Act II Scene I

[...and so, after all that "commercial" fare, we sally forth into Act Two of our little production, "...And Ruth Creased The Yellow Curtain". From hereon, the Free-Form Mutant Neologists and Silly Word Absorptioneers (mainly Shelfy That Ol' Bear and the Gold Lamé Skeleton, if I'm not mistaken) are once again allowed to RAIN SOUP REAMS and it all gets a bit cryptojoycean for a while. But watch out for amusing surprises ne'ertheless...]
 

...And Ruth Creased The Yellow Curtain
ACT II SCENE I

(Midnight in Gorky Park, Porkigark. Dunx The Clot is seated in a comfy chair. Throughout the whole of this scene, he repeatedly mutters the word "Scrotum", to himself and anyone who cares to listen. A pair of bearers walk across the stage carrying a stretcher, on which lies a chained-up escapologist, possibly in a box. Enter Narthor the Lizard Suited Extremist, clad in singlet, button-flied leggins and his "Wagner" Opera Helmet, a fascinating garment modelled on the traditional knitted protective helmets worn by Sigmund's arch enemies, Der Rhein Stoned Cowboys. With this item of millinery, one can relive the days of the Nibelüngen Dwarves in the comfort of one's own home - note the special magnetic nose facility for retrieving Rheingold - Ah yes! Clothing! The eternal question of how to look good and be comfortable!)

NARTHOR THE LIZARD SUITED EXTREMIST: (announcement) Ladies and gentlemen, the story so far... Dennis and Val Halla were caravanning through Germany when, in the small Bavarian village of Krätzmüln, they were given a bag of tangerines by a speaking tree called Isuldür. Upon eating the tangerines, they were transformed into grotesque trolls called Üm and Laut. For a hundred years, üm and Laut lived in their caravan, collecting rings and Howitzer spares. One day, a man called Wotan knocked at their door and gave each of them an elaborate magnetic false nose. Before Wotan left, he showed the trolls a magic sign. Unfortunately, the trolls thought that Wotan had said "canaries", so the magic sign was thrown onto a pile of car batteries and left there for the best part of eternity. Brünhilda, half-sister of Grünhilda and Rötlichilda, owned a fish and chip keller in Berlin, frequented by Helmut Korkstein, who worked as a pilot, flying Dutchmen to Lagos. Brünhilda's half-brother, Siegfried, had half a cousin called Roland, who's mother knew a singing postman called Richard Wagner, who thought he'd write an opera about the whole thing... Now carry on...

(Exit Narthor the Lizard Suited Extremist. Enter The We-Can-Do-Better-Than-That Creature, Cording The Red Thruster Cluster Of Cloaks, and The Part One Beasty, a modern fakir. They sit on a bench and start to eat nosh sandwiches, like the three 'chaps' that they are. Two other people, dressed as fried eggs, meet centre stage)

FIRST FRIED EGG: Is that you, Dave?

SECOND FRIED EGG: No! It's Greg! Have you got the grenades?

FIRST FRIED EGG: Oh bugger! I forgot them!

SECOND FRIED EGG: Prat!

(Exit both Fried Eggs)

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Oh! Fetch me the turbulent Pete Bog of Yam-Yahs, before the cloakroom jets off to Stomach Land in its Aston Martian V1 d'Luck... peel me a mastodon and be a ghostwriter for Goldie the Egret's biography. My nipper brought it back from Brighton...

THE PART ONE BEASTY: Before you hang up your sack shirt, come out on the front lawn and heave mallets at the verminous Kanga-Weasels!

CORDING THE RED THRUSTER CLUSTER OF CLOAKS:
(sings folky-like)
So the lawn it is aged-oh!
And brane the bird!
Your mind it is an ocean-oh!
And your body is the kelp....

THE PART ONE BEASTY: Eat phornmoshepson, eat an aide! Mallet beater! The police!

(Exit The Part One Beasty to the sound of distant sirens)

CORDING THE RED THRUSTER CLUSTER OF CLOAKS: (conspiritorially) Sorbo-limpets beat the cormorants out of Hugh Crayon The Orange Juice Hydrant... Bitter, bitter, the cut of a moth's cubicle, in the snow, with the lid off...

(Enter Hugh Crayon The Orange Juice Hydrant, a lovable nark, pulling behind him the Mathematical Art Gun, which suspiciously resembles an oil drum mounted on a shopping trolley)

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Is it they? As Finite, in Finite as Schfelt?

