I would like to say that i feel the verb "to be" seems very unnecessary.

Now i will follow with a rant entitled "Is is unecessary? or is unecessary?"

I think its safe to assume that things ARE. Ive never encountered anything that wasn't. You beautiful, you so sexy. It sounds a bit clunky, yes thats just cause aesthetically, you have an addiction to inefficiency and stating the obvious. What you have not yet realised, the thing thats truly beautiful, time savings.

When you say I, it's already assumed that you exist, after you say "I something" no one is ever wondering "wait wait wait, when you talk about yourself in this story, do you or dont you exist? You havent addressed this yet"

Whats this need to constantly remind us of your existence.

A Raunchy Sketch

A furniture warehouse. A helpful looking man is standing confidantly by a sumptuous looking bed frame. A couple approach him.

Man: Hi there, looking to buy a bed, are we?

Husband: Yes, yes we are. We've just got married, and our current mattress is very uncomfortable.

Man: And you would like a new bed.

Husband: Yes please.

Man: Well... what about this one here?

Husband: That looks nice.

Man: Doesn't it. Feel the mattress.

Husband: Ohh... Spongy.

Man: Yep.

Husband: Do you mind if we try it out?

Man: Not a problem... (starts to remove shirt)

Husband: Umm... I meant me and my wife....

Man: Of course, sir (starts to button up shirt).

Husband: Actually (slightly put out)... maybe we'd like to try something different.

Man: Certaily sir (starts to remove pants)

Husband: I meant a different mattress.

Man: Aha (puts pants back on). Like this one here?

Husband: That looks good.

Man: Yes, it's a very popular number.

Husband: I can see us and by us I mean my WIFE and I, and no one else, being sleeping very soundly in that.

Man: I could probably see you sleeping very soundly in it also sir.

Husband: You could?

Man: Yes, my apartment overlooks yours, you see, and you don't have any bedroom curtains.

Husband: That makes me slightly uncomfortable.

Man: Oh. I thought it was the mattress making you uncomfortable.

Husband: And now I think it's the curtains.

Man: I see your point.

Husband: And I wish you couldn't. Can you direct me to the curtains department?

Man: No.

Husband: No?

Man: No idea, maybe you should ask one of the staff (runs away)

End in T minus 5 4 3 2

A mother and son are sitting silently on seperate couches in a lounge room, there are five minutes remaining till the end of the world.

Mother: Did you read that email from your uncle finally?

Son: No not yet

Mother: He would have really liked to have recieved a reply from you before the end

Son: Yeah I had other things on my mind Mom

Mother: It would have been nice for him to go knowing that you had thought of him

Son: I think for once it's alright to be selfish and just be thinking about ourselves

Mother: For once? Really? Just this one time?

Son: Stop it, you should be thinking of yourself as well

Mother: Oh don't be silly, i wont be missed

Son: No one will be missed!

Mother: im just saying it would have been nice...

Son: fine, ill send him a quick email

Mother: just a few words

Son: he probably wont even get it in time

Mother: its really the thought that counts

Son: theres only like a minute left, he'll only see it if hes online right now

Mother: its a nice gesture

Son: anything to just get you off my back

*getting and going the the desk and typing sounds*

Son: There. Its done. Am I a nice person now?

Mother: Did you say you loved him?

Son: No mother, he's an uncle.

Mother: What does that mean "he's an uncle"? He's family. I used to always tell my uncles and aunts I loved them

Son: That was a different time mom, an uncle loving time, all you had to do back then was drive in old cars and love uncles.

Mother: Tell him you love him, just put it at the end

Son: I already sent it! Im not going to send him another email that just says "I love you" that would weird.

Mother: No one will know

Son: I'll know, it might be the last thing that ever happens to me

Mother: He's your uncle

Son: Fine. *typing* Iiii Lllllooove yyyyouuuuu, send! There are you happy?


Then explosion sound

Trifle? Frypan?

An army sergeant comes into his superior's office.

Sergeant: Sir: Wish to report on the progress of the war.

General: Excellent, proceed Bodkin.

S: We are in a rather tenuous position, sir. We have had 1700 casualties so far today and no sign of a break in the enemy line.

G: Good god, man. That's terrible. What's going on? Is it those rolly chairs sergeant? I told them men to be careful on those.

