(no subject)
This is for apiphile. The casting managed to change a little.
"Caption?"
[Ray enters the kitchen]
"Thank you."
Bob heaves a sigh as he hears Ray sit down. He'll be expecting dinner. Gerard and Frank are expecting dinner. He hates other people's expectations; he always fails to meet them.
"Heavy," he tells the lentil casserole.
"Bumface!" Gerard shouts at Frank. The table is between them. Bob doesn't have high hopes for its survival. "Bummy bummy bumface!"
"Virgin!"
"Thatcherite!"
"Virginite!"
"You just don't understand socialism, you fascist. You don't understand my dedication to bringing down this oppressive regime."
Bob hears the smack he has learnt to associate with a disembodied leg hitting Gerard's face. A foot, with rainbow painted toenails, lands in the casserole.
"Oh, thanks, guys. Now I can't eat it. You should have just said if you wanted it all to yourself." Bob sighs again.
"Guys, guys. This is bad, and I don't mean it's a black lemon, if you know what I mean."
"Black lemon? I think that's racist. You racist, Ray."
"Yeah? Well I think you're racist, virgin." Bob turns in time to see Frank hit Gerard with the leg again. The tattoos on it look strangely familiar.
"Is that Brian's leg?" Bob asks. "He's going to be pissed. We're already two months behind on the rent."
"Shut up, Bob," Frank and Gerard say together.
"Yes, Bob, shut up," Ray says. "I'm calling a house meeting. That means I'm talking, and you're listening."
"I don't think that's what house meeting means, Ray. I don't think that's what it means at all." Gerard stands dangerously close to Ray, shaking his head, mouth turned up in poor imitation of a sneer.
"I draw your attention to article five in the house charter."
Bob's not sure where Ray produces the charter from, but produce it he does. Gerard snatches it and buries his nose in the ratty looking exercise book.
"That's not the house charter," Bob objects. He's roundly ignored. "Oh. No one's listening. Heavy."
"Article Five," Gerard reads aloud. "House Meeting means everyone gets their say. Hah!"
"Read on," says Ray.
"...Unless Ray calls it. Then only he gets to talk."
Frank leans over Gerard's shoulder. He has to stand on a chair to do so. "He's right. It does say that."
"Right," says Ray. "House Meeting called by me. Mikey's escaped, and I don't mean he's riding a unicorn through the forests of the Sahara, if you catch my drift."
"What do I care about Frank's stupid hamster," Gerard sulks.
"Well, he's living in your laundry basket, and I think he's bred with your socks. There they go!" Ray points towards the hall. Mikey barrels across the floor like roadkill on string - Bob can actually see the string - followed by one of Gerard's socks, stiff and yellow with age, and a row of smaller socks with twitchy black noses.
Gerard makes a jump towards the escapees, but stops. "Wait. I have other socks."
"No, they've gone too," Ray says. "I think they've eloped with Frank's underwear."
There's a horrified silence.
"Vir..." It dies on Frank's lips. "Not my pants," he says. There's a note of hysteria in his voice.
"Guys," Bob says.
"Yes your pants," Ray says. "And your drawers, your knickers, your frillies and your delicates."
"I don't wear pants," Frank says, mouth stretched in smarmy realisation. "They must be Bob's."
"Guys," Bob says again.
"No, Bob's are made of hemp. I know, I sold them to a hippy," Ray says.
"You sold them to me," Bob says. "And, guys."
"What, Bob?" Gerard snaps.
"Is that Brian's leg?" Bob asks. He doesn't have a good voice for conveying urgency.
"Is what Brian's leg?" Frank asks, gesturing with Brian's leg.
"Is that Brian's leg?" Bob asks. "And is that Brian's foot in the lentils?"
"I don't know," Frank says.
"Where did you get it?" Ray asks. "Did you get it from a man in a trenchcoat, Frank?"
"What man in a trenchcoat?"
"That's right, Frank. What man indeed?"
"Is that Brian's leg?" Bob asks, voice rising. "Only, Brian's here. And he's only got one leg. And we owe him rent."
Now with added Illustrations! The Young Chemicals, with bonus Special Patrol Way.
