Friday, 26 December 2014

The Two Bobs - Walking Home For Christmas

Written/illustrated by Andy Brain
Comedy titans Nobby "Bob" Lyons (shifty eyes, probing fingers) and Bobby Robert (static, resigned) are wandering across the city. It is late. They are both half-cut.
BOBBY: What a cock pile.
NOBBY: Not so bad.
BOBBY: We didn't get the money. Didn't even get BFH.
NOBBY: Not true - ooh - we did have a snifficantly large amount of booze -
BOBBY: That we grabbed from tables.
NOBBY: (running tongue around lips) And I got a snog.
BOBBY: You got a slap too. Silly bugger. It don't count if they're turned the other way when you dive in. Mouthful of ear wax.
NOBBY: All tastes nice and the danger adds spice.
BOBBY: Get us killed in the head you will. Christmas entertaining at the Palace of Pricks.
NOBBY: Ah, ah, you - one Bobby of Robertland - forgot your Jesus monologue.

BOBBY: That was my Jesus monologue.
NOBBY: It-it-it was - it was the same two words, a slim pair of identifiers, a word couplet, again and again and again and (dancing) say it again and ooh he said it again and again... (darting his head either side of a lamppost) word one, yes there's word two, ah word one, is it word two?...
BOBBY: You'd know about talking the same twaddle never shuttin' up.
NOBBY: (Tripping on Bobby's length of tinsel) Woah! Ooh - there was another good bit! You got the tinsel snake back. Good times!

BOBBY: That were the only bit that got laughs. The zip spring is a ruddy marvel.
NOBBY: My head is very warm. These streets are stretching, s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g...
BOBBY: Can we do the next show in a shoe shop? My feet are wearing through.
Nobby slumps down on the floor and breathes fast and shallow.
NOBBY: You may - ooff - wish to reverse your tootsies.
BOBBY: About to paint the town are you?
NOBBY: (Steeling his diaphragm) It's quite fun if I can hold it in til we get back. I can get the testing kit out.
BOBBY: You dirty bugger. Should have let it go in the bar. Belly laugh to remember!
NOBBY: (Gulp) We've come a long way, you and me.
BOBBY: Long way to go too. No fuckin' taxis we could rip off.
NOBBY: Old friend.
BOBBY: Cheeky sod.

NOBBY: Could you see your way - bleurgh - to finding me a good woman for the hour?
BOBBY: We have a Christmas angel and she squats next door. Makes nice hash cakes.
NOBBY: (Sigh) In the year to come, do you think we'll -
BOBBY: Sack our agent?
NOBBY: No - do you think we'll -
BOBBY: Get the debts written off?
NOBBY: No - do you think we'll -
BOBBY: Stop Hattie doing those bloody awful performance poems?
NOBBY: No - do you think we'll -
BOBBY: Meet some women who aren't pyros or kleptos?
NOBBY: No - although - hmm - do you think we'll -
BOBBY: Write some better jokes?
NOBBY: No - do you think we'll -
BOBBY: Stop you perving about the shop?
NOBBY: No - do you think we'll -
BOBBY: Overthrow the government?
NOBBY: No - do you think we'll -
BOBBY: Bring peace to the Middle East?
NOBBY: No - do you think we'll -
BOBBY: Develop gas stench-powered space-ships and meet aliens?
NOBBY: No - do you think we'll -
BOBBY: Go to the footy in our gas stench-powered space-ship?
NOBBY: No - (retch) doyouthinkwe'll reach the heights?
BOBBY: Dunno. It's fun doing what we're doing really. Being poxy in people's face. Better than standing on the line packing fruits.
NOBBY: ...We do OK.
BOBBY: While the pills are working.
NOBBY: Give me a hug, old Bobby.
They embrace in a man-hug, and unfortunately Nobby loses his battle with the contents of his stomach. Bobby pulls away muttering choice words and whips off his now soiled T-shirt. He ties the length of tinsel around his chest like a Jodie Marsh belt-bra and continues on towards home, followed by a staggering Nobby who is scraping the sick off his tongue with his fingernails. Only another two miles to go.

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