S: No, sir. Only twelve fo the casualties have been due to rolly chairs. The majority are due to bullet related injuries.

G: Boxes of bullets falling on them again? I've made it clear they should be kept on the ground.

S: No sir, only 26 of the casualties are from boxes falling on the men. A further 38 are from men tripping over boxes left on the ground. The vast majority are actually arising from the men being shot by the bullets.

G: Someone letting bullets shoot guns now, eh? Bloody stupid thing to do.

S: No, sir. Your policy on that issue has been rigidly enforced with only a couple of lapses. What seems to be occuring is that the enemy, sir, who have their own bullets and guns are using the guns, sir, to shoot the bullets in our direction, striking the men and causing injury.

G: Hmmm. So much the same as yesterday, then.

S: Yes sir, and indeed every other day of the war.

G: Pathetically predictable, in a way, isn't it, Bodkin.

S: Yes sir. Pathetic.

G: Still, if that's the way they want to play it then I suppose we shall have to counter them. Have the men been taking any measures to avoid the bullets?

S: Avoid them sir?

G: Yes, you know, see a bullet coming, step to the left. Duck down a bit. Turn to the side.

S: I believe so, sir. The problem seems to be when they step to the left there is often another bullet coming towards that same point. So they get struck anyway, you see.

G: Hmmm, so it's almost a case of, out of the frying pan, into another, similar frying pan just next to said original frying pan.

S: I suppose so, sir.

G: Net improvement in frying pan situation, nil.

S: Yes sir.

G: What if they were to hold up the frying pan to protect themselves, instead of standing in it.

S: That might work, sir, but for the fact that this is a metaphorical frying pan. Created by you, only moments ago.

G: No protective value, is that what you're saying, Bodkin?

S: None, sir. Not against real bullets.

G: Aha. But if the bullets were metaphorical...

S: Even then, sir, the quality of metaphorical cast iron these days would mean the metaphorical frying pans offered little protection against metaphorical bullets, particularly armor piercing metaphorical bullets which are being used nowadays, sir.

G: Blast.

S: Indeed sir.

G: Perhaps a strategy is in order.

S: A strategy would, sir, at this stage me most popular with the men, sir.

G: Excellent, well, get some peaches and some cream and we'll see if we can't get one going.

S: Sir, I don't think what you are describing is a strategy.

G: No? What is it then?

S: A peach melba, sir. Or trifle.

G: That's it! A trifle. But then the men already have those, don't they.

S: They have rifles, sir. Not trifles.

G: No trifles?

S: No, sir.

G: Well, there's the problem! Get rid of those bloody rifles, get the men some trifles!

S: If you say, sir.

G: They can keep them in those frypans.

S: Yes, sir.

Donald Trump-et.

Karen: So, Mr Wilkins, you are applying for the position of sales manager.

W: Yes, which is to say, yes, yes I am.

K: I see, well, how about you start by telling me what you can offer this company.

W: Well, I don't like to blow my own trumpet, but I have a very nice trumpet.

K: You have a nice trumpet.

W: Yes.

K: How do you see this helping the company?

W: Well, if you had something you wanted to sell, I thought I could go outside on the street and blow my trumpet and sort of say 'Buy this'! It's great!

K: Mr Wilkins, we tend to focus on the print and televisual media... not trumpets.

W: Well, I think the trumpet idea still applies, regardless of the medium. You could put a picture of the trumpet in a newspaper, and it would catch people's eye. I imagine they would think 'gosh, look at that trumpet' and then underneath you'd write 'Cool things for sale' and give a PO box number, or a fax.

K: Mr Wilkins, your resume said you had years of experience in online marketing.

W: That may have been a typo.

K: I see. What was it supposed to say.

W: Level six jazz trumpet.

K: Mr Wilkins, I'm afraid you quite clearly have no qualifications whatsoever for this job.

W: No, which is to say, no, I don't.

K: You're a dim witted clot you just happens to have an unhealthy obsession with brass instuments.

W: Actually it's tin, but I take your point.

K: But, that being said, you're the only applicant we've had who isn't asian, so it's a pleasure to have you on board.

W: Gosh, thanks!

K: We'll be in touch.

