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Order, order, order!
The defendants will give order.
All right, matey boy,
I'll have a lager and a small sweet sherry
for blubface here.
"Great gag, Eddie.
"
Yes, I rather think it was.
Your Honour, I throw myself
on the mercy of the court.
I am only 14 years old.
Make me your ward.
Bring me up as your own
and we shall learn to love each other.
I had been cruelly used
and am an emaciated waif.
That's right.
A 14-stone emaciated waif.
- I've got heavy bones.
- Fatso.
Spare me, Your Honour, I am with child.
I'm with Eddie and that's the same thing.
- He made me do it!
- Silence in my courtroom!
Oooh-hoo-hoo!
Richard Rich and Edward Catflap,
you stand accused of a sickening
and degraded crime
that strikes at the very heart
of our society
and mocks all that we hold
decent and clean.
You exposed your bottoms on TV-am
and, what is worse, in front of, erm
Miss Anne Diamond.
How do you plead?
We plead like this,
Your Majesty
Please, please, please let us off!
Oh, go on, I'll be your slave for life.
We meant no harm.
We thought Anne would appreciate
a peek at the tradesman's entrance.
You do yourself no good service
with this spineless grovelling.
Desist, I say,
or it may be the worse for you.
He's milking it a bit.
All the script
says is "Shut your face, plop-pants.
"
This is the last time
we use anyone from RADA.
Far from appreciating your foul display,
Miss, er Anne Diamond has stressed
that two such raddled
and acne-ridden old orifices
have seldom been put before
a sickened public
and has requested
the severity of the sentence
mirror the ugliness of the, er flaps.
In the absence of any defence
I therefore sentence you to be shot.
Take them down.
That's why we got into trouble
in the first place.
I wish he'd make his mind up.
Your Honour, I wish to speak
on behalf of the defendants.
Oh, that's it, then.
Goodbye, cruel world.
Mr Filthy! I have passed sentence.
The case is closed!
Your Hon, darling,
sweetheart, please don't shout,
I have a delicate medical condition
known as a hangover.
I contend that vital evidence
was not put before the jury
and that, hence, there should be a retrial.
And this evidence is?
Looby the burden
of the Crown's case to date
has stood solely upon
the alleged horrifying nature
of my clients' garden gates.
I contend that a split-second
of TV-am videotape
is not sufficient evidence
to so damningly brand
a man's rear loader.
And hence, I further contend
that it is my clients' right
that the jury should view the evidence.
No! No!
The jury will view the evidence.
- Wanna look?
- No! No!
Excuse me! We are still here, you know.
Never mind about hurting our feelings.
It seems I have no option
but to offer the defendants
a conditional discharge.
Oo-er!
And that condition is
that you find gainful employment
outside of show business
in which you are clearly a menace
to clean-living TV presenters like, er
Miss Anne Diamond.
Case dismissed.
As for you, Mr Filthy,
I find you guilty
of encouraging indecent exposure
with intent to cause a public affray.
And under the new
Criminal Evidence Anti-Terrorist
The Police Can Do
What They Bloody Well Like Bill,
I sentence you to be hung by the neck
until dead.
Oh.
Well, you probably won't be
coming down the pub, then.
- See ya.
- Thanks, Filth.
You're a mate.
Poor old Filthy.
Gonna get hanged
just for getting us off.
Yeah.
Still, we're all right, so sod 'im.
Yeah.
Mind you, Eddie, are we all right?
We've got to get gainful
non-showbiz employment,
otherwise it's back in the jug.
What about stealing?
Of course, what a good idea!
It's very romantic, isn't it?
Oh, I can see me now.
I am the unblemished soul
cast down amongst criminals,
having to steal to stay alive,
like Oliver Twist!
I should've been in Oliver.
Guess what they said at the audition.
"Sod off, ugly"?
That's amazing, were you there?
Ollie Twisto didn't do so badly
from his life of crime,
thank you very much.
No siree bob, he certainly did not.
After a spell of pickpocketing,
a rich gentleman discovered
that he was his dead daughter's
illegitimate child,
and so he saved him.
- Maybe that will happen to us!
- Yeah, maybe!
