Corn flakes,
Pancakes,
Coco Pops and toast,
These are the foodstuffs that we love the most.
Melon,
Muffins,
Muesli and more,
These are more things we aim to pour.........(into our bowls).
Breakfast in the morning,
Breakfast at night,
No matter really, as long as there's no fight....s.
Early mornings,
Lie-ins,
Ones in the middle about ten o'clock,
Not much rhymes with clock except cock.
*Yeah, yeah. Uh uh uh. Big rappa stylin, dis is MC Ready Brek and le DJ du Croissant. Bringin' you da breakfast rap.
Get up in da mornin, kickin wit yo breakfast hos. They so sexy. Bounce, bounce.
You like eggs? You like bacon? Switch it up, baby. See what we're makin.
Yaaaaaaa, we call dis da fry up.
But you need a few more stuff dan dat. Check it. You need -
Tattie scones, bitch. Black puddin, yea? Bratwurst, if you is German, sausage if yo is not.
Haggis?! Dat shit's naaaaasty man. You not gonna get that crazy sheep gut shit near dis boy.*
[Shut it dos-boy.]
Wednesday, 6 June 2007
Our Play - Scene 3
Scene Three
The Duke awakens from his stupor on the floor. Noticing a cool draft, he pulls his tiny, tiny toga tightly around himself. He totters over to the window to make sure it hasn’t blown open while he was unconscious. Satisfied, he turns away again but screams like a little nancy girl when he notices the late Duchess standing behind him wearing what can only be described as a bright canary yellow cape, her hair styled neatly into two great buns at the side of her head.
The Duke – Oh!
The Duchess – Yes. Oh, indeed!
All of a sudden, a music box sitting in the farthest corner of the cavernous hall of plenty springs to life playing its eerie music, which echoes around the deadly silent hall and penetrates through the Duke and the Duchess.
The Duke – Oh! My dear! What are you doing here? I thought you were dead.
The Duchess – I am dead, you nonce. Why else would i be transparent? Clearly you didn’t pay much attention to me when I was in the land of the living.
The Duke - Oh, my dear. Of course I paid attention to you when you were alive, i could hardly miss you. You voluptuous dog, you. Now where has that butler got to with my soup?
(The Butler enters carrying a silver pot of hammy soup)
The Butler – Soup sir? I mean – oh, soup sir?
The Duke – Oh thank you, my man.
(The Duke eats his soup)
(A pause)
The Duke throws his empty bowl on the floor in a rage, grabs the Duchess and starts to spin.
The Duke – Let’s dance my snugglebunnyfluffs! Oh!
The Duchess – Oh, you rogue!
The Duchess jumps free from the Duke’s grasp. Puffing and panting, she points a furious finger at her husband. The Duke is struck by lightning and falls to the floor, charred.
The butler barks.
The transparent spirit of the late Duke floats from the charred heap on what can only be described as a stunningly tiled parquet floor (much like the floors of the Italian kings of yore).
The Duke – Oh! Oh, oh, oh, oh no! Ooooh!
The Duke awakens from his stupor on the floor. Noticing a cool draft, he pulls his tiny, tiny toga tightly around himself. He totters over to the window to make sure it hasn’t blown open while he was unconscious. Satisfied, he turns away again but screams like a little nancy girl when he notices the late Duchess standing behind him wearing what can only be described as a bright canary yellow cape, her hair styled neatly into two great buns at the side of her head.
The Duke – Oh!
The Duchess – Yes. Oh, indeed!
All of a sudden, a music box sitting in the farthest corner of the cavernous hall of plenty springs to life playing its eerie music, which echoes around the deadly silent hall and penetrates through the Duke and the Duchess.
The Duke – Oh! My dear! What are you doing here? I thought you were dead.
The Duchess – I am dead, you nonce. Why else would i be transparent? Clearly you didn’t pay much attention to me when I was in the land of the living.
The Duke - Oh, my dear. Of course I paid attention to you when you were alive, i could hardly miss you. You voluptuous dog, you. Now where has that butler got to with my soup?
(The Butler enters carrying a silver pot of hammy soup)
The Butler – Soup sir? I mean – oh, soup sir?
The Duke – Oh thank you, my man.
(The Duke eats his soup)
(A pause)
The Duke throws his empty bowl on the floor in a rage, grabs the Duchess and starts to spin.
The Duke – Let’s dance my snugglebunnyfluffs! Oh!
The Duchess – Oh, you rogue!
The Duchess jumps free from the Duke’s grasp. Puffing and panting, she points a furious finger at her husband. The Duke is struck by lightning and falls to the floor, charred.
The butler barks.
The transparent spirit of the late Duke floats from the charred heap on what can only be described as a stunningly tiled parquet floor (much like the floors of the Italian kings of yore).
The Duke – Oh! Oh, oh, oh, oh no! Ooooh!
Our Play - Scene 2
Scene Two
The Butler stands in the kitchen, muttering to himself whilst spooning some ham into a big pot. He’s making soup, don’t you know. A kettle boils in the distance – a metaphor, perhaps, for the boiling rage inside the Butler himself.
(The Butler barks)
The Butler stands in the kitchen, muttering to himself whilst spooning some ham into a big pot. He’s making soup, don’t you know. A kettle boils in the distance – a metaphor, perhaps, for the boiling rage inside the Butler himself.
(The Butler barks)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)