Wilkins leaves the room. Outside a friend is waiting.

F: How'd it go?

W: Got it, no worries. I just hope she doesn't check up on that trumpet thing.

An average phone call that left him feeling so-so

ring-ring ring-ring

Waltman: Mike Waltman Speaking

Nurse: Mr.Waltman. Im calling from the hospital regarding your father.

Waltman: Yes?

Nurse: Im sorry to say, he passed on

Waltman: Oh my god

Nurse: It was a very difficult night last night

Waltman: Did he suffer?

Nurse: Terribly

Waltman: Oh lord

Nurse: We were unable to knock him out. He endured an inhuman amount of pain.

Waltman: Did he go quickly at least?

Nurse: Mr.Waltman, It was slow beyond comprehension. Too long for any person to be writhing in agony. Much too long for... anything.

Waltman. Oh Jesus.

Nurse: I'm so sorry

Waltman: Did any of my siblings make it in time to be with him and my mother?

Nurse: Your brother was here for a while

Waltman: But my father died with just his wife by his side?

Nurse: There was no one in the room with your father when he died. He was alone, with the door shut and the lights turned off.

Waltman: So no one heard his last words? How could this happen? Where was my mother?

Nurse: Your father had been screaming for hours. Making accusations, renouncing everything and everyone. Your father had a lot of regrets.

Waltman: And my mother?

Nurse: She left after he said he blamed her for ruining his life by getting pregnant and not aborting the fetus.

Waltman: Oh... god. Something in the dying process must have been affecting his mind

Nurse: I really can't see how. Your father came in with cardiac problems. His heart was under a lot of strain. Most likely regret-induced strain.

Waltman: So my dad died of a heart attack?

Nurse: The official cause of death is unhappiness, a percieved unfortunate series of events, a poorly led life.

Waltman: I can't verbalise how awful this makes me feel.

Nurse: I'm sorry

Waltman: May I ask what the last thing he ate was?

Nurse: Your mother brought in some creme brule

Waltman: That was his favourite. Its nice to be able to find some comfort in that

Nurse: he threw it up immediately

Alchemy at the butchers.

Ding ding. A man comes into a butchers shop. Behind the counter is a butcher, looking jolly.

A: Morning Tim!

B: Morning Eric. How's the family

A: Oh, good, good thanks. How are your boys?

B: They're fine, fine. Although it turns out Liam, the youngest, is actually a girl.

A: Oh?

B: Yes. Can't believe I missed it really.

A: We had a similar thing with our salamander. Apparently it comes from keeping the aquarium too hot.

B: That would be it then. Now, what can I do for you?

A: Well, funny you should ask. I was actually after some bread.

B: Bread?

A: Yeah.

B: Not really my line, Eric. I'm more in the meat side of the equation.

A: I thought you might say that. It's just that since the bakers closed down it's been a little difficult to get a hold of.

B: I understand the conundrum, mate. But I wouldn't know where to start.

A: Hmmm. I don't suppose it's possible to slice meat in such a way as it becomes bread, is it?

B: Not really.

A: What about a marinade?

B: A marinade that converts meat into bread?

A: Yes. Maybe you could do something with red wine and garlic.

B: I don't think so.

A: What about mincing? You sometimes get breadcrumbs in rissoles.

B: True. True. But I think you'll find that the breadcrumbs are added in later. In fact, they come from bread, rather than being a by-product of the mincing process.

A: Really?

B: Yep. It's the grated carrot and onion that come from the mincing.

A: Is that a fact?

B: No.

A: Hmmm. Well, I don't know what I'm going to do. I've got a barbecue this afternoon and people are going to be expecting bread.

(how can this end?)

Gritty Custard.

Gritty Custard.

A: Hey! Check this out

B: Check what out?

A: Well, I was just mucking about in the shed and I put this together,

B: Wow. what is it?

A: Not really sure, but if you press this button it squirts out a thick film of sort of gritty custard.

B: I can see how that would be useful.

A: Well, if you pull this lever it plays the chorus from "Breakfast at Tiffany's".

B: Oh, okay, that's pretty good I guess.

A: Yeah. Look, you can use this hard surface here for smashing the tops of beer bottles.

B: Hmmmm. Does it come with batteries?

