SA Singer (an imitation of Noël Coward)
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Here's a little number I tossed off recently in the Carribean:
Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis?
Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong?
It's swell to have a stiffy
It's divine to own a dick
From the tiniest little tadger
To the world's biggest prick
So, three cheers for your willy or John Thomas
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake
Your piece of pork
Your wife's best friend
Your Percy, or your ****
You can wrap it up in ribbons
You can slip it in your sock
But don't take it out in public
Or they will stick you in the dock
And you won't a-come a-back
Oh, thank you very much!
Fish 1 [A fine restaurant serves a grossly obese man, Mr Creosote, who frequently engages in projectile vomiting.]
Oh Shit! It's Mr Creosote!
MT Maître-D'
Ah, good afternoon, Sir, and how are we today?
C Mr Creosote
Better get a bucket; 'm going to throw up.
. . .
MT Maître-D'
Et maintenant, would monsieur care for an aperitif, or would he prefer to order straight away?
MT Maître-D'
[The maître-d' places the menu on Mr Creosote's stomach, who promptly vomits on it.]
Uh, today we 'ave for appetizers -- excuse me.
MT Maître-D'
[The maître-d' clears his throat and shakes off the vomit from his arm.]
Uh, moules marinières, pât? de foie gras, Beluga caviar, eggs Benedictine, tart de poireau -- that's leek tart -- frogs' legs amandine, or oeufs de caille Richard Shepherd -- c'est-à -dire, little quails' eggs on a bed of pur?ed mushroom; it's very delicate, very subtle.
C Mr Creosote
'll have the lot.
MT Maître-D'
[Pause]
A wise choice, monsieur! And now, 'ow would you like it served? All, uh, mixed up togezher in a bucket?
C Mr Creosote
Yeah... with the eggs on top.
. . .
MT Maître-D
Would monsieur care for a wafer thin mint?
C Mr Creosote
Nah, **** off, 'm full.
. . .
WO Wife of Guest
We have to go -- um -- 'm having rather heavy period.
G Guest
[awkward pause]
And... we... have a train to catch.
W Wife
Yes... of course. We have a train to catch. And I don't want to start bleeding over the seats.
M Maria
[After the fine restaurant has closed, the maître-d' chats with cleaning woman Maria. She has just finished cleaning up the debris after Mr. Creosote has exploded. She contemplates her life - in a 'spoken poem'.]
I used to work in the Acad?mie Française, but it didn't do me any good at all.
And I once worked in the library in the Prado in Madrid, but it didn't teach me nothing, I recall.
And the Library of Congress you'd have thought would hold some key -
but it didn't, and neither did the Bodleian Library.
In the British Museum, I hoped to find some clue.
I worked there from nine till six, read every volume through -
but it didn't teach me nothing about life's mystery.
I just kept getting older, it got more difficult to see,
'till eventually me eyes went, and me arthritis got bad.
So now 'm... cleaning up in here. But I can't be really sad.
'Cause you see... I feel that life's a game. You sometimes win or lose.
And 'though I may be down right now, at least I don't work for Jews.
MT Maître-d'
[The maître-d' chokes on his cigarette, dumps Mr Creosote's puke-filled bucket on Maria's head, and addresses the camera.]
'm so sorry. I... I had no idea we had a-a racist working here. I-I-I apologise most sincerely. I mean, whoa--
MT Maître-d'
[The camera slowly pans off the maître-d'.]
W-where're you going? No-- I can explain, uh... eh, quel dommage.
. . .
G Gaston
[The camera follows waiter Gaston out of the restaurant, through the streets, and all the way home.]
You know... one day, my... my mother, she put me on her knee and she said to me, "Gaston, my son, the world is a beautiful place. You must go into it and... love everyone, try to make everyone happy, and bring peace and contentment everywhere you go." And so, I became a waiter!
G Gaston
[He smiles for a moment, then gradually looks glum.]
Well, it's... it's not much of a philosophy, I know. But, well... **** you! I can live my own life in my own way if I want to. **** off! Don't come following me!
MT Maître-D
[Maître-D offers Mr Creosote an after-dinner mint]
It's only wafer thin.
C Mr Creosote
Look. I couldn't eat another thing. I'm absolutely stuffed. Bugger off.
MT Maître-D
Oh, sir, just— just one.
C Mr Creosote
All right. Just one.
MT Maître-D
Just the one, monsieur. Voilà. [places the mint in his mouth] Bon appétit! [dives behind a cordon as Mr Creosote swells up and explodes] Thank you, sir, and now here's the check.