Though the chances are
vaguely against it, aren't they?
No, no, no! It's all in the book.
"Why, Doctor," Mr Brownlow will say
in his gruff but kindly voice,
"Know ye not these two little urchins,
Eddie and Richie?
"Study on the portrait
of my dead daughter.
"Surely you'll vouchsafe
that their faces are just like ***'s?"
- Speak for yourself.
- Now
Ollie started in the workhouse.
We must throw ourselves
on the mercy of the state.
But the state has no mercy.
They enjoy watching people
starve to death.
- It's called monetarism.
- Oh, yes.
Go straight to the pickpocketing.
Of course, yes!
I've been entirely miscasting myself.
The Artful Dodger!
That's the part for me.
Whipping fine silk hankies
out the pockets of fops and beaux
- as they parade about.
- Let's practise.
Try and get my wallet out
of my back pocket without me noticing.
All right, skip.
Shouldn't be difficult.
You got hit by a bus last week
and didn't notice.
I had a lot on my mind.
You would do with a bus on your head.
- Brilliant joke, Richie!
- Wasn't a bad one, was it?
Could we please
just get on with the play?
Who knows who's watching?
Mrs Thatcher could be watching.
The damn thing won't budge!
Of course not, it's nailed to my bottom.
There's a lot of pickpockets about.
This is ridiculous,
we'll never get a job this way
and we'll be sent back to pris.
I'll phone Filthy,
it's his responsibil to get us work.
He's in pris, under sentence of death.
Selfish ***!
Filthy! Great to see you!
Commiserations.
- Here's half a Mars bar.
- I ate the rest,
but I wiped your bit down.
Mind you, you should've seen
what he wiped it with!
- Now, then, Filthy
- God, I'm ill.
Prison does not agree with me.
This morning I coughed so hard
I blew my kidney out my backside.
Stop whingeing, you selfish little toady.
We're in deep troub
because of what you did.
Just cos you got us off, the judge said
we've got to get gainful employment.
- You want me to help you?
- You are my agent.
I'm also under sentence of death.
All right, I'll help you
if you do one small thing for me.
- Filthy, anything.
- I want you to get me
a short piece of one-inch steel piping.
What for?
If I told you that I'd ruin the plot, Eddie.
I'd hardly call this meaningless stream
of bot and *** gags a plot, would you?
It'll all come clear in the end.
Get the piping.
- Righty-dokey.
- Oh, God.
Here you go, Filthy.
Here's a bit of a gag to lighten the tone.
What's the similarity between
this toilet bowl and your head?
I neither know nor care.
When you *** them together
they both go "clunk".
If you can't get a laugh
without lavatory humour, keep quiet.
There's the pipe.
Now do something for us.
- You've got to suggest a job.
- Well, daughters, I've been thinking.
It strikes me that, to date,
your career can be summed up
in two words.
- Star spangled?
- Complete disaster.
So, the first thing
we must ask ourselves is
what are your qualities and talents?
Right, that's that out of the way.
What's next?
This is no time to mince
with words, Eddie.
We must be honest.
Richie is a lying,
cheating, vicious right-wing ***
with the *** sophistication
of a retarded donkey.
Which means you are ideally
suited to be
A journalist?
- Yeah.
- You mean
- join the ***?
- Become a journo?
Yes.
What shall we do for an encore?
Set fire to a hospital?
What you've got to do
is go and see Dingo Wucker,
the big Australian publisher.
'The men who wrote
that letter of introduction are here, sir.
'
Christ, yes, I remember.
What are their *** like?
'Er, they're men, sir.
'
Dingo Wucker.
Billionaire and ordinary bloke, g'day.
Richie Rich, major celeb,
amazing bloke, g'day.
Edward Catflap,
extraordinary fart impressionist, g'day.
- G'day!
- G'day!
Excellent credentials -
a letter of introduction
from Mrs Thatcher and Jimmy Tarbuck.
Thatcho and Tarbo, bloody great mates!
Forged, of course.
You wanna be journos
so there's nothing wrong with that.
I liked its audacity.
- Take a seat.
- Thought you'd never ask.
Take the weight off me plates,
put me bot on a spot.
Save my bunions.