A: That's the beauty of it. Yes.

B: What's that smell.

A: There's a possum stuck in there. It think it's distressed. I guess that's another function, it distresses possums.

B: And what's that sort of short pointed stick thing.

A: It's for getting stones out of horses hooves.

B: Lose it. What's it called?

A: I'm torn between 'The Tooth, The Tooth!' and iPod 2.

B: What about 'JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAART'

A: Done.

Maybe revise this sketch and make it about someone who has invented 'gritty custard' and is trying to sell it to a food company. He could have a jingle and everything. I think the problem is that I'm trying to write this while watching television. And I don't have a concept before I start writing. This needs to change.

Die in your sleep. Do it.

Guy: Baby, I had a dream we were at a show and you just died.

Gal: Oh babe, Dont worry, it was just a dream, go back to sleep.

Guy: Yes I know it wasn't real, but can i not have some mourning time please? I just watched you die, I'd appreciate a little sensitivity.

Gal: Hey, Im the one that died

Guy: Yeah exactly, your pain is over. You got to die in someone elses sleep. How easy is that? Whereas I have to live with your dead body on my conscience. Physically laying on it.

Gal: Im right here you know

Guy: Yes I realise that, and do you know how hard that is on me? I haven't even come to terms with your absence yet. I'm pretty sure it's rude to force your reappearance on someone who isn't ready. Jesus, I didnt realise we were going to be dealing with some kind of indian giver god.

Gal: That's racist, and you dont believe in God

Guy: True but I think he's great as a comedic device, isnt he?

A really quite stupid sketch.

A: Mr Williams, do come in.

B: Thankyou, doctor.

A: Not at all, now, what seems to be the problem.

B: Well, It's rather embarassing.

A: Well, you can tell me anything, I am a doctor after all.

B: Okay, well, I've been having this pain in my groin for some time now.

A: Hmmm... is it a stabbing pain or a aching pain.

B: More stinging.

A: Hmmmmm... Well, let's have a look. If you could take your pants off.

B: Hmm... yess. I thin I see the problem here. You have a bed and breakfast in your crotch.

A: A what?

B: A bed and breakfast. A small accommodation establishment that offers a fixed rate for a room overnight and a cooked meal in the morning. In fact - yes, you can smell the bacon and eggs.

A: Good god. Is this common?

B: I'm afraid so, particularly at this time of year. It's the demand for accomodation from tourism. It's not uncommon for a retired couple to open a B&B in a restored edwardian cottage, but because of the aging population they're overpopulating and you find them opening up everywhere, barns, drains, dry creek beds and, more and more these days, in the nether regions of the younger generation.

A: This is awful.

B: Look, they'll probably die off from natural causes sooner or later now, let's see if we can't get a look at them ... if you wouldn't mind pulling back your foreskin... Ah, yes. there they are. Having a cup of tea by the looks of things. Hello there! Mr and Mrs Richards is it? And to you.

B: How did I catch this?

A: Well, have you visited any RSL's lately?

B: Not that I can think of.

A: Well, do you know anyone who may have? They tend to hitch a ride in long, unkempt hair.

B: Oh, that would be my cousin larry. He maintains poker machines.

A: There you have it.

B: Is there anything I can do to get rid of them?

A: Well, you could try visiting myer. They tend to wander off and get lost in the cosmetics section, but a lot of people quite like it.

B: What, having old people in their pants?

A: Well, they're good tenants, and Mr Richards is a dab hand at topiary so if you ask nicely he could sculpt those pubes into a duck or maybe a reindeer for christmas.

B: Ummm, well, if you think it's okay... i might give it a go. Thanks, doctor.

A: You're welcome.

(door closes)

A: Actually, come to think of it it was probably just pubic lice. Oh well.

MORE SATIRE!!!

1: This horse is broken.

2: Oh dear. What happened to it?

1: Someone must have dropped it...

2: Dropped it? it's a horse! You can't pick it up!

1: Hmmm, well, maybe it fell off something.

2: Like what? We're in the middle of a field.

1: Maybe it fell out of a tree?

2: Hmmm... While I accept that a horse, if it found itself in a tree, would probably end up falling out, the idea that a horse would get into a tree in the first place is, in a word, farcical. Are you being wilfully stupid?

