Bottom Series 2, Episode 6. 'S Out. ------------------------------------ by Adrian Edmondson and Rik Mayall. Scene 1. Wimbledon Common. --------------------------- [The camera pulls back as Richie and Eddie walk into a litter-strewn corner of Wimbledon Common. A sign states "DOGS TOILET". An abandoned shopping trolley rusts in a murky pond. Richie is carrying a heavy rucksack with various handy gadgets -- a pan, a mallet, and so on -- tied on with string. Eddie has a plastic carrier bag.] Richie: Hoddll-odll-la-da-da! Oh, I don't know about you, but after a long hike like that I'm just about ready to pitch camp and hit the sack. Eddie: What do you mean? I can just about see the bus-stop from here! Richie: Yes, this looks like a good spot, a natural sort of, er... Eddie: Shithole. Richie: Yeah, shith--no, no, no, no. A natural hollow, in the lee of the wind, fresh water supply, the wind coming from... [wets finger and holds it in the air] Tshh, choh, dear oh dear oh dear... [flaps his hand] You'd think people'd have better control of their dogs, wouldn't you? Look at that. [they look downwards; their eyes track about a foot sideways] Ha, must've been a Great Dane! Oh, we can't camp here, we're not French. Hi-dee-ho, on we go, Eddie. No rest for the hygienic. Huh, dear oh dear, who'd be English! [takes one big step forward; Eddie looks exasperated] Yeah, this is much better here, yeah, much more likely spot. [takes his rucksack off] Ah, huh, ha, this is great, isn't it Eddie? Eddie: What? Richie: This... [indicates the location] Eddie: [looks around] No. Richie: You poor sad deformed urban pustule. This is real life: nature, struggle, destiny. Where's your romance? Eddie: Well, she works in Sketchley's on a Saturday afternoon. I should be going out with her tonight. That's a point. [looks at his watch] If I nip off now I could just get to the chemist's before they shut. [starts to leave] Richie: You stay where you are, Judas. Where's your sense of adventure? Eddie: Ah, now, she's in Chiswick. Richie: No, I mean your spuuunk? I don't -- no, no, no -- let's just avoid that line of questioning, shall we? Oh, come on, Eddie. We don't need birds. Besides, if we don't do it, we'll lose that bet with Mad Ken Stalin that we could live rough in the country for a week. And we haven't got fifty quid, and I'd rather hang on to my knee- caps if it's all the same with you. Eddie: [alarmed] A week!? Richie: Ah, er, yes, huh, ha, hah, I was hoping to break that to you at a more opportune moment. Eddie: [shouts] A bloody week? Richie: Yeah, well I wasn't the one who got drunk and bet him he couldn't stick a dart in his temple. Once he'd done that, he had us over a barrel. Eddie: But I've only got enough underwear for tonight. Richie: Well that's all you've ever had. Eddie: [thinks momentarily] That's true. Richie: Now, look, we're stuck with it, so will you for Heaven's sake stop moaning. Come on, let's get the tent up. Honestly, Alexander the Great never had this problem. Eddie: Yeah, well he wasn't a complete dickhead, was he? Richie: Right, that's it. That's it. [fighting stance, palms forwards, fingers curled] Ye-es. I've been doing evening classes in Jujitsu, you know. Eddie: Well you should have done them in Hammersmith, then you could've saved money on the bus fares. Richie: Ah-hu-ah--ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-haah, ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-hah, ha ha ha, hey, what great mates we are! [Eddie nods, grins, turns to the camera and mimes a wanking motion] Jujitsu, Hammersmith, marvellous! Ha! Come on, let's get the tent right up. [Eddie makes a suggestive "up" gesture with his forearm; fade down.] Scene 2. The Common. --------------------- [Richie is hammering in the final tent-peg. The camera pulls back to reveal a tiny, narrow tent, sagging in the middle. Eddie is sitting on a bench observing.] Eddie: Right, well that's the toilet tent. Where do we sleep? Richie: Oh, ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Look