The Dimwit Zone: Fear and Baby Formula Racing in Bonneville!

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Warning: All precautions should be taken before carefully reading the label. If you cannot read, then do what you please!


For some, life seems to be a series of accidents. The script that you will be hearing tonight was written by a besotted young lady as part of an insurance settlement after she drove her three-wheeled Morgan into our General Programming Mangler's office one rainy August morning in a fit of despair over the fact that her boyfriend had just left her for a woman with a newer vehicle...

a Bedford lorry...

So, onto tonight's momentary diversion, a labour of love we like to call:

The Adventure of the Sunken Indentation!


Narr:

London, 1953, during a sudden slough of pond scum in the cisterns of the Illuminati, who, in a fit of civic responsibility, call in the world's greatest Consulting Plumber, Fortiswain P. Bloodwine, of South Wales...


F.P.B.:

Yes, it is I, fearless listeners!

SFX: French horns with shoes shoved in them play an arpeggio from Bach's "Variations on a theme from an Organ Grinder who owed me Royalties on a Country Aire I once whipped out for him on the back of a pay packet from the King of Bavaria during a spring shower when I had the Gout really bad."


Narr:

... and his side-kick, Tabitha Rinse-Repeat, late of the Third Unmounted Sanitary Napkin Inspector's Brigade and Sainsbury's boiled sweets counter:


T.R-R.:

Ditto!

SFX: Worn-out tannoy bleats the word "yay" inaudibly


Narr:

Our heroes find themselves in a narrow room with a high ceiling, filled with life-size porcelain replicas of the members of the Royal College of Arms, only with the upper limbs missing.

Taking this to be some kind of cruel joke, Mr. Bloodwine takes a nap.

While inspecting the various corners and joints in the room and the statues, Miss Rinse-Repeat discovers a hidden jar of jelly babies and sits down to have a handful.

Suddenly....

SFX: Fanfare of trombones and tin whistles from Henry Ive's "Fanfares for Trombones and Tin Whistles"


Narr:

... a clown 'copter descends from a previously unnoticed skylight to land by Mr. Bloodwine's feet. Thirteen clowns in various stages of formal wear and undress emerge from the 'copter to dance about the room waving the missing porcelain arms. Miss Rinse-Repeat draws a small unloaded revolver and proceeds to wave it about, shouting:


Miss R-R.:

Do you lot have a permit?!


Narr:

The most dignified of the Grotesque-type clowns draws an even bigger loaded revolver from his pantaloons and pulls the trigger, showering Miss Rinse-Repeat with a sleep-inducing powder produced by distilling the essence of certain rare orchids and then pounding the result into a currant bun until it is senseless. With a :


Miss R-R.:

Groooooaaaannnn....

SFX: Plunk!


Narr:

Miss Rinse-Repeat achieves true nirvanic unconsciousness and dreams of pink sheep performing a perverted Morris Dance with the aid of the small red reed-shaped balloon imprinted with the image of Lord Baden-Powell riding a horse that is bigger than he is.

Meanwhile...

SFX: Fanfare of French and Greek bagpipes playing the theme from Lewis Carroll's "The evening when the Walrus and the Carpenter died of Mercury Poisoning from tainted clams"


Narr:

The porcelain replicas of the members of the Royal Collage of Arms have come to life and with the aid of certain savate techniques have managed to subdue the clowns and reassume their upper limbs, using only their finely modelled feet!

SFX: whacks, grunts, sounds of bodies falling and the scent of recently unwashed porcelain feet


Narr:

At which point our hero, Mr. Bloodwine, wakes up refreshed and certain of the solution to the Illuminati's problem.


Mr. B.:

Aha!


Narr:

He says.


Mr. B.:

I've got it!


Narr:

He exclaims.


Mr. B.:

Now, where's my side-kick?

Ah, there you are, again. Caught sleeping with your hand in the jelly baby jar again. How many times have I told you....


Narr:

As he reaches down toward her to shake her gently awake, the combined might of the porcelain replicas descends upon him with a :

SFX: PISH!


Narr:

And he wakes up in hospital with a Charley Horse, wondering how he got there and why a sinister short dark representative of the Illuminati with a large red nose is demanding their retainer back.

Tune in next week when we will hear our hero say:


Mr. B.:

Do you have change for a fifty florin note?


Narr:

This has been "Fishwive's Choice", brought to you by Aaron's Fine Floral Hob Cover Shoppe, in the stall next to the used iron-mongers on Relofle Square, in New Amsterdam, Manhattan Island. Serving the five boroughs as roughly as they deserve for fify years in perfect confidence. Tell them your needs and they'll tell you where you can go!

SFX: 54 sec of Terabitha's National Anthem, played by the Fried Knights of Pythias Glee Club under duress

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