1: No.

2: So what happened to this horse?

1: I know. It must have jumped over that hedge and fallen over.

2: Why on earth would a horse jump over a hedge that high?

1: Maybe it lost a bet?

2: Stop it.

1: Sorry. Well, I guess we'll never know. Inscrutable, these magnificent beasts.

2: Hang on. What's that you've got there?

1: Where?

2: In your hand!

1: Oh, it's an apple. A braeburn.

2: The other hand.

1: Oh... this? Umm... it's a back scratcher. For horses.

2: It's a whip.

1: Tomayto, tomarto...

2: You were riding that horse, weren't you. You made it jump over that hedge.

1: NO! But also yes. Yes I did.

2: For the love of god... why?

1: Pffffff.... gags?

2: You absolute wanker.

1: Guilty as charged.

Really gotta mix up the style for the next one. This dialogue shit is getting tedious.

Lock into my eyes

I walked outside this morning to find that someone had stolen my bicycle lock.
A saw must have been used because there on the ground was , or two unicycles.
The lamp post the bike had been leaning on was left completely undamaged, Thinking ahead I would only ever lock the bike to itself, in case someone ever did try to steal my lock, no council property would be damaged. You're very welcome Mr Mayor.

That was my favourite bike lock, I recieved it for christmas as a child and I rode it for years,
It wasnt until years later my parents bought me a bicycle.
It was a simple enough transition because there are so many similarities between riding bicycle and riding a bicycle lock:
- First of all, once you learn to ride a lock you never ever forget.
- Both can be riden by putting the instrument between your legs, except the lock can also be riden like a skateboard, a single engined aircraft or a ouiji board.
- When riding either mode of transportation it is important to alert people on the street of your inevitable over-taking, using sound, usually dinging. However because my lock was not equiped with a bell, if I was flying along on my lock and I saw that I was approaching someone, I'd begin a series of hooting and howling, and if that recieved no acknowledgement of my incoming I would carefully take one hand off my lock, focusing hard on keeping my balance, and proceed to pound my finger tips into the center of my palm, essentially clapping with one hand, making a slightly louder than expected sound.

Satire.

1: Oh dear. I've got some bad news. The building is on fire.

2: Really? On fire? Where's your evidence?

1: Over there, where you can see that flame, that's a bit of the fire.

2: Oh, that's probably just natural burnoff. Part of the natural cycle. At any given time some bit of the building is always on fire. I read that somewhere.

1: No, I think it's caused by the gas heater you left on.

2: Good luck proving that one. Mate.

1: Well, the fact remains that the building is on fire. What should we do?

2: Well, I don't accept that the building is on fire.

1: Well, I've done a poll and 80% of the people in the building think it is on fire and it is caused by you leaving the gas heater on.

2: Fine. I'll deal with it.

1: Great...

...

...

1: Umm, what are you doing?

2: I'm dealing with the situation.

1: How? The building is more on fire than ever.

2: Well, I just sent an email telling everyone that the building is NOT on fire. That should fix those polling numbers.

1: Hmmm. I don't think you understand. This isn't a public perception issue.

2: Everything is a public perception issue.

1: Except this.

2: Fine. Fine. What do you propose we do?

1: Well, we could switch off the heater for a start...

2: That's crazy. You can't just switch it off. people will get cold. I tell you what I'll do, I'll catch all the flame in bags. That way it won't be able to hurt anyone.

1: Catch the flame in bags. Right. What kind of bag could possibly catch a flame?

2: I'll work on that. See if we can't come up with a special sort of fireproof bag we can stash all this fire in.

1: This is stupid. That will take ages. I'm leaving.

2: leaving the building?

1: Yes.

2: You can't do that!

1: Why not?

2: Well, because then the metaphor breaks down.

1: Fine, i'll just sit here and play with this polar bear.

2: You do that. I really think I'm getting somewhere with this bag idea.

Walking the Planck

M: Oh. Shit. Oh, damn.

B: What is it now, Max?

M: Oh, I've just discovered that light is quantised.

B: Really? That's amazing!!

M: God this is embarassing.

B: No, no that's fantastic!

M: I suppose this will overturn years of scientific thought...

B: I should think so! It will revolutionise the physics of small scale interaction!