Take it easy, boys.
"Bunions" is English for horrible feet.
They thought you said "unions".
You didn't say "unions",
you slimy English ***?
Maybe you did,
maybe you said "unions"
- I said "bunions", you fat
- He said it again, you ***!
We hate unions and you saved England
by destroying them.
How clever to move to Wapping
so that under Thatcher's new laws,
you could sack everyone
after many years' service
and when they gathered
outside your gates to protest,
how lucky we taxpayers were
to pay for thousands of police
to keep them from the cash
they earned for you.
- The bar closes in an hour.
- Does it? Oh
I'm thrilled to see you support
my anti-communist actions.
I'll get you an assignment
immediately from the editor.
He's in the copy room.
I know that
because I keep him on this string.
It's so I can be sure he has editorial
freedom from me, his publisher.
- Yes, Mr Wucker?
- The story on the chancellor.
Couldn't you work a bird
into it some way?
Oh, come on.
You're a journo for God's sake,
take some pride in your work.
- Who is this chancellor anyway?
- He's a government minister.
Ah, it's a he, eh?
Oh, that means he's knobbed
somebody recently, right?
Find out who, offer her �200 for a topless
and if she won't, rob her house,
pinch her photo albums
and find a ***-out sunbathing shot.
Er, I don't think Mrs Lawson's
ever been ***-out sunbathing.
Who the hell's Mrs Lawson?
How old is she?
- I dunno.
50, 55?
- Is she a lovable granny?
I doubt it.
I'm just not interested in women over 25
unless they're lovable grannies.
Don't argue with me about this.
I see our Budget coverage
as a six-*** story, maybe even seven.
- Seven ***?
- Yeah, profile shot.
Very tasteful.
See to it, Bill.
I've brought you
these two new cub reporters.
Dibby-dibby dob-dob-dob!
- Celebrity experts.
- That's us! Sha-zing!
You lucky, you've got something big.
Tell 'em, Bill.
Oh, Christ.
We had a call from the PM.
She's worried about all these pop stars
doing loads of charity work.
It would be a charity if they all shut up.
James Last and Roger Whittaker
are the only decent rockers.
Oh, I don't know.
The Wombles can certainly kick ***.
Shut your beer-suckers and listen.
Bob Geldof and Midge Ure alerted people
to the starving millions, right?
The PM is worried
that somebody's gonna click
that the starvation is actually caused by
rich countries screwing the Third World.
So, we're going to smear Sir Bob.
Ah.
Sounds saucy.
What are we going to smear him with?
Listen, we're going to get this do-gooder.
This is what I want you to do.
We hear that Bob Geldof
No, no.
Midge Ure.
- What?
- "We hear that Midge Ure "
- Look 'ere
- What?
We couldn't get Geldof for the show.
- We've only got Midge Ure.
- Midge "Urrrh"?
- "Urrre".
- Let me get this straight.
We have booked a man for my show
called Midge "Uhhhrr"?
He's all we could get
for a bottle of Woodpecker
and a snog with the stage doorman.
- I'm a semiprofessional actor.
- Get on with it, you old ham.
Doing this means
you'll probably get a panto next year.
We're getting reports
that Midge Ure is a Soviet agent
and he's having an affair
with Mrs Thatcher.
- I want the pics and the story.
- Juicy!
Where did we get this?
Squealer in the Ultravox entourage?
Don't be a moron, we made it up.
That way we can be sure of all the facts.
- Now, *** off.
- Right.
And, hey-let's be careful out there.
Right, Eddie-this is the plan.
I'll keep him talking,
you stick Thatch in his bed,
spread the Russian stuff around
and take pics.
While we're at it why don't we *** in
a goat or an underage chicken?
Please keep the diseased flushings
of your mind to yourself.
As British journos,
I hope we have some moral code.
Shut up and let's get on with
framing Midge "Urhhh".
I'll deal with the butler,
or maybe it'll be a maid.
He's bound to be
an equal opportunities employer.
- We might be on for a bit of sex.
- Yeah, that's bound to happen.
Goodness, my dear, you're attractive.
Get a load of this!
Shut up! Shut up!
All right, all right, so it's Midge Ure.