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Farbar the Tarmo Lumotron ignites iguanas in India for the public... Sarne! Park them haemogoblins in a masonic trough, by the Occutrons!

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Click taps at Startling Point "B"... bite Christmas... store mattresses in accumulations...

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: (glances entertainingly) So! The frozen remains of ten-thousand mammoths sing before The-The the Nissen hut?

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Two Frimpo Parlands don't make a choc-implosion!

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Grenchy Real-Time starvation garlands of fat black paper! Love looks good in an igloo factory... Colin Toad, in a Drably Country, wines and dines the glue factory. Dune Lisbon on a stately cruise in a limbo trainer... short snakes drag Listons... Baron Barometer twirls Mark Ury, hairs in a presenture...

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Stiff milligrams in the Horn of June... Stark fat man's blunt edge cuts the ptarmigan... Scrule!

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: The Master Soulsucker, a river dirchy-rover, chromium-placated Demi Sphere on the shifting sands of time... overtly aquiline, but foregoing Karmic surgery...

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Alright! Rebel in a plastic nose!

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: The problem barbarian annoys me skillfully... Why insert blood into a matchstick bird? Suddenly, it all seemed so fertile, my mind bartered for a summer vision of glue lagoons... Was it all those years ago, when Adaptosaurii roamed the verging wilderness?

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Crunchy frog, dancing in the Lumo-Gaz... Beware! Authoritarians at work!

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Starminutes, collapsing truthfully through clothing, make a deal with God... Liowla!

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Pair of overhauls!

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: McAnattamee!

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Put the kettle on Lianah Turner and hear her whistle! Hiccough a boatswaine... and little lambs eat Dali! Cholaborate?

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Chocomorana! Partner tart, stymie the cormorant with a clear fasterpiece... Filter boats in a cardboard coat. Stride out through the oatmeal, be irridecent, if the laugh's not too cheap... Here! Bite on these batting averages, Wintergreen Pummeller!

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT:
(breaks into song)
Gently, tender falls the rain,
As we float lightly in our stone gondola,
Between the steppes of the Ukraine...
Cadaceus mends his Studebaker
And wanders off again...

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: (breaks into conservatory) Rain tuition on the Stomach Masters!

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: This could be the storing of a Guitarmatron, repeated in its entirity in our next episode...

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: The Great Gas Board Dream!

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Securicor in the gloaming!

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE:
(sings)
Eat the days
And drain the nights away,
Frighten an Elasticron
With a buttery charger...
Help me make it through the newt!

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Patty the wooden squat-ma!

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: So this is where we get?

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Oh? Dreaded Niagara Slinking Moths feel humble in the net and realise that the coop is not the ultimate...

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Pieces of blades are being made in a garrotte in Chelmsford... Reality sandwich is the only truth and Nelson is for sail...

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Sulphate cocktail on the endless dynasty of guilty rhythms, speaking in endless brick dialogue... Brown steam airscrews lean outwards from the train, revolving in the stream of dreams, as the tickets harmonise, ankle-deep in synthetic cream, shooting schemes of long-gone sheep... as hoboes steal out along the tracks, Greek players step across the bay into Greek monolithic Baba...

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: The harbour...

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: The steps...

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Dial a number... any number... and you will realise that any number can be added to the sum of the sun...

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Old paddle boats list with ancient nautical beans, timeless sea captains...

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Endless strainings on bent hawser wire cause vibrations to deep-sea pauses in natural earth motions, steaming bulbs hiss sincerely in the aftermath of deadly combustion!

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Deadly combustion!

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Standing in a public haystack, doing degrees in girls' legs... Bicycle winds, rattling Finnish traps, sparkling pins varnished in crust of Summerbugs...

(Enter a couple of Fraudulent Gurus, Yoginanda Bear and Babu. They assume lotus positions and start to issue forth some words of cosmic wisdom and that)

YOGINANDA BEAR: Cross your legs and hope to die!

BABU: Silence is like an explosion without the noise...

YOGINANDA BEAR: We should all go down to the lake at midnight, take off our clothes and jump into the air - and stay there!

BABU: But Master... If you are me and I am you and we are they... who was the Lone Ranger?

YOGINANDA BEAR: Eat tripe... it's full of life force...

BABU: (pulling trick face) 'Ow long yer bin doin' this Transcontinental Mediation then?

YOGINANDA BEAR: Silence is like an explosion without the noise... (notices trick face) It's called the Lion Posture... It makes yer more 'andsome!

