Blackadder's Christmas Carol Page #4

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All right. Whoo-oo.

Hail, Queen Asphyxia,

Supreme Mistress of the Universe.

And hail to you, my triple husbandoid.

I summon you here to groupgreet

our swift Imperial Navies home.

Approach, Grand Admiral of the Dark Segment

and Lord of the High-slung Bottoms of Zob.

Morning.

To you, Blackadder, Thrice-endowed

Supreme Donkey of the Trouserpod,

this much greeting.

I, too, Bold Navigator,

cringe my dribblies

at your resplendent pofflesnood.

That won't be necessary, thank you.

Approach, your slave, Baldrick.

For God's sake, if you're going

to wear that ridiculous jockstrap,

at least keep your legs together.

Wilco, skipper.

Majesties, I give you this much greeting.

- What news of the foul Marmidons?

- Scattered to the Nine Vectors.

And the Sheepsqueezers of Splatikon Five?

Have they been suckcreamed

as a quanbeast's nubole?

They're dead, if that's what you mean.

Commander, did you vanquish

the Nibblepibblies?

No, my Lord Pigmot, I did not

vanquish the Nibblepibblies,

because you just made them up.

Damn it!

Excellent, Commander.

You have most pleasantly

wibbled my frussetpouch.

Bring forth the gift with which you honour me.

Majesties, from a place

where the stars begin and end,

I bring you this.

Oh, lovely, an ashtray.

Come, Majesty, he wastes our time.

I yearn to attend "20,000 years

of the Two Ronnoids" on the box podule.

- Send him to the sprouting chamber!

- No, wait!

- What is it, Commander?

- I'll show you, shall I?

Now, Your Majesty, I must respectfully insist

that you hand over to me

the Supreme Command of the Universe,

sew a button on my spare uniform,

and marry me this afternoon.

I thought you'd never ask.

Ha, ha. So let's get this straight.

If I was bad, my descendants

would rule the entire universe.

Maybe, maybe. But would you be happy?

Being Ruler of the Universe isn't so great.

The long hours, having to wave at people,

you're no longer your own boss.

So what if I stayed good?

What then does the future hold?

I must put my foot down here.

I've got four hauntings

and a scare-the-bugger-to-death to do.

- Whoo-oo.

- No, no.

Hail, Queen Asphyxia,

Supreme Mistress of the Universe.

And hail to you, my triple husbandoid.

I summon you here to groupgreet

our swift Imperial Navies home.

Approach, Grand Admiral of the Dark Segment

and Lord of the High-slung Bottoms of Zob.

- Hail.

- And your slave.

- What's his name?

- I can't remember, Your Majesty.

No matter, Supreme Marshal of the Smells,

what news of the foul Marmidons?

- Good news...

- Excellent!

..for the Marmidons.

They wiped out our entire army.

Sorry, I got confused

and dropped a bomb on our lot.

Silence, squidling.

Bring forth the gift with which you honour me.

Oh, damn! I forgot the bloody present.

So one way, it's glory everlasting,

the other, it's wearing Baldrick's posing pouch.

Simplistic, but it points to a clear lesson.

- Namely?

- Namely...

..the rewards of virtue are largely spiritual,

but all the better for it.

Doesn't it point to the clear lesson

that bad guys have all the fun?

Absolutely not. The rewards of virtue

are infinitely more attractive.

Picture it.

Quiet evenings in your hovel, alone.

A Bible. Your own turnip!

Oh, well that makes all the difference!

- So you're going to be a good boy?

- Absolutely.

Would I lie to you?

Whoo-oo, whoo-oo.

Whoo-oo, whoo-oo.

Mr Blackadder.

Looks like Father Christmas

just forgot about me this year.

Dear me, but don't be too unhappy,

because if you look very carefully,

there's something in this stocking from me.

It's something I made for you.

That's the kind of pressie

that shows the most love.

What is it, Mr B?

I've made you...a fist.

Yes, it's for hitting.

What's wonderful about it

is that you can use it again...

..and again...

..and again.

- Well what do you say?

- Thank you, Mr B.

Think nothing of it.

I, after all think nothing of you.

Oi! Git face! Penny for the season?

Hark, do I hear the voice

of a darling little cherub at the window.

No, I must have imagined it.

Shall I get that?

No, leave them in the snow until I get dressed.

I'll only be about 40 minutes.

Door.

Compliments of the season, sir.

We've come to sing merrily

and give you a small pudding. Three, four...

God bless Mr B at Christmas time

And baby Jesus, too

If we were little pigs we'd sing

Piggy Wiggy Wiggy Wiggy Woo

Piggy Wiggy Wiggy Wiggy Wiggy

Wiggy Wiggy Wiggy Wiggy Wiggy Woo

Oh, Piggy Wiggy Wiggy Woo

Piggy Wiggy Woo

Oh, Piggy Wiggy Wiggy

Wiggy Wiggy Wiggy Woo

- Utter crap.

- Thank you very much, sir.

- Do we get a Christmas treat?

- Indeed you do.

- What?

- A door in the face.

Here you are.

Mr B, you can't send them out

into the world with only a small pudding.

How right you are, Baldrick. Door.

Thank you.

- You know what I'm hoping?

- What?

I'm hoping that this is all a merry Christmas jape,

and you're going to go

"Yo ho ho" and give me a mince pie.

Close your eyes, Baldrick. Open your mouth.

Yo, ho, ho.

- Cooee.

- Ah.

My dear Millicent, come for her dinner.

And she seems to have brought

the fish course with her.

Who, my dear, is the huge halibut in the trousers?

I think it's me.

- This is Ralph, he's my fianc.

- We're in love.

Oh, dear.

Ill-conceived love, I should warn you,

is like a Christmas cracker.

One massively disappointing bang

and the novelty soon wears off.

Shut up.

Oh, Mr Blackadder, what's happened?

You've changed from the nicest man in England

into the horridest man in the world.

I was thinking the same thing myself.

When spoken to.

I would explain,

but I fear you wouldn't understand,

being blessed with a head

emptier than a hermit's address book.

As for you, can you keep my goddaughter

in the manner to which she is accustomed?

Oh, yes, absolutely.

Oh, splendid!

Congratulations. Good day.

Out!

Baldrick, I want you to take this

and buy a turkey so large

you'd think its mother

had been rogered by an omnibus.

I'm going to have a party,

and no one's invited but me.

- Cooee!

- No peace for the wicked.

Mr Ebenezer, I was wondering if you

had perhaps a little present for me.

Or had found me a little fowl

for Tiny Tom's Christmas.

I have always found you foul,

Mrs Scratchit, and more than a little.

As for Tiny Tom's Christmas,

he can stuff it up his enormous

muscular backside.

- But he's a cripple.

- He's not.

Occasionally saying, "Phew, my leg hurts"

when he remembers to wouldn't fool Baldrick.

It did, actually.

However, if you want

something for lunch, take this.

It's a pound a lump and, as luck

would have it, there are 17 lumps.

- Thank you.

- What about my Tiny Tom?

If I was you I'd scoop him out

and use him as a houseboat. Good day.

Mr B, where's the milk of human kindness?

It's gone off, Baldrick. It stinks.

Whoever that is, slam the door in their faces,

otherwise I'll slam your face in the door.

Hello, small dwarf fellow.

Is this the house of the great philanthropist

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