M: Shit. This is just like the time I broke the washing machine.

B: Look. Stop it. Can't you just be happy?

M: And I've got this bloody constant everywhere...

B: What constant.

M: Well, that's the thing. It's Planck's constant.

B: Your constant.

M: Yes. See, now everyone is going to know it was me...

Hahahahah.... ah. ah. ah...

The Parent Trapese...

Brenda: Hi, Mum, Dad... This is Michael.

Mum: Hi Michael! Such a pleasure to meet you at last!

Michael: And you Mr and Mrs Godwit

Dad: Beer? Champagne?

Michael: Oh, not thanks. I don't drink.

Brenda: Michaels a Nazi, aren't you, Michael...

Mum: What?

Michael: No! No... What? Miranda, I'm a Buddhist!

Brenda: What did I say?

Michael: You said I was a Nazi!

Brenda: Oh. Whoops, sorry! Slip of the tongue!

Michael: Yes, well. Just to be clear, I'm a Buddhist. Not a Nazi.

Dad: I'm sure So, any trouble finding the place?

Michael: No, I was fine. Fine.

Brenda: Michael ran over a pensioner.

Michael: No I didn't!

Brenda: Didn't even look back. Ran her over and just kept driving.

Michael: Brenda! What are you saying!

Brenda: I'm explaining why you work in marketing...

Michael: You just accused me of a hit and run murder!

Brenda: Oh, really? I meant to say you're father was in sales...

Michael: They don't even sound the same!

Brenda: I'm sorry, i've been an absolute mess ever since we had that meeting at the bank.

Michael: I hate the jews.

Me and the King

King: Knock Knock, King Here.

*door opens*

Fellow: Oh hello King, What do we owe this honour to?

King: Well, I heard you were to be wed tomorrow, I've come to give your fiance my blessing

Fellow:

King: Im here to sleep with your bride

Fellow: hmm... Im new to this kingdom, I should have known you have weird taxes

King: Yes, I know, Its a dreadful bother; Im entitled to the first, and five percent of what ever you get... per anum.

Fellow: I see

King: Compounded monthly

Fellow: Right.

King: Have you heard of the new plumbing system we're installing?

Fellow: No

King: Well we noticed everyone was disposing of their waste in their own seprerate, creative ways. Wasting it if you will. We wont have any of that in this kingdom. We want the lot.

Fellow: Have it

King: Dont fake dismissiveness. I know what you are thinking. Im the most ruthless ruler of them all, arent I? A kingdom where subjects arent even entitled to their business, it's ludicrous! Go on, tell me i'm the worst... come on... tell me....

Fellow: You're the worst

King: Great! I knew it. Oh thats wonderful. Listen, I wont bother blessing your misses tonight, im in too good a mood. But Im still taking my 5 percent, alright?

Fellow: Alright

King: My God im Ruthless.

Hmmmmm.... We are doing well, aren't we?

Here in the savannah, we can observe many of the adaptations with which nature has blessed its beasts of the field as they go about their daily business.

Here we see a spangled mole rat applying for an extension on his mortgage. See the way he uses the claws on his powerful hind legs to point out the equity still untapped in his other investments. His family will get that extention they've always wanted.

Here a family of Meerkats is avoiding that annoying aunt that invites herself to dinner. One cat will stand watch by the water feature to alert the others. In this way the family can take it in turns to relax, and organise that album of wedding photos that's just been sitting around the place.

Finally, the carry-over champion of the jungle, the Golden Macaque. He swings effortlessly from singles bar to singles bar, enchanting the females with his stories about the time he met Keanu Reeves at the melbourne cup.

What was That?

Woman: Why did you make me tell you about all my past boyfriends??

Man: So that I could find out what kind of woman you really are!!! A very good one apprently, Ive been hearing great things

Woman: From who?

Man: Your exes, really great guys. Im surprised you let them go

Woman: Babe, are you kidding?

Man: What? I can be cool about this, I can be "one of the girls"

Woman: Maybe i dont want that

Man: But maybe you do. You most likely do. Guys like girls that are dudie.

Woman: Dudie?

