think we just had it off!
Richie: So THAT'S what it's like? Well, I guess I'm the first bloke in history to be raped by a female Vicar!
Miss Q: I wouldn't know. I've never did it before.
Richie: Neither have I!
Miss Q: You mean...?
Richie: Yes. I'm a virgin.
Miss Q: You mean "Was", as in past tense participle, which means your no longer eligible to enter the contest! Although I'm impressed by your efforts to win the contest, I'll have to go to the registry and cross your name off the roster. Your disqualified. I'm truly sorry.
Richie: Whatta' mean "Disqualified?" Whats' being a virgin got to do with qualifying for a Mr Congeniality contest?
Miss Q: What ARE you talking about? [She laughs] This is a contest for VIRGINS! We're trying to decide who's the oldest virgin in London! You mean, you didn't know?
Richie: [It finnaly sinks into his skull.] THAT BASTARD! EDWARD E HITLER, THAT BLOODY, BLOODY, BLOODY BASTARD! Just wait until I get my hands around that twat's neck!
Miss Q: Now just calm yourself there Richie. Don't go jumping into something you'll regret!
Richie: Oh don't worry about me. I know EXACTLY what I'M doing!
[Richie goes out the back door, puts his clothes back on and notices an assortment of dead cats lying about the alley way. He figures out why the cats' died and goes in the back-stage door again to warn the judges about the horderves. All of the judges are fighting to get to the lavy before they crap their trousers, but it's too late. An array of farting, crapping, plopping and vomiting sounds can be heard from every direction. Wide streams of vomit can be seen spouting about the room. Richie bolts out the backdoor. Covered in vomit, he returns back to the aisle where Eddie is still sitting. Eddie is trying to chat up some poor woman who is the least bit interested in him.]
Richie: [Panting, breathing heavily and drenched in vomit while trying to hold in his rage] So Eddie, are you ENJOYING yourself so far?
Eddie: As a matter of fact I am, or I was until you came back. So, did ya do what we talked about earlier?
Richie: Don't you worry your self about it, old chum. [Trying to reasure Eddie of any ill doing.] I took CARE of every thing, except for one tiny detail.
Eddie: And what might that be, old skipper piano tuning chap ole pal o' mi...
[At this point, Richie pulls out a pneumatic impact wrench from behind him which is attached by a rubber hose to its' air compressor that just happens to be in the middle of the aisle. He sticks it down the front of Eddies' trousers and lets' it rip. With the sound of gears grinding destructivly, Richie permanently re-adjusts Eddies attitude. Eddies' face turns blue and an assortment of other colors as well. Rolling on the floor and clutching his knackers, Eddies' voice is now of a very high pitch.]
Eddie: BUGGER ME! WHAT THE HELL DID YA GO AND DO THAT FOR?
Richie: Mr Congeniality is it? Hows THAT for being congenial? [Richie calls the nurse over who holds the Knacko-meter.] Oye' Nursy? I think you missed this bloke.
[Richie points to Eddie making sure the nurse see's him. She walks over to them and waves the Knacko-meter across Eddies groin. A loud humming sound escalates as the Knacko-meter explodes. The End.]
October 11, 2000