BABU: (assumes telephone posture) Hello? I'd like to book a plane for my consciousness...

(Yoginanda and Babu levitate off stage on wires.)

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Harleston Min Tornes-Torneson... If you get bored with music, this is how to use your turntable as the basis for a carousel!

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Eat, drink and stroke hairy mints... file in a Campbell, third on a linnet...

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Mean Green Itching Time!

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Fillet meal ridiculous!

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Armament!

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Guitars are great! If you cut yourself up small, you can hide in them!

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Ten eels and a wrinkled old sea-pharaoh... Salt sea is a saline solution... and Pippa the Quick-Release Vampire Bat!

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Try rosettes like a sliced rose, say I'm an office rocker!

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Ask a symphony of questions of my feeble candle-radar.

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Win-A-Train!

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Fill-A-Killer!

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Eiffel awful!

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Socks with guy-ropes, in the common-law shoe shop...

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: (he stipends) Voron! Make mine mezzotint!

(Hugh Crayon The Orange Juice Fire Hydrant lowers his towering trunk and sucks the hornet. Water-horses gore and grumble at 43p a Cosmic Dozen. A wet snail recognises Joan, in the crowd of punters. Guitar Heroes melt butter over dustcarts for a living. Fact resembles fiction, in the context of low-rise Ziggurenes. Dosmo McIllroy burns photographs. Kip Kano flies west.)

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT:
(sings)
Standing on the coroner,
Being flatulent
As the girls go by...
Yeah! I'm-a Mannon The Coroner!

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Scream cream vehemence into the nest of chick torpedoes!

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Remain oystered to the glass-fibrosis square platform! Oh no! My shoelace is undone... and I must be at the nuclear weapons reduction talks in half an hour!

(Enter Master Of Ceremonies Craig Hearn, having told "The Scargill Joke". The We-Can-Do-Better-Than-That Creature and Hugh Crayon The Orange Juice Fire Hydrant are nailed to the Spot, who will not enjoy that one little bit.)

MASTER OF CEREMONIES CRAIG HEARN: Every few years, we are privileged to witness a truly great new act. This evening we are proud to present a very talented lady from the snowy Alps of Switzerland, who, we feel, in the future, will be an international star...

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Have no fear citizen! This is definitely a job for...

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Miss Duraglaze 1942!

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: ...And I will tie up your shoe lace, Mr Five-Star General and save the world from nuclear doom! Bottle the bee, klepto-cat! Throb the Mole on the mat... do we want any Knowledge of the Ancients, Horace? Nisi Dominus Erustra, Unique quo fus et gloria decunt, Ceteris Rhombus Status Quo, Honi soit qui Malibu Veni Vedi Vici Communicamus Pendita, Hieronymus Bosch Sub Judith, What Ho Brobatio! Antilopes anus, e pluribus unum amo, amas, amat, amasking tape, Quad capitalit in Aeternum Modo Delores, dermatitis...

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: I dreamt about snakes, last night... dozens of them, learing at me from the top of the wardrobe... and I was naked, apart from a string of yoghurt cartons, strung 'round me neck... and then they lunged at me en-masse... I could see their red eyes gawping at me nakednes... and then I woke up... and would you believe it? The was a tin of Zubes on top of the wardrobe! It's bloody weird! Bloody uncanny!

MASTER OF CEREMONIES CRAIG HEARN: Remember where you heard her first. A big hand please, for Brünhilde Krauss And Her Wonderful World Of Paper!

(The We-Can-Do-Better-Than-That Creature and Hugh Crayon The Orange Juice Fire Hydrant applaud enthusiastically. Enter Brünhilde Krauss, clad in that morning's Daily Herald and clutching a heap of appropriately-sized periodicals. Craig Hearn sits on the floor wherever he was standing.)

BRÜNHILDE KRAUSS: Goot Evenink ladies undt gentleherren, boys undt girltz! I voot like to show zome amusink tricks, utilisink ze pieces of paper... In Japan it is called the art of Oregano... In my country, vere it vas first performed, it is called "Das Pfumf Zügzüg"... Here you see an ordinary copy of yesterday's "Der Taglischer Spiegel"... By folding it thus ve heff... Ze mighty Alps!

(Ecstatic applause from assembled cast members)

BRÜNHILDE KRAUSS: I zen fold ze page of adwertisements into zree like zo... Undt look! Ve heff... Heinrich, ze popular cartoon sailor from ze "Kauderwelsch" television series!