out everybody, I'm about to blow my trousers off in merriment at Eddie's sarcasm. Eddie: What, you mean that's the whole tent? Richie: Eddie, this isn't just a tent. This is a World Ranger Storm-Buster Four. You could go anywhere in that. Eddie: Yeah, and we probably will as soon as the breeze gets up. Richie: Hey, hey, don't knock it. You'll be glad of this when the bomb drops. Eddie: What, you think that's going to withstand a twenty-megaton nuclear blast? Richie: Well you'll be sleeping in it tonight so we'll find out, won't we? Eddie: Wait a minute -- we're both going to sleep in this? Richie: Yes. Eddie: [inspects it] We'll be very close, won't we? Richie: Well, we'll, we'll have our sleeping bags to keep us... respectable. Eddie: Sleeping bags? What's this all about? The last thing I remember was ordering two pints of mild. Richie: Well I've got my sleeping bag. Eddie: Well where's my sleeping bag? Richie: Well the last I heard she was in Chiswick. Eddie: So there's only one sleeping bag? Richie: It would appear so, yes. Eddie: [nods knowingly] Oohh yeah, I get it... Richie: Eddie, I'm not trying to trick you into a nudie sauce romp, believe me. I'd rather stick my genitals in a bee's nest. Eddie: [accusingly] Kinky. Richie: What do you mean, kinky? How am I kinky? Eddie: You want to stick your genitals in a bee's nest. Richie: No I don't, that's the whole point, it's sarcasm, it's, oh... Oh look, the point I was trying to make is that though sticking one's genitals in a bee's nest is a stupendously un-nice thing to do, it's nevertheless preferable to having a squidgy sleeping bag session with you! All right? Now can we just get our equipment out? Ah, I mean get our, I mean get our tackle out -- no, I mean get our gear out -- oh, God, you can't say anything without some dreadful double-entendre lurking around the corner. Look, shall we just unpack and get dinner on the go, all right? [turns back to the camp; suddenly remembers something] Uh, uh... [turns around, frustrated expression] I bet you forgot the tin-opener, didn't you? I despair, I mean I really do! I give you one simple task, one little obligation, and what do you do? You forget it! Eddie: Well that's where you're wrong, because... [pulls tins-opener out of his bag, waves it tauntingly in Richie's face] Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Here it is! ...Right, where are the tins? Richie: Shit! Shit! You stupid bastard! Why did you make me forget them? Why do I always have to do every-- we're gonna to starve to death now. We are going to starve to death. Eddie: But look! [slightly smugly] I've got a packet of chocolate hob- nobs. [holds them up] Richie: [relieved] Oh, thank God. Ah-ha-ha, oh, oh Eddie, we're saved. Eddie: What do you mean, "we"? [sits on the bench] I'm all right, I don't fancy your chances much. [opens the packet] Richie: Oh, have a heart, Eddie. It's your old pal here, Richie. Eddie: [stuffing biscuits into his mouth; muffled] Exactly. Bugger off. [Richie leans towards the hob-nobs , mouth open. Eddie hits Richie in the face. Richie winds up for a swing. Eddie stands up and the punch lands on the metal bench-end with a clang. Eddie scrambles into the tent while Richie is recovering.] Richie: Right. Eddie! [looks around, puzzled] Eddie? [Eddie's munching noises give him away. Richie pulls out one of the tent poles and whacks and stabs the tent repeatedly. Eddie crawls out without Richie noticing. Richie continues to stamp on the tent as Eddie stands by watching. Finally he drops the pole and walks away from the tent, rubbing his hands together. He notices Eddie; absently they both nod in satisfaction.] Richie: Huh? [Richie grabs for the hob-nobs and a struggle ensues. Eddie pushes him away and he falls, spearing his eye on the other tent pole. Eddie stuffs more hob-nobs into his mouth. Richie pulls the pole out and turns around, winding a punch towards Eddie. He misses, but the hob-nobs are knocked out of Eddie's hands. In slow-motion we see the hob-nobs sail through