Don't behave like mindless sycophants.
He sells records
to a few screaming knicker-wetters
and you think he's God!
I work my guts out
and I can't even get on Blankety Blank.
Let's start again, shall we?
I'm a police officer.
Here.
This is a library ticket.
Is it? Oh, damn.
"Police.
" Right, there you are.
Oh, yes.
What can I do for you?
I understand you've been holding
all-night sex parties
in that bus shelter down the road.
Ridiculous.
I hold my sex parties
at Geldof's place.
- Ooh, do you? What's it like?
- Well
No, no, no
Nevertheless, I must ask you
to accompany me down the road.
You're making a big mistake here.
Not as big as you did agreeing to do this.
It is now the next day.
'And tomorrow is a historic day
for British justice.
'
The first execution
under the new Police Act.
A government spokesman
said bringing back hanging
was a return to traditional values.
There are plans to restore beheading
and the ritual slaughter
of innocents by druids.
The condemned man, Ralph Filthy,
a theatrical agent,
spoke out from his cell.
'I should like to thank all my clients
'for their many letters
and messages of support.
'
Unfortunately there haven't been any.
Also, if the landlord of Biggun's illegal
drinking joint and peepo bar is tuned in,
I left an unfinished drink
in the snug the other day.
Pop it over, be a looby.
A moving final appeal
from a man about to die.
You know
I've missed old Filthy.
Last December, with the meat cleaver.
Missed him.
Point-blank range
with my mum's air pistol.
Missed him.
It just goes to show,
if you want a job doing properly,
it's best not to drink
Oh, God.
That *** at Boots.
She insisted I paid for the photos.
I promised her a mensh
on my next show.
So I punched her and nicked 'em!
I'm enjoying the moral laxity
of being a journo.
- What are the pics like?
- I hope they're dirty.
I could do with a look at something dirty.
You're welcome to look at my duvet.
But be careful.
It ate the dog last week.
Eddie, these are brilliant!
Perfect sex pics of Mrs Thatcher
in Midge Ure's bed.
We're on our way to our first front page!
Bill the editor will be so proud.
- Wait, I've just had a thought.
- We should bake a cake.
Eddie's first thought.
It's rather a solemn moment.
Richie, there's something
unpleasant on your trouser area.
- What?
- My head.
Oh, bloody hell, that hurt, Eddie.
Ow, ow, that really hurt.
I must say, it was a lot harder
than I was expecting.
It's these photos, they're so sexy.
Maybe we shouldn't take them
to the papers,
maybe we should take them
to Midge "Urrrgh" himself.
How much do you think
he'd pay for them?
Are you suggesting we blackmail
the world's greatest rock star?
No, I'm suggesting
we blackmail Midge Ure.
- Hello again, Officer.
- Ha-ha!
We're not police officers, you dupe!
We're journos!
God, the ***!
- Yes, from the Daily ***!
- That's us! Our cards
Now then, Mr "Urrghhh".
Look at these and remember -
we've got the negatives.
- Yes, right here.
- Er, no.
We've got them in a highly secret place.
Not very nice are they? Let me paint
a picture for you, Mr Midge.
Imagine a record shop where
your new album has just come out.
I shall play a mother,
Eddie, my daughter Cynthia.
- Action!
- Oh, Mummy,
look at the lovely new Ultravox album.
Can I buy it?
He's so talented even though he sings
like there's a whippet down his trousers.
No, you may not, Cynthia.
Midge "Urghhh" is a filthy pervy,
I read it in the Daily ***.
Not a very pretty picture, is it, "Urrrh"?
Not really, no.
Of course, for 200,000 billion pounds
And the royalties from
your great single Shaddap You Face.
What's a-matter you, hey!
Got-a no respect
Shaddap you face
Fantastic, the only decent thing
you ever did.
- So if you give us all that
- No one need see these pics.
- That would be a shame.
- What?
You know the business, Rich,
you're a pro.
Things like this don't harm stars
like you and I any more.
In fact, a bit of scandal's
quite good for the career.
And I've not had much publicity
recently, so
great, go for it.
Publish.
- Edward?
- Yes, I think I understand.