(She takes another sheet of newspaper, tears a hole in it and sticks her hand through it, making a beak-like gesture)

BRÜNHILDE KRAUSS: Undt zis is mein cuckoo clock!

(Ecstatic applause and frenzied hooting from assembled cast members)

BRÜNHILDE KRAUSS: Mein cuckoo clock says zat it is zweio'clock undt zo...

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Solo on the floor! Your romantic biscuit barrel has sensuous insects-full of intersecting surfaces, like Creme de Meth...

CORDING THE RED THRUSTER CLUSTER OF CLOAKS: (Yes, I just checked, he's been here all the time!) At the age of four hundred and seventy-one, I became aware of my elbows... In my next incarnation, I realised I had feet! Forked beasts... same goddesses... pay for leaflets... shame!
BRÜNHILDE KRAUSS: Undt now I vill blindfoldt meinself undt step into zis vassertank...

(All perform rather theatrical and fake gaspings of surprised terror as Brünhilde disappears behind a curtain and makes splashing noises. Craig stands up, remaining fixed to the spot)

MASTER OF CEREMONIES CRAIG HEARN: (in dramatic hushed tones) Brünhilde has asked me to tell the audience exactly what will happen in the next minute...

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Shame, Maxine Gorki! Touch raw wood-bacon!

MASTER OF CEREMONIES CRAIG HEARN: (falsetto stage whisper) This trick is incredibly dangerous and, obviously, it would be folly to try this at home... Brünhilde is now totally immersed in the tank of water and she is busily folding her copy of The Times... It is, by the way, today's edition, bought by myself at my local newsagents', early this morning... When she did this trick in rehearsals, I just couldn't believe it... Ah! Something's happened... She is rising out of the tank... And just look at that!

(Brünhilde emerges from behind the curtain, dripping wet and thoroughly papier-mache-ed, but otherwise looking unremarkable)

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Thrat glooble, emit crat! Beorn gom unit, wom the bat! Why am I surrounded by such incontinence?

HUGH CRAYON THE ORANGE JUICE FIRE HYDRANT: Tune Go-Normans into the forked beans! They stick into your duodenum and go, "Ding Dong! The pod full of Oldsmobiles, full of starting fluid...", but Subor The Clattering Stratosphere said, "No kinkajou, Vera Mach III!"

MASTER OF CEREMONIES CRAIG HEARN: (unable to contain his excitement) Absolutely amazing! Wow!

BRÜNHILDE KRAUSS: Zank you! Zank you! Undt gutten tag!

MASTER OF CEREMONIES CRAIG HEARN: (barely able to contain his excrement) Ladies and Gentlemen... Brünhilde Krauss And Her Wonderful World Of Paper!

(All applaud Brünhilde as she exits, dripping, followed by Craig Hearn, drooling)

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Bite the strap off a nobody's whistwratch! Light the bald end of a neurotic manfrog!

(Enter The Mutant Ego Bloodlet Fish and Concorde Kidney Man)

THE WE-CAN-DO-BETTER-THAN-THAT CREATURE: Ailment Versus Crabber... Dish Moo-Moo Gabber Binkson! At the phone, Egon Blankson, Thratter Dish! How's yer dawg, Mrs Elephant?

CONCORDE KIDNEY MAN: Can you spare the price of a cattle egret, guv?

THE MUTANT EGO BLOODLET FISH: Can you spare the price of a cartographer's egret-glove?

CONCORDE KIDNEY MAN: The sea is grey at no time! Smearo The Hyper-Quail was only born yesterday! You can tell when it's a Thursday! Pituitary Gland? But you are Terry Gland!

(Exit Concorde Kidney Man)

CORDING THE RED THRUSTER CLUSTER OF CLOAKS: (aside) Grant me foam pompoms for my hat, good Queen Bess! I have scaled the oceans of the universe, in search of golden trinkets suitable for containing after-shave or road-bonks. How's yer dawg, Mrs Elephant?

(Exeunt all except Cording The Red Thruster Cluster Of Cloaks, who sits on a trolley. Enter the Mayor of Glasgow to open The Result Of All Human Endeavour. He makes a speech to this effect)

THE MAYOR OF GLASGOW: Ta Tum Tum Great Endeavour, Ta Ta Ta Tum Tum Last Forever!

(Exit The Mayor. Enter A Blues Singer From North End.)