the air and land in the foul waters of the pond. Richie carefully lines up a punch on Eddie's face; Eddie, still chewing a mouthful of hob-nobs, gives him a swift backhander in the groin and an punch on the chin. Richie staggers back and punches Eddie, who falls. The hob-nobs slowly sink beneath the water.] Scene 3. The Common. --------------------- [Eddie and Richie are sitting by a small camp-fire; each holds over it a hob-nob on a stick. A row of hob-nobs are pegged out over the fire on a tiny washing-line.] Richie: What was that film where they ate each other? Eddie: Deep Throat, wasn't it? Richie: Yeah, that's right... Eddie: Yeah. Richie: Great, wasn't it? Eddie: Hrrrr! Richie: Anyway, anyway, back to the question of food. Eddie: Oh, yeah... Hang on, this is Wimbledon Common, isn't it? Richie: Yeeees... Eddie: Hey... I wonder how much meat you get on a Womble? Richie: Eddie, Eddie, Wombles don't exist. Eddie: [matter-of-factly] Oh yes they do, I've seen them on the telly. Richie: [sighs] Eddie, would it scar you for life if I told you they were just puppets? Eddie: [thinks] Yes it would. Richie: Good. [deliberately] Eddie, they were just puppets. Eddie: [points behind them, alarmed] Well what's that then? Richie: It's a--arrgh! [cut to hedgehog crawling in the grass] Eddie, that is a hedgehog. Eddie: No, it's not. That is Great Uncle Bulgaria. Richie: Well if it's Great Uncle Mulgaria, then the series has taken a sad turn for the worse because he's wandering about in the nude. Eddie: Hrrr-rr! The Wombles have gone X-rated! Hrrh! Richie: Eddie, pop your insane leaking brain back in its sponge-bag for just an instant and concentrate. Now, Womble or not, that is our supper. [They both look at the hedgehog.] Eddie: It'll be a bit spiky, won't it? Richie: Eddie, Red Indians eat them, y'know. Eddie: Why, is that why they run around going ah-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-ow? [Indian motion in front of mouth; wrong sound] Richie: Eddie, Eddie, you're so soi-disant! Red Native Americans do not run around the place going wa-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ah. No, it's ridiculous. They run around going "How". Eddie: I bet they do. I bet they run around going "How... the bloody hell are we supposed to eat that spiky hedgehog?" Richie: No they do not. They run around the place saying, "How... lovely that spiky hedgehog meal was, Mrs. Sitting Bull. We really must do the same next Tuesday, it was charming. How's Roger's prep school, by the way?" Eddie: What the bloody hell are you talking about, you madman? Richie: You wouldn't understand, Eddie -- different social strata. Now, how are we gonna kill it? Eddie: Well, you could bore it to death. Richie: Right-oh! Ah--nooo... ah, hmmmm... oh well, it's all academic now, he's buggered off. Oh, no! There he is, in the thicket! Right, this is it. Uh, okay, right. Eddie: Hoh, I know. Let's entice him out with a chocolate hob-nob. Richie: Great idea, great idea. And then when he's out in the open, we'll surround him and finish him off. Right. So, we need to gather some sticks and sort of lash them together to fashion some sort of... rifle! Eddie: I wonder what the Pygmies do? Richie: They wander around saying [looks upwards, squeaky voice] "Crikey, isn't everything big?" Eddie: It's no wonder they're dying out then, is it? Richie: Ha-ha-ha. Eddie: Huh--hang on, I've got my darts. Ah, and we can use this [picks up the tent pole] as a blow-pipe. Richie: Oh yes. Oh Eddie yes. Darts and a blow-pipe -- very rainforest. God, I wish Sting was here to see this. Eddie: [loads up] Right, here we go. Ahhh... Richie: Oh, Eddie, Eddie, hang on. Now listen, if we're going to do this really really properly, we're gonna have to have some proper Amazon Indian names for ourselves. Eddie: Come on, before he goes off to meet Orinoco. Richie: Shut up, Eddie, shut up. This is important. Right, now it's got to be sort of eagley, with a dash of running dog and not forgetting a hint of being a tower of attraction