Smales and Swagger
Recap for the slow of study:
Penny and Gerald are a wealthy, elderly couple. They have recently been told that an experimental and vigorous sex life will extend life in a fun and exciting way. They have been experimenting with bondage and aphrodisiac food stuffs. While Penny pops to the butchers to get some cleaner bacon, Gerald is left manacled to the bed.
In the meantime, GP and TV Personality, Doctor Hilary Portions, has popped in with a tin bath full of Japanese Doctor Kiss Fish in order that Gerald’s penis can be cleaned in a therapeutic way and, in order to overcome reluctance on Gerald’s part, has manacled himself to the bed frame alongside him. As both dangle their dongles into the water, Gerald notices a gigantic conger eel curled up in the corner of the bath beginning to stir.
Gerald looks down to the bottom of the tin bath. His face suddenly goes from worried to panic. He nudges Portions with his shoulder and nods at the bath frantically.
Gerald: Keep still, Portions, keep still. Make as little movement as a nasally congested pensioner stuck in the middle lane of a traffic jam who has had the misfortune to have been transported to the South Pole and has become frozen solid.
Portions: But why, man, why?
Gerald: Because, unless I’m very much mistaken that’s a conger eel in the corner down there.
Portions: Oh stop it, Swagger. That’s no conger eel down there.
Gerald: It isn’t?
Portions: Of course not. During my career as a celebrity television doctor I’ve seen plenty of conger eels demonstrated in front of the waking viewing public by Attenborough, Bellamy and Mr Tumble.
Portions: No. In my opinion, that’s a killer electric eel.
Portions: Really? Is this predicament – ah, turning you on?
Gerald: No it bloody isn’t. I’ve got my fucking knob in a bucket full of highly conductive water with an electric eel in the bottom. Giving you a quickie is the last thing on my mind. Don’t move. Stop twitching.
Portions: I can’t help it, I can’t help it! I think it’s the danger, Swagger.
Gerald: Wait. That gives me an idea. If we both tell each other our filthy, most sexual, dirty, fantasies, perhaps the…arousal will…lift us out of dangerous waters, so to speak.
Portions: Raise the portcullis and salute the flag, you mean?
Gerald: Yes, yes, that’s the idea. You begin, I can’t think of anything, Portions.
Portions: Neither can
I. You’ll have to do it. Quick. That eel
is starting to charge itself up.
Gerald: Ah, erm…I know…that girl off morning TV with the big knockers, stripping in a field. She takes off her top and bounds towards us, flinging her bra into the wheat…she bends over and shouts: ‘take me, big boy, take me…’
Portions: (staring down with surprise) Good grief. It’s starting to work, it’s starting to work…I’m almost clear of the water now…
Gerald: Me too, Portions! Your turn. Keep it going.
Portions: Er…er…Judy Finegan!
Gerald: (horrified) Oh no. What did you say that for? It’s going down again, it’s going down!
Portions: Oh my God, now all I can think of is Keith Chegwin standing naked in a tub of fast setting cement, Swagger.
Gerald: The eel is on the move. Help! Help!
At the moment the two men start screaming and rattling their bonds in panic, the door opens stage left and into the fray enters the middle aged, uniformed Police Constable Clumpfoot. He stares, bemused, at the sight of the two naked men before him then reaches for and takes out a notebook and pencil from his pocket. He rubs his eyes as if scarcely able to believe what he can see, stolidly ignoring their cries for help.
Clumpfoot: Now then, now then, what’s all this, then? What’s going on here?
Portions: Help, constable, help! Don’t just stand there.
Clumpfoot: All in good time, sir, all in good time. I was called on account of there being complaints of noises and an affray in this here area, sir. I’ll need to take down the particulars, sir, if you don’t mind.
Gerald: Never mind that, officer, we are in danger of our lives! Release us!
Portions: Please, Constable, please - I definitely felt a shock just then!
Clumpfoot: (licking his pencil) I think that the general public will all be in for a shock, sir, when they see this sort of filth going on. This is a respectable area, sir, if you don’t mind. Now can you kindly explain how you came to be in this predicament and why you was calling out in such a profane manner, sir? Here…aren’t you that Doctor Hilary off Sunshine Television?
Portions: Yes I am, constable, and if you don’t release me this instant I will do another expose of corruption in the Met.
Clumpfoot grumpily starts to obey. He replaces his notebook agonisingly slowly and produces a set of keys from a pocket, limps over to the terrified men and starts to pick the lock of Portion’s cuffs.
Clumpfoot: My missus don’t like you. She says your hair looks like a thatched cottage after a hurricane. All the straw gone missing with only a few bits left patching up the timber, she says.
Portions: Does she?
Clumpfoot: Yes she does, sir. Says the only things you know anything about is pimples, warts and boils, sir.
Portions: I see.
Clumpfoot: If you come on, sir, she turns over to the other side.
Portions: (finally released) Good for her.
With a contemptuous glare, Portions leaps off the bed. He picks up and replaces his trousers as Clumpfoot moves to Gerald’s cuffs. Gerald is still sweating with fear as the constable dithers with his keys, looking into the tin bath, portions watching on anxiously.
Clumpfoot: That’s a tiddler.
Gerald: It is cold, constable…
Clumpfoot: No, that electric eel. I saw a much bigger one on television yesterday, fighting with Mr Tumble. You do have a big cock, sir.
Portions: (nudging the constable impatiently) Hurry, man!
The nudge causes the constable to drop his keys into the tin bath. There is a loud splash.
Clumpfoot: Now look what you’ve gone and made me done, sir!
The constable looks dismayed at Portions, then into the murk of the tin bath. He reaches in to fish the set of keys out. As he does so there is a loud electric sizzle, a flash, some smoke and Constable Clumpfoot is knocked to the floor where he lies, motionless, helmet akimbo.
Gerald: Oh my God!
Portions: (bending down and doing professional doctorish activities, then looking up solemnly) He’s dead!
Gerald: You’ve killed him, you stupid twat! What are we going to do now?
Both men stare into the tin bath, then to the prone constable in horror…