Man: Tell me about your tampons

Woman: How about we go to sleep

Man: I know thats what the guy who's writing this sketch is thinking

Woman: Ooookay... Good night

Man: Good night Baby, I dont think he had any good ideas anyway. Left it too late i think.

Advicium OverReatorum

Mother: You should give your girlfriend some jewelery. Give her a nice golden necklace with a diamond. A small delicate necklace, because she's delicate

Son: Yes Mother but she's also very strong, what should i give her for that? A steel chain and a rock?

Mother: Are you done?

Son: She's also quite sharp Mother, perhaps I could get her a razor blade bracelet? Or a big cow broach for how much of a pushover she is?

Mother: You dont like advice do you?

Moss - time

Albert Mossman likes moss. He is a moss wrangler at the Melbourne Zoo. Actually, he doesn't just LIKE moss. He should probably get some help.

Albert: (to a passer by)
See the moss?

(to another passer by)
Spagnum just coming into rutting season - check out the young sporophytes vying for position

(A woman and a child come up to the enclosure)
Fan of the moss, Mam? The youngster will be interested to see the Bryopsida; a frisky little beast, it punches well above its weight in the social order.

Lady:
Moss has a social order?

Oh indeed it does. See old silverback there? The Andreaeopsida? He's been top moss for years now, got all the best bits of soil, he has. But then there's Bruno, the Polytrichopsida. He's smart, and strong, and wants to get a taste of the finer things, if you know what I'm saying. Some of the young lady mosses can be quite the tease if you catch my drift... waggling their archegonia about like it's the fall of rome. HA

Child:
Are they like lichen?

Albert:
(Slaps child on back of head. Child falls on face. Lady does not see what happens) Hmya!

Lady:
Good lord! Jeremy! What happened!

Albert:
The young man took a tumble. Probably distracted by the vast breadth of the Bryophyta family. It can take them like that, sometimes, the breadth. Anyway, as I was saying...

Lady (Hustling the bewildered child away):
Don't worry Jeremy, we'll go see the Meerkats.

Albert:
Oh you fucking would, wouldn't you, you tart! Go on, go look at the braindead little rodent twats!

(during this rant the head of the zoo, Mr Phatgibbon, has come onto the stage)

Albert (Seeing Mr Phatgibbon and thinking on his feet):
Oh, Mr Phatgibbon! I was just directing some customers to the gift shop.

Mr Phatgibbon:
I see. Look, Albert... I think we need to have a discussion.

Albert:
Well, it's not a very good time for me, Sir, got a bit of a rush on at the moment.

Mr P:
Well ... actually you don't. Actually the moss is the least popular exhibit at the zoo. And that's kind of what I'm here about.

Albert:
OOh, I see, I didn't realise we were running a popularity contest here. I thought we were bringing the wonder of natures beasts to the doorsteps of the people of Melbourne.

Mr P:
Well, ok don't get like that Albert. But say you're right - then we have to deal with the fact that moss isn't technically an animal. And that most people, if they looked, could find an exhibit growing on their doorstep.

Albert:

You find cats on people's doorsteps. Doesn't stop Fenya with her...

Mr P:

Fenya's lions are the pride of the Zoo.

Albert:
This is just FUCKING TYPICAL if you'll excuse me sir. You want ears, stupid little paws. Action! Well, if it's action you want, what about the time that Acroschisma escaped and attacked that chinese woman?

Mr P:
There was a significant body of evidence that suggested you were the one who attacked Ms Tan. The zoo was lucky she was too terrified to press charges. Albert, I'm afraid the board has asked me to close the exhibit.

Albert:
HA! The board. The board can kiss my archegonia.

Mr P:
Albert, this is going to happen. I'll be signing approval papers for an extension to the Meerkat enclosure tomorrow.

Albert:
MEERKATS!

Mr P:
Yes, Albert, Meerkats. It's a pity, because I always had a soft spot for lichen (He turns to look out over the Moss enclosure)...

Albert:
Lichen!!! Lichen!! I'll give you lichen you warm blooded parasite! (He pushes Mr Phatgibbon into the enclosure)

(Sound effect of man being attacked by moss plays. Screams. Occasionally a hand is or a leg is seen being flung up over the edge as Mr Phatgibbon tries desperately to escape. But there is no escape)

Albert:
That's it, my pretties. Feed! FEEED!