to women. Eddie: Hmmm... what about Neville? Richie: That is brilliant! Eddie: [pleased] Chaaahhh... Richie: Running Neville, yeah... no, no, no, no Sitting Neville. No, nooooo... Squatting Neville. Eddie: Come on, he's getting away. Richie: All right, all right, don't hustle me, a-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh- duh... oh well, I don't like it, but we'll have to go with Pocahontos. Eddie: All right, Hogateepontas, entice him out. Richie: Right. Hey, don't forget to make the noise. Eddie: Hahhh. [Both run at the thicket, making the Indian noise, then stop simultaneously.] Richie: Oh, he's buggered off. Eddie: [looks behind them] Oh no, there he is, by that tree! Richie: Right! Let's go! Ooh, hey Eddie, do you think we should do this in our underpants? [Eddie looks slightly puzzled] It would be great, it would be really Indiany. We could get some hankies and put them down the front and the back like flaps, [mimes loincloths] and then-- stupid idea, isn't it? We haven't got any hankies. No, hang on, we could use some pages from the Evening Standard! They're even bigger! We get a big flap down the front, and a big flap down the back, we get our biros out and we doodle on our nippl-- [notices Eddie's quizzical expression] Take your point, it's a bit chilly, isn't it? [deep voice] Right then, let's hunt. Huh! [sweetly; tossing biscuits into the bush] Mrs. Tiggywinkle... Mrs. Tiggywinkle... oh, it's not working. [an idea] Ha! ...Mr. Tiggywinkle... yum yum... [throws the entire packet into the bush] Right, Eddie, he's broken cover. Let 'im have it. [Eddie puts the blowpipe to his mouth and blows. He runs up to Richie, excited.] Eddie: Did I get him? Richie: No, you missed. Eddie: Damn! Richie: Eddie me old chum... Eddie: Yes, me old mate? Richie: Do us a favour and pull this dart out of the back of my head, would you? [We now see that the dart has lodged in Richie's head.] Eddie: All right, me old mucker. Blimey, how'd that get there? Richie: I've no idea. [falls to his knees before the camp-fire] Hurry along now, I'm losing me eyesight. [Eddie twists the dart out. Richie falls face first into the camp fire, singing his face. He rushes, yelling, towards the pond and dunks his head in. Hiss.] Eddie: Richie. Richie: Bb-bbb-bbbl? Eddie: You've put the fire out now. Richie: [gets up] Eddie! There's a fish in there. [kneels on the bank, excited; Eddie aims the blowpipe] There he is! Let him have it! [Eddie blows again] Eddie: Go and get him Richie. Richie: No, I think I'll just hang around here on the shore if it's all the same with you. Eddie: Oh come on, he's only a fish. Richie: Yes, I realize that, but unfortunately my hand is now attached to this boulder. [He lifts his hand to reveal the boulder, pinned to him by the dart. Eddie Tries to get the dart out, pulling it sideways with hideous crunching noises.] Richie: Uuuh... huh... aaargh! [Eddie look at Richie's face, contorted with pain, and clicks his teeth cheerfully. He twists the dart the other way.] Richie: Yuuuuragh! [Finally he pulls the dart out. The boulder drops.] Richie: Aaargh... [the boulder lands on his foot] Aaaaaaarh! ...Right. Give me the blowpipe. Eddie: Yep, I'm very sorry Richie. Richie: Give me the dart. Eddie: Here you go. Richie: Right. [loads the dart] Go and stand over there. Eddie: Fair enough. [Eddie walks to the other side of the clearing. Richie aims, takes a deep breath, and sucks in the dart. He drops the pole, clutching at his throat.] Richie: Hrrrh -- hh-hh -- h-h-h... [croaks] Slap me! Eddie: I beg your pardon? Richie: Slap... me! Eddie: Oh! I like this game... [slaps him hard in the face] Richie: Arrgh, arggh... [points down his throat] Eddie: [peers down] Hey, you've got a dart in there, did you know that? You... have got a dart... in there! Richie: Get it out! Eddie: I beg your--I beg your pardon. [folds his hands protectively over his crutch] Richie: [turns away and bends over, pointing at his back] Get it out! Eddie: Kinky! Richie: [urgently] The dart! Eddie: Oh. [Eddie picks up the mallet and hits Richie on the back of the head. The dart ricochets off a tree, a traffic cone, the bench, a tin can and finally lodges firmly in Richie's bum.] Richie: Daaahhhhh! [plucks the dart out and throws it away, splash; high croaky voice] I don't think we're really cut out for this dart routine, do you? [coughs] Eddie: The only thing that's had anything to eat around here is the bloody hedgehog. There's only one hob-nob left -- that's 27 hob- nobs he's had! It's no wonder he shits like a Great Dane. Richie: Hey, Eddie, why don't we have a go at that fish? Eddie: But we haven't got a rod. Richie: Hrrhh. Hey, why don't we use your vest as a net? Eddie: [thinks] Would I have to be in it? Richie: Come on, give us the vest. [Eddie loosens his belt, grabs his vest and yanks it downwards, magically tearing it off from under his shirt. He hands it to Richie.] Richie: Hhh, right! Get the stove nice and hot. Stand back Moby, here I come! [Richie swings the vest around his head and flings it into the pond. Eddie tries to work out how to fit the burner to the propane gas canister. Richie retrieves the vest.] Eddie: Have you caught anything yet? Richie: [lifting up a condom] Yes, I think I very probably have caught something, Eddie. It's quite a love nest around here, you know. [Eddie punctures the canister; hiss... He sniffs it, pleased, sets it on the ground and tosses the burner away. Richie throws the vest again, further away this time, looks despairingly at it and wades gingerly into the pond. Eddie slaps his pockets in search of matches. Richie suddenly notices something floating in the water.] Richie: Oh no! Great! Eddie, I've landed one! She is a beauty! [holds up a very small fish, speared with the dart] Eddie: Nice one, Richie. Richie: Look at 'er. Look at 'er. She must be that big! [holds his arms wide apart, the fish still held in his hand] Hoohh, quite the little battler, yeah, ha-ha! I'm a--I'm afraid we, we lost the vest in the conflict. Eddie: [pause] You mean my vest is in the pond... Richie: Eh--is the stove lit yet? Eddie: Half. Richie: Half? Eddie: Yeah, you haven't seen the matches anywhere, have you? Richie: [searches pockets] Noooo. You could try rubbing the sticks together... Eddie: Mmmmm. It's a tad more urgent than that. Richie: Oh all right. All right, you can use my Briquet. [hands Eddie a disposable lighter] But don't keep your finger pressed down for longer than a second. [Eddie lights the fire, which shoots eight feet in the air.] Eddie: Stove's lit. [warming his hands] Richie: Nice one. Right! Let's get Moby under the grill, I'm famished! [Richie puts Moby on a stick, and holds it in the flames. Moby catches fire. Richie waves the stick around trying to put it out. Finally he stamps on it. They peer down at the battered remains.] Eddie: Is it done, then? Richie: I think so. They don't take long, do they? Eddie: What, and we just eat it straight off the ground, do we? Is that safe? Richie: Oh Eddie, you and your hygiene. We're in the countryside here, we've got everything we need. We'll wash it in the lake -- lovely fresh mountain stream, then it'll be lovely. [looks down at the fish] Yeah, well you pick it up, it's a bit near the dogshit for me. [Eddie sighs, scoops up the fish, and swishes it in the pond.] Eddie: Oop, lost a bit. [peers at the charred, muddied fish] Which end's the head, do you think? Richie: Oh come here, give it to country boy, I'll divide it up. Er, well, it's bound to be one or the other, isn't it? Er... [pulls it in half] There, heads or tails? No, we can't do that can we? Er, all right, I'll have the black bit, you have the flakey bit. Good health! [pops the fish in his mouth, chews, nods appreciatively, swallows.] That was... disgusting! You not eating yours, Eddie? Eddie: No, I'm keeping it. Richie: What for? Eddie: Evidence. [Eddie takes out a plastic bag and puts the remains of the fish in it.] Richie: Come on Eddie, you've got to get some nutrition. Eddie: I'm all right, mate. I've got