(I can't stop laughing at Gee. Smiley Rik!)
"Caption?"
[Ray enters the kitchen]
"Thank you."
Bob heaves a sigh as he hears Ray sit down. He'll be expecting dinner. Gerard and Frank are expecting dinner. He hates other people's expectations; he always fails to meet them.
"Heavy," he tells the lentil casserole.
"Bumface!" Gerard shouts at Frank. The table is between them. Bob doesn't have high hopes for its survival. "Bummy bummy bumface!"
"Virgin!"
"Thatcherite!"
"Virginite!"
"You just don't understand socialism, you fascist. You don't understand my dedication to bringing down this oppressive regime."
Bob hears the smack he has learnt to associate with a disembodied leg hitting Gerard's face. A foot, with rainbow painted toenails, lands in the casserole.
"Oh, thanks, guys. Now I can't eat it. You should have just said if you wanted it all to yourself." Bob sighs again.
"Guys, guys. This is bad, and I don't mean it's a black lemon, if you know what I mean."
"Black lemon? I think that's racist. You racist, Ray."
"Yeah? Well I think you're racist, virgin." Bob turns in time to see Frank hit Gerard with the leg again. The tattoos on it look strangely familiar.
"Is that Brian's leg?" Bob asks. "He's going to be pissed. We're already two months behind on the rent."
"Shut up, Bob," Frank and Gerard say together.
"Yes, Bob, shut up," Ray says. "I'm calling a house meeting. That means I'm talking, and you're listening."
"I don't think that's what house meeting means, Ray. I don't think that's what it means at all." Gerard stands dangerously close to Ray, shaking his head, mouth turned up in poor imitation of a sneer.
"I draw your attention to article five in the house charter."
Bob's not sure where Ray produces the charter from, but produce it he does. Gerard snatches it and buries his nose in the ratty looking exercise book.
"That's not the house charter," Bob objects. He's roundly ignored. "Oh. No one's listening. Heavy."
"Article Five," Gerard reads aloud. "House Meeting means everyone gets their say. Hah!"
"Read on," says Ray.
"...Unless Ray calls it. Then only he gets to talk."
Frank leans over Gerard's shoulder. He has to stand on a chair to do so. "He's right. It does say that."
"Right," says Ray. "House Meeting called by me. Mikey's escaped, and I don't mean he's riding a unicorn through the forests of the Sahara, if you catch my drift."
"What do I care about Frank's stupid hamster," Gerard sulks.
"Well, he's living in your laundry basket, and I think he's bred with your socks. There they go!" Ray points towards the hall. Mikey barrels across the floor like roadkill on string - Bob can actually see the string - followed by one of Gerard's socks, stiff and yellow with age, and a row of smaller socks with twitchy black noses.
Gerard makes a jump towards the escapees, but stops. "Wait. I have other socks."
"No, they've gone too," Ray says. "I think they've eloped with Frank's underwear."
There's a horrified silence.
"Vir..." It dies on Frank's lips. "Not my pants," he says. There's a note of hysteria in his voice.
"Guys," Bob says.
"Yes your pants," Ray says. "And your drawers, your knickers, your frillies and your delicates."
"I don't wear pants," Frank says, mouth stretched in smarmy realisation. "They must be Bob's."
"Guys," Bob says again.
"No, Bob's are made of hemp. I know, I sold them to a hippy," Ray says.
"You sold them to me," Bob says. "And, guys."
"What, Bob?" Gerard snaps.
"Is that Brian's leg?" Bob asks. He doesn't have a good voice for conveying urgency.
"Is what Brian's leg?" Frank asks, gesturing with Brian's leg.
"Is that Brian's leg?" Bob asks. "And is that Brian's foot in the lentils?"
"I don't know," Frank says.
"Where did you get it?" Ray asks. "Did you get it from a man in a trenchcoat, Frank?"
"What man in a trenchcoat?"
"That's right, Frank. What man indeed?"
"Is that Brian's leg?" Bob asks, voice rising. "Only, Brian's here. And he's only got one leg. And we owe him rent."
Now with added Illustrations! The Young Chemicals, with bonus Special Patrol Way.
(I can't stop laughing at Gee. Smiley Rik!)
