D R A M A T I S P E R S O N A
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DOCTOR NIC
The illustrious founder of the |
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SIR JAZZYJAY Gentleman, Courtier, Cassanova, General, Hero. He's none of these things and less, but he does have a knighthood, thanks to a severly misdirected package intended for Francis Drake. |
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LORD HAWKEYE An enormous pile of velvet, ruffs and talculm powder that somehow has developed the power of speech. |
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SERGEANT ROBBIE A small shell of soot, encrusted in the uniform of Her Magesty's Guards and hailing from one of thost parts of Great Britian that aren't England. |
SCENE: 1687, just after tea. The members of the Royal Society are standing on the Atlantic seaboard as Sir Jazzyjay demonstrates his plan to build a Trans-Atlantic tunnel. BUT! There's a problem!
SIR JAZZYJAY: Did I hear you correctly, Sergeant Robbie? Did you say that you've discovered the Lost Tribes of Israel?
SERGEANT ROBBIE: Hindeed, SAH! 'Ere we was, diggin' halong nice-like, when we 'appen to bhurst hinto a hundersea cavern! W-hell! I says! Look what we 'ave 'ere! Hit happears to be han 'abitat! Han habitat of mhembers of the Abrahambic fhaith, sah!
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| Sergeant Robbie demonstrates his loyalty to the Royal Society by defecating in as dignified position as possible. |
DOCTOR NIC: Gentlemen, do you realise what this means?
LORD HAWKEYE: mmm-Well, I would suggest that it mmm-means that the commmmmon mmmmman has too mmmmuch mmmmmoney! And that harsher taxes are in order! Since we already tax ones mmmm-windows, I suggest that we put a tax on mmmm-fleas!
DOCTOR NIC: What on Earth has that got to do with this?
LORD HAWKEYE: Well! The's Israelites have been living since mmmm-Bible days, tax free! I think that some back mmmm-taxes are in order!
SIR JAZZYJAY: No such luck I'm afraid! This cavern exists in International Waters!
DOCTOR NIC: Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Sir Jazzyjay?
SIR JAZZYJAY: Yes, I think I am. You go first.
DOCTOR NIC: No, you.
SIR JAZZYJAY: Okay. (Removes trowsers and begins manipulating genitals into the shape of a Frenchman) Zut alores! I am King Lewie! I shall invade Dutchland to get at the dykes!
DOCTOR NIC: ...
LORD HAWKEYE: ...
SIR JAZZYJAY: ...
DOCTOR NIC: ...
SIR JAZZYJAY: ...
LORD HAWKEYE: ...
SERGEANT ROBBIE: Cor! Whait huntil the boys 'ear about this!
SIR JAZZYJAY: ... Oh. (Does pants back up) Okay, your turn.
DOCTOR NIC: Well, I was thinking that if we move England until these Lost Tribes are in our waters, we'll be able to levy back taxes and then...
SIR JAZZYJAY: Riches!
DOCTOR NIC: Riches!
LORD HAWKEYE: mmm-wiches!
SERGEANT ROBBIE: Cor! Manwiches!
SIR JAZZYJAY: Sergeant Robbie! Turn this sound effects record over to give the impression that we are travelling by carriage to the East Coast of England!
SERGEANT ROBBIE: RHIGHT AWAYH SAH!
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| The Royal Society passes time in between scenes by inventing a game combining billiards, croquet and hockey. IT ROCKED! |
SCENE: The East Coast of England. As far as the eye can see, urchins with long poles stand in the water and try and push England away from them.
DOCTOR NIC: How goes it?
SIR JAZZYJAY: Not good I'm afraid. It appears that these urchins lack the strength to push England far enough west so that the Lost Tribes of Israel are in our territorial waters.
DOCTOR NIC: Which urchins are those?
SIR JAZZYJAY: The ones in the sea.
DOCTOR NIC: Oh! So that would make them-
SIR JAZZYJAY: Don't.
DOCTOR NIC: What!? I was just going to remark-
SIR JAZZYJAY: No - really - don't. We've recieved a Royal Order prohibiting any joke that mentions the term 'Sea Urchin.' Oh shit.
SERGEANT ROBBIE: Sah! Hi ham afraid hi shall 'ave to take you hinto k-hustardy!
DOCTOR NIC: You mean we're ending an episode with a custard reference again?
SIR JAZZYJAY: I love custard!
SERGEANT ROBBIE: There'll be hno k-hustard where you're going, mhy son!
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| The Royal Society bids fond farewell to their collegue, arrested by order of King Charles the II |
Well! Things look bad for the Royal Society! Tune in next week to see how SIR JAZZYJAY handles the lifestyle at Newgate Prison! But before we go, here's a sneak preview of the next episode of A TRANS-ATLANTIC TUNNEL - HUZZAH!
DOCTOR NIC: So it's agreed! You bust Sir Jazzyjay out of prison and we will recoved the Slippers of King Cnut from the Lost Tribes of Israel.
EMPEROR OCTAVIUS'S ZOMBIE: Exactly. I'll even buy you guys bacon sandwiches afterwards.
LORD HAWKEYE: mmmmsweet!