half a bottle of Scotch here, I know who's side I'm on. Richie: Oh yeeessss. Let's get boozy and sit around the camp-fire singing dirty rugby songs. Eddie: Yeah! Right, ha, here we go. [the gas runs out with a dying hiss as they sit down] Oh well! First shot to me. [Eddie gulps down the whole bottle and shakes the last few drops into his mouth. He hands the empty bottle to Richie.] Eddie: There you go. Ahh... [sways slightly] Richie: All right! [puts the bottle to his mouth] Ohhhwowowow, I'm going crazy! Okay, dirty rugby songs, let's go! Er, twinkle, twinkle, little s--oh, that's not very dirty that one, is it Eddie? Ah... Eddie? [Eddie has collapsed] Oh Eddie! Oh, Eddie, don't pass out already! [shakes him] You'll miss out on all the fun. Eddie: [slurred] What fun? Richie: Yes, I suppose that's a point. When you come to think of it, nothing much ever really happens in the country, does it? [A flasher, nude but for shoes and a long raincoat, runs up, laughs maniacally, opens his raincoat, dances madly in front of them, and runs off. Eddie lifts his head, looks at Richie, and flops back down again.] Richie: You wonder why they do it, really, don't you? I mean, with something as small as that... I mean, mine's bigger than that and mine's tiny! [embarrassed] Ish. Tinyish. [stands up] Oh well. Time for bed. Eddie: What do you mean, it's only half past five! Richie: Oh Eddie, don't be silly, this is the country now, and you know what they say. "A cuckoo in May, ooh-arr ooh-arr ay!" [Richie crawls into the tent.] Scene 4. The Tent. ------------------- [Night-time. The moon is full. Eddie and Richie are squeezed next to each other in the tent. The sign that says "DOGS TOILET" is inside the tent.] Richie: Right. Well. Here we are Edward. You sure you didn't sneak a quick peek at my underpants when I was getting into my sleeping bag? Eddie: Absolutely Richie. I give you my word of honour. [formally] I didn't get even the slightest glimpse of your gaudily stained love-blob containers. Richie: All right. Good. Well, nighty-night, then... [lies back; looks around; somewhat at a loss] What do you normally do when you got to bed, Eddie? Eddie: I normally have a bit of a kip. Richie: You're so concise. I mean, what's your going-to-bed routine? Eddie: Ah, routine. Well, I normally... get into bed... and then I have a bit of a kip. Richie: Wonder what's on telly right now. Probably missing Emmerdale Farm. Matt'll have his arm up some cow's backside by now. Lucky bugger. Eddie: We'll miss The Late Show of course. Cor, [clicks teeth] that bird in the red specs... [puffs appreciatively] Richie: Eddie, are you carrying a torch for her? Eddie: [looks down] No, it's just the way my trousers ruck up. Richie: Oh. [looks around idly; notices Eddie has started reading] What are you reading, Eddie? Eddie: I don't know, I'm too drunk to focus. Richie: [sigh] Bored now... [sigh] You ever been hang-gliding Eddie? Eddie: Nope. Richie: No, nor me. Well that's exhausted that one, then. Hooh. I can't think of anything else to talk about you know-- Eddie: [forcefully] Well night-night then! Richie: Yes, I suppose so. Night-night. Sleep tight. Hope-the-bed-bugs-do-not-bite. If they do, do a poo, put it in a Cornish stew. Into the ambulance, dring dring dring, Fish trousers elephant in Peking. Saw a busy bee, tiddle-diddle-dee, Daddy's an accountant just like me. Night-night, God bless. [closes eyes] [pause; opens eyes] I'm still not asleep you know... You know, I think it's this sleeping bag. [wriggles uncomfortably] It's letting in a draft. Eddie: Oh, my heart bleeds. [indicating his lack of bag] Richie: Come on Eddie. I'm more sensitive than you are. Do us a favour, me old pal. Grab a hold of my drawstring and give it a bloody good yank. Eddie: [slightly shocked] I beg your pardon? Richie: Here, here. Eddie: Oh. [Eddie pulls the string tight around Richie's neck.] Richie: [strangulated] Okay, fine, fine! Good. Right. Night-night, then. Mmm... [leans over to kiss Eddie, suddenly realises it's