Cop this, Mr Midge Ure.
God, how embarrassing.
Demoted on our first day.
Look at us now.
Reduced
to covering a common hanging.
What's more, it's only Filthy.
I wouldn't mind if it was
somebody interesting.
The condemned man
ate a hearty breakfast
consisting of 40 ***
and a bottle of Scotch.
Unfortunately we were unable
to comply with his last request
due to objections from the RSPCA.
- Bloody do-gooders.
- The prisoner will mount the scaffold.
Oo-er!
It is a far, far better thing that I do now
than what I have ever done before.
That can't be very hard.
Everything you've done has been crap.
Did you know that it's a scientific fact
that when you get hung
Yes, I did know that, Eddie, actually.
Ironic, really.
First one in 15 years
and I won't be here to enjoy it.
Only joking, Filtho.
Actually,
we're both very, very, very sad.
No sense in moping, is there?
No.
Perhaps you're right, Eddie.
I mean, after all, as I prepare to die
I have only one regret.
- Which is?
- I wish
- I wasn't being executed.
- Sounds reasonable.
Prisoner Filthy, it is time.
No, no, no! Hang on!
My flash hasn't warmed up yet.
See you in that great dressing room
in the skies, loobies.
Yeah, bye!
- Bravo! Well hung!
- Encore!
The government would like us
to warn children
that hanging is very dangerous
even though half of them
want to bring it back.
That's it, you lot.
Plenty more where this one came from.
- Marvellous!
- Wasn't it? Rather!
- Oh, God, you're alive!
- Of course I am, Richie.
I've got to be in the next series.
That's when you can force
your wages up.
But how?
I've got some great lines this week -
"You're alive" and "But how?"
Let's get to a bit with lots of me in it.
That bit of piping you gave me -
it's an old Newgate trick.
You stuff it down your throat
and it stops your windpipe
collapsing.
That's what I did.
But how can you have, Filthy?
The pipe is still in the cell.
Is it?
In that case it must have been
this safety harness that saved me, then.
Oh, God, what a rotten day.
Well, let's go home
and think about it, shall we?
Yeah.
I knew nothing good
would come of joining the ***.
Ohhh, yes.
It's easy to say something clever, isn't it?
Except it isn't really for you, is it?
Cos you're so thick.
Look, look, look, boys, shut up, shut up,
I'm trying to think.
Now, it strikes me
that what we should do
is take a leaf out of Midge's book
and do what he does.
What, wander about
with designer stubble,
wiggling our bots
like we just sat on a Magimix?
Edward, you seem determined
to ruin any chance
of being bought a drink by him
in the bar after the show.
He's got pots of money, you know.
Look, look, look, stop it, boys,
shut up, shut up.
All I'm saying is that if someone
as experienced
in the business as Midgey
says that all publicity is good publicity
then what we should do
is write about Richie.
Of course! Get paid to promote
my own career!
What are we going to write about
your fascinating lifestyle?
"Drunk has-been goes to the pub"?
"Fat failure cricks his neck
ogling girl's bottom"?
Well, it's better than you.
"Lobotomised blubber mountain
farts occasionally.
"
I'm not trying to be scandalous, am I?
Lots of what I do
is very fascinating indeed.
The gen pub would be very interested
in my outrageous exploits.
That's right, you tell him.
- Like what?
- What about my drug problem?
- Which is?
- We're right out of aspirin.
And I'm getting very fond of Night Nurse.
Great.
I can just see the headlines now -
"Richie Rich pinches
a four-ounce cheeseburger.
"'I spent all my cash on Night Nurse,'
"he wailed to anyone prepared
to listen, which was no one.
"
Can you boys have forgotten so soon
the first rule of journalism?
Lie.
Of course, just make it up.
It's got to be spicy and with it.
- Sex, drink, nightclubs.
- I've got it!
"Richie has sex and a drink
in a nightclub.
"
What about, "Richie has sex with
a knight while drunk in a club"?
Good.
What about
"Richie gets put in the club
"by a drunk during the night"?
Don't be ridiculous, that's far too chintzy.
What you need is innuendo.
Of course, and I am
the king of innuendo.