A BLUES SINGER FROM NORTH END: (sings)
Carryin' this heavy road, Hmmmm!
I met a man who said,
"Hello Ian, I'm Lenny Bruce,
Use one of my hands
When you're playing draughts or chess!"
Adelaide for a moment
Before answering.
I'll never get out of this face alive,
I'm rasping for a goalie, Oh Yeah!
How's yer dawg, Mrs Elephant?

(Exit A Blues Singer From North End - Ooh look! Here come The Mutant Ego Bloodlet Fish and Concorde Kidney Man again!)

THE MUTANT EGO BLOODLET FISH: Civilised sea-mist in a jam-jar explodes!

CONCORDE KIDNEY MAN: A motorbike/china dog combination?

THE MUTANT EGO BLOODLET FISH: (he repukes) Southampton energy! Alienate the course of the sun and play yer moon-spoons sorta laid back...Huh!

CONCORDE KIDNEY MAN: Satanic mass engineers batten down the clarifications and specialise in jet hat-racks... Go wash your third eye in Sudso!

THE MUTANT EGO BLOODLET FISH: Ants deface the strawberry love carpet! He said I was the microcosm of the macrocosm... so I hit him!

CONCORDE KIDNEY MAN: You are what you hit! Mucozade!

THE MUTANT EGO BLOODLET FISH: Tempestuous gush of cosmic fire for sale... Buyer collects...

(Exit Concorde Kidney Man and The Mutant Ego Bloodlet Fish. Enter the very famous and very pissed Ken "Carwash" Grindle)

KEN "CARWASH" GRINDLE: (drunken slur) Have you got a hacksaw?... Heh heh heh! She was only the butler's daughter, but, my god, she could clean a radiator grille! Heh heh heh! Settle down now... or I'll 'ave to clean yer bloody car! Heh heh heh... You will notice in my dietary system, the frequent use of pickled gherkins... That's a small species of cucumber, missus! The crowned prince of the pickle world... Pickled gherkins are a prime source of Vitamin R22 and Fliboraven... Heh heh heh! What goes "Ninety-nine... Clomp! Ninety-nine... Clomp!"? Heh heh heh! A centipede cleaning an AEC Matador.... Aye! That's right, missus! The definitive family motor car!... Bloody hell! I've 'ad a skinful tonight... Bloody HSB... 'course, up north we drink that Wicklesnede's T treacle Stout... Thirty-seven pints of that and you can kiss yer backside goodbye! Anyway... on with the show... Is that a tight corset yer wearing, or 'ave yer wallowed a bottle of ZipWax? Heh heh heh! The next act is all the way from the bloody planet Splootglerk... They're a lovely couple... Heh heh... definitely a two-car family... direct from their tour of Germany, on the overnight ferry... Bridport's answer to Pearl Carr and Teddy Johnson... something you don't see a lot of these days... A 'Scatological Juggling' act... I'm sure you all know what 'scatological' is... so with no further ado... Scatology at its best... Le Grand Spasmo and the sexually explicit Lottie!

(Enter Le Grand Spasmo, in full oriental Ali Kazam magician get-up, and his glamourous transvestite assistant, Lottie, both of them covered in liberal amounts of pigeon shit. As you might imagine, we'll need lots of newspaper down on the floor for this bit. He juggles with the excrement of various creatures, a wide variety of sizes and consistencies; he is nothing if not versatile. He spins plate-like cow-pats, "Le merde de la vache", on the ends of poles. He pulls miles of toilet-paper from his pockets with a flourish. Another pocket contains something of the consistency of porridge mixed with brown food colouring. A sign is held up by Lottie, saying "Iguana Droppings", just in case we weren't sure. A member of the audience is asked to verify that this is, indeed, iguana guano. Lottie brings on a donkey. Spasmo waves a magic wand and says "Abracadabra!" The donkey shits on the stage. Spasmo is blindfolded and juggles with the donkey poo, whilst whistling "Old Man River". He pulls a rabbit from a chemical toilet, this too is covered liberally with brown porridge-like substance. All of this happens with lots of showbizzy panache, with "Dabba Dabba Dab" muzak in the background and with Lottie gesturing provocatively, like all glamourous assistants are supposed to. They end with a flourish and to massive applause, as we have come to expect)

CORDING THE RED THRUSTER CLUSTER OF CLOAKS: (off his trolley) That was crap! Bring on the Skelton lads!

(Exit Cording The Red Thruster Cluster Of Cloaks, dragging the trolley behind him. End of Act II Scene I then. Curtain.)