inappropriate] Oh, no, no, no! [sighs] Put the light out Eddie, would you? [Eddie starts to snore, his book over his face. Richie looks at him resignedly.] Richie: Oh... [tries to escape from his bag] Oh my God, I can't get out. I'll have to do it meself. [Richie wriggles over to the lamp and tries to blow it out, inching closer to it. He falls forward, burning his face on the lamp.] Richie: Aaarh, aaarh! [tries to blow upwards onto his face] Huh--oh, God, who'd be me? Haahh. Night-night then world. [He closes his eyes... A storm starts with a clap of thunder and flashes of lightning. He sits up, startled, panting slightly. Rain pours down. A rather unconvincing owl hoots.] Richie: Eddie, Eddie! There's someone outside, doing owl impressions. [owl hoots again] Not very good ones, either. Eddie! [Another thunderclap. Eddie starts thrashing around in his sleep.] Eddie: Daah, daah, daaaaah! [Richie hits him repeatedly with the cooking pot, holding it in his mouth.] Eddie: What are you doing that for? I was having a dream. Richie: I know. It sounded harrowing. Eddie: No! I was in bed with Kim Basinger. It was fantastic. Let's get back to sleep very quickly. [they shut their eyes; Eddie suddenly wakes up, yelling] Where the bloody hell am I?! Richie: No Eddie, calm down, you're in a tent... you're in a tent. [worried] Listen, Eddie, I think there's something outside. Eddie: Yeah, well there's bound to be something outside, Richie. You can't expect the universe and its entire contents to be contained within the confines of a small canvas tent. Richie: You're very philosophical for this time of night, Eddie. Eddie: Yeah, well I've had half a bottle of Scotch, what do you expect? Richie: No, listen! [owl hoots again] No, Eddie, I'm serious. I'm getting a sense of something magnificently evil, black, and foul hanging in the air waiting to destroy us. Eddie: Yeah, that'll be the fish repeating on you. [owl hoots] Richie: There it is again... what do you think it is? A wolf? A bear? Eddie: Oooh -- Wombles! Richie: [alarmed] Wombles! Oh, oh-oh-oh, oo-ooh, oh, look, Eddie, Eddie, why don't we bring the fire inside the tent to ward them off? Eddie: Well that'd be a bit dangerous, wouldn't it? Richie: No, it's gone out. Eddie: Well what's the point then? Richie: Eh--oh... oh yes, silly me! Eddie: Hey, yayayayaya -- why don't we light a small fire inside the tent? Richie: All right, just a small one. Eddie: Oh, you know me. A tiny itsy bitsy teeny one. Richie: Good old Eddie. Eddie: Now, where's the paraffin? Ahhh... here we go. Ahhh... [starts to drink it] Richie: No! No, Eddie, don't drink it, we need that! Eddie: [shakes the paraffin onto the ground] Now, stand well back. Richie: What do you mean, "stand well back"? I can't get out of this bloody sleeping bag, can I? Eddie: [lighter in hand] Here we go. Richie: No--Eddie, change of plan! [Exterior shot. Fire bursts out both ends of the tent.] Richie: [sarcastically] Nice one, Eddie. That should ward 'em off. [Richie and Eddie's faces are burned and red. There is a rumble of thunder; a menacing shadow moves across the tent wall.] Richie: Oh! Eddie! Look! Help me get out of this sleeping bag! Eddie: There's no time! [Eddie zips down the tent entrance. The zipper is raised slowly from the other side. Eddie and Richie cower in abject terror. Our friend, the crazy flasher, now totally nude, thrusts his love spuds into the tent, laughing hysterically. Eddie and Richie scream. A lot. Eddie zips down the tent forcefully. The flasher runs off screaming, dragging the tent with him. Richie and Eddie are left in the rain.] Eddie: [understated] Right, well, that's about it for me. I'm off. [Richie tries to inch after him like a worm in his sleeping bag.] Eddie: What, are you not coming? Richie: Well I can't, I can't move, can I? Eddie: Now that's a point. [picks up the mallet ] Richie: Eddie, no! [Eddie whacks him; he falls over. Roll credits.] Original transcription Melinda & Michelle Casino . Edited and updated James Kew . Last revised July 1994.