What about
"Richie grasps his whopper in a club,
"oo-er, his drink I mean, madam.
"
Fabulous! It's Guardian
Journalist Of The Year for you!
I'm beginning to have second thoughts
about this whole
"all publicity being good" lark.
I've been in the business a long time.
I can remember when Andrew Gardner
blew off on News At Ten.
"***.
Good evening, this is the news.
"
Tense moment.
The nation held its breath.
So did Anna Ford, I'm told.
What a nice story, Filthy.
Is it relevant?
Of course it's rel, Richie, darling.
Couldn't be reller!
Now, it seems to me,
that, as journos,
you are in a unique position
to destroy careers here.
Uh-huh-huh!
And, if you destroyed enough of them
- there'd only be
me left!
Exactly.
Are you suggesting
that we systematically smear everyone
in British show business
until there's only Richie left
so the BBC have to give him a job?
Why the hell not? I deserve
a lucky break as much as anyone.
Finished.
Well, as you know, boys,
I rarely get excited
but right now I feel like
I've been locked in an off-licence.
This must be the most
comprehensive piece of libel
in the history of journalism.
Everyone in show business
individually slandered
with you totally exonerated.
There can't have been
such a catalogue of lies,
half-truths and self-congratulation
since Ian MacGregor's account
of the miners' strike.
- Have we got everyone?
- Yep.
- Ooh, Vera Lynn?
- Vera Lynn.
Aha.
"Adolf Hitler's lover,
rumoured to be a man.
"
- Grange Hill kids?
- Grange Hill kids
Yes.
The love-children
of Jimmy Saville and Nana Mouskouri.
Outrageous! Lofty from EastEnders.
You know why they call him Lofty!
It's incredible, isn't it? We must have
the whole of show business there.
- From the very bottom
- Roland Rat.
to the very top - Benny Hill.
The guv'nor.
Benny Hill.
The Beeb's got Ronnie Barker
but ITV's got the guv'nor, Benny.
And still telling the same joke.
Y'know, I've seen the original
seaside postcard he got it off.
A national treasure.
Right, we've got the dirt,
let's show Mr Wucker.
This is absolute dynamite! We'll blow
every other paper off the street.
So, you're going to publish, then?
Publish? We're gonna publish
nothing else.
There are stories on the economy,
industrial relations and the NHS
but we can forget all that
cos this is a newspaper and nothing
gets in the way of showbiz gossip.
Quite right too.
After this lot I don't know
who the TV companies are gonna use.
We'll be on our way then, Mr Wucker.
Yeah, yeah, see ya Hey.
I suppose there's some
microscopic evidence
for all these allegations -
we only need the tiniest crumb.
Yes, Mr Wucker,
it's all completely and utterly true.
Oh, right.
Er, Mr Wucker, I just want it noted
that Edward Didgeridoo Catflap
said we had the proof.
Right.
How do you spell "***"?
Oh, dear, oh, dear.
Never worked so hard in me life.
- Get the telly on.
- Which channel?
It doesn't matter, he's on all of them.
'In a moment, Richtime,
'sparkling entertainment
from Richie Rich.
'Followed at 7:30 by Top Of The Riches,
'and at 8:00, Life On Richie,
a fascinating insight
'into the natural evolution
of Richie Rich.
'
Whoo-hoo-hoo!
'Richtime! '
Hello Mums, Hello Dads
Hello to all the family
God bless Gran, don't forget the kids
God bless the dog!
You're all nice people
in this nicest of worlds
But I'm the nicest of all
Because I'm in showbiz
Watch me now
Showbiz
I'm in showbiz
Showbiz
Showbiz
So drive safely and the best of British
The Best of British to you-ou
From me to everybody
Good old Riiichie Riiich
I think it's rubbish, I'm gonna vomit.
I can think of no higher compliment.
Shut up, I'm in this.
All the family.
Mums, Dads, Gran.
And, of course, the kids.
Don't forget the kids.
Look after Mum, kids,
and try and stay clear of the Loony Left.
Hello, yes, British Airways?
No, I cannot hold.
This is Ralph Filthy.
Yes, Richie Rich's agent.
Rio de Janeiro, yes,
thank you very much.
Made it!