Irritating Public Radio Presents:

"Pianola Jones and the Temple of Gratuitous Invective
Against Indigenous Peoples (Whose Native Movie Industries
Don't Treat Anyone Nearly That Badly...)."

NARRATOR:
Yes, dear ones, it's time to earplug the children again.

Irritating Public Radio is on the air!

Brush off your volume of complete Shakespeare and drag it near

the wireless to sit upon as you listen intently to another

halved hour of mirth, magic and misanthropic jealousy.

Music: Patchebelli's 'Headrub Symphony' 18.5 sec.

NARRATOR:
We take you now to a little office off a big office in an awful office
building on the campus of a small but obscurely endowed university
somewhere in the recent past. A tall but obscurely dressed
man sits on a desk contemplating an ancient but
easily readable map stolen from a modern civilization where they
don't speak English. There is a knock at the polished
wooden door with the new knobs.

Sound Effect: knock, knock

NARRATOR:
Our hero speaks.

JONES:
Who's there?

NARRATOR:
A brotherly brown voice can barely be heard through the door.

BROWN VOICE:
It's time to pay the piper, Dr. Jones!

JONES:
Didn't have one and don't want one. Go away!

BROWN VOICE:
As you wish! But I leave you something...

Sound Effects: Thumping sound and feet running away.

NARRATOR: Our hero waits patiently on top a hand-rubbed jadite
file cabinet for the characteristic but unforgettable sounds
of a bomb...or a poisonous snake...
or a Boy Scout with a bullwhip...or...
Just open the stupid door, Nitwit!

JONES: Oh, all right. Let me get down. Uhn!

Sound Effects: thumping sound, footsteps of leather soles on linoleum floor.

J0NES: Here goes nothing.

Sound Effects: silence in a paper bag

NARRATOR: What are you doing?

JONES: Nothing.

NARRATOR: What are you going to do?

JONES: What do you suggest?

NARRATOR: As our (cough) hero watches, the door swings open
ominously and slowly.

JONES: I'm learning to hate you.

NARRATOR: Enjoy it while you can.

Sound Effects: creaking sound underlaid with clarinet music

NARRATOR: As the door swings open, a whiff of smokey air and mixed
colognes and bolognes wafts whispily into the office. Our hero
peers intently into the odd scene presented to his wondering eyes.

JONES: I think you're making this up as you go along.

NARRATOR: A tweeded arm with onyx cufflinks reaches a hand out and
grasps our hero by the collar and yanks him...

Sound Effects: 30sec. of "Over There". Segue to "In The Mood" and run under scene.

NARRATOR:...into a small club in East Mongolia.

The tall, burly dwarf maitre d' speaks with great precision:

MAITRE D': Nice tie, mate. Table for one?

JONES: I'm not sure. I seem to be beside myself.

MAITRE D': Right. This way, sir.

NARRATOR: Our hero is shown to a glass-topped ebony drum table
handwrought by Edith Mackenzie in 1948, but seated at a
checkered tablecloth-covered folding card table. The sommelier,
a small cousin to a sumo wrestler, comes forward and displays the
fermented yak milk list.

JONES: Thank you. How's the 1963 west slope Guernsey?

SOMMELIER: Had it on my corn flakes this morning, sir.

JONES: It'll do. Thank you.

NARRATOR: Then the voice of a freckled redhead is revealed to belong to
a beached blonde, who says, while fiddling with bits of isinglass
and polyester folded vaguely in the shape of a dress:


BLONDE: How ya doin', Piany? I know you don't know me, but trust me,
you will. I have a very valuable map tattooed about my person that
will lead you to a very important discovery.

JONES: I already know I'm a man.

BLONDE: Never mind that. That's not important.

JONES: You're not the first to say that.

NARRATOR: Nor the last. Suddenly...

Sound Effects: 10 seconds of "Suddenly", followed by explosions and screams.

NARRATOR: ...a commando of Hindi graduate students reverting to their traditional
mindset rapel into the club through a hole they've blown in the roof
with Jacob's Patented Water Biscuits and Gelignite Substitute. Their leader,
Dr. Murdo Battachargee, approaches Joneses table with a gleam in his eye
and a razor in his hand. He speaks:

DR. MURDO: Arright, now, I'll have a look at those tattoos, little lady!

Sound Effects: Scuffling, torn cloth, and scraping

BLONDE: Piany! Stop him!

JONES: As you said, I don't know you. And I am wondering what they look
like, myself. I'll buy you a wig later, but those other bits seemed
to need shearing!

DR. MURDO: What does this one mean?

JONES: 'Live to Ride, Ride to Live'? I'm not sure. But that one
looks like a butterfly riding a blockbuster and that one looks like a map of Euro-Disney.

BLONDE: Ooo, I'll get you for this!

DR. MURDO: And now for you, mate!

JONES: What? I don't have any tattoos!

DR. MURDO: No, but I hear that you do have a rather dramatic...

Sound Effects: fanfare played on a zither and a tissue and comb

DR. MURDO:...birthmark!

NARRATOR: Quickly, our hero springs into action, tossing the silverware at
the Doctor and pulling the newly shorn female with him toward the
nearest exit. A hail of well-chosen Shakespearean epithets follows them,
one taking a chunk off of a mass-produced ornamental door frame just as they make it through the door.

DR. MURDO: Drat! Blast! Don't that beat all!

NARRATOR: Can't win 'em all.

DR. MURDO: Ith not that! I bluithed my tongue on the dipthongs!

NARRATOR: Poor ittle ting. Meanwhile, Jones and the Blonde have found themselves
hanging by their fingernails over a pit filled with molten Euros. Just inches
above their heads, a basketball game is being held between the Hitler
Youth and Mussolini's Italian Olympic Girl's Volleyball team.
The game is in overtime and there has been a technical foul and the
Italian's Maria Sangria Alberta Northumbria, their star forward, is going
to take the free-throw.


JONES AND BLONDE: Hey! Down here! What about us?

NARRATOR: The noise of the crowd swells, the teams hold their breath,
she steps to the line, dribbles carefully, arches her back gracefully,
lifts her arms with swanlike strength, and, tosses...and...IT BOUNCES OFF THE RIM!

BLONDE:AHHHHHHHHH!

JONES: AHHHHHHHH!

Sound effects: splashes and crunching. Music swells Scott Joplin's "The Entertainer" played on a barrel organ.

NARRATOR: Oops! Sorry about that.

JONES: I will get you, you know that.

NARRATOR: That may well be. In any case, this has been an Irritating Public
Radio production, and me and the sound man and his wife would like to join you in saying 'Good night'.

JONES: I'll get your dog, too.

Sound Effects: Patchebelli's "Headrub Symphony" 22.7 sec.