How to Murder Your Wife Page #5

It wasn't. That's the idea.

- But I was wrong!

- We were all wrong.

Sure, America has taken

The Brannigans to its heart.

And for the first time,

women are reading the strip.

My wife just loves it now. Spilling

the soup - she says it reminds her of me.

Anyway, Stan boy, the thing is,

we were all wrong.

No, you weren't all wrong.

It was a mistake. A tragic mistake.

That's why I called the meeting.

I still don't understand. Why do we

have to have the meeting here, Stan?

Edna must've called me 15 times

at the office by now.

See, Edna doesn't like it

when I'm some place

she can't reach me by phone, Stan.

That's the beautiful part about the club.

They can't reach us.

It's the one place left that's safe!

Thank you.

Just a moment. I'm sorry,

but no ladies allowed inside the club.

Well, thank you.

I'm sorry, I can't reach Mr Edwards

just now. He's in the gymnasium.

Stan, the big thing to remember now is

The Brannigans are a natural for television.

Sure, we just need a beautiful,

intelligent girl to play the wife.

Some drooling,

feeble-minded idiot to play Bash.

You've got yourself

a built-in audience of 80 million.

And not only that, but merchandise.

Why, Stan, I think they've come up

with some sensational tie-ins.

Get this - official Bash Brannigan,

his-and-hers matching cooking aprons.

"The family that sauts together

stays together."

I think that's the slogan.

Oh, good morning.

Oh, good morning. Good morning.

Oh, please, stay, stay.

Oh, it's all right,

it's all right. It's all right.

Hmm.

Oh, oh, darling!

On that, day and night, Stan...

Oh, darling! Oh, darling!

Forgive me for doubting you even one moment.

Mr Ford!

In the 123 proud years

of this club's existence,

not once, not once

has a female of any description

set foot on these premises.

Now, we're an understanding bunch

here at the club, Mr Ford.

A fella has one too many at the bar,

we see to it

that he gets to his train all right.

Fella has a little hokey-pokey going

in the afternoon,

his wife calls, we say he's in the gym.

But this, Mr Ford, is too much!

As chairman of the rules committee,

I suggest you spare yourself

the embarrassment of an open hearing,

and submit your resignation at once!

Darling, I do something bad?

I may take this lying down, like that

drooling, feeble-minded idiot that I am,

but Bash Brannigan will not,

I promise on that!

Charles, she's in love.

She'll never agree to a divorce.

So we're left with only one choice.

Murder.

- Murder?

- Murder.

I say, good show, sir!

Absolutely bang on!

Exactly six weeks from today...

Kachow! Zoom! Boom!

Mrs Brannigan is gone.

Bash can get back to being a secret agent.

What's the matter?

Well, let me understand, sir.

It is Mrs Brannigan

you're going to murder, in the comic strip?

Yes, why?

- I see.

- What is it?

Oh, nothing, sir.

Only just for one moment...

one mad, glorious moment...

I thought...

However...

if Bash Brannigan could murder his wife

and get away with it...

Well, who knows, sir?

Who knows?

Barman.

The same again, please, and this time,

see that the glasses are decently chilled.

Mr Ford, this is the most powerful

single remote control device

created by the western world.

An excellent tranquilliser, Mr Ford.

Gentle, fast-acting, eliminates tension,

removes excessive inhibitions,

and is almost completely without

harmful side effects. - Almost?

Almost.

Alphadeebenzotherapotazolamide,

as your doctor calls it -

and in this case, as I happen to be

your doctor - that's what I call it -

is dangerous only when taken

in conjunction with alcohol.

Even a sip of alcohol

after taking one of these pills, and...

- brrrrrrrrrrp - right up the wall.

- As you doctors call it.

And then... Blaaap! Right down again.

- Brrrrrrrp?

- Blaaap!

Thank you, Dr Bentley.

You're welcome, Mr Ford.

Oh!

Thank you.

- Here.

- Oh, thank you.

Mrs Ford,

may I have the pleasure of this dance?

Oh, yes!

Yep.

- Stanley, I'm really...

- Can I be of any assistance?

Don't be silly, Your Honour. You're smashed.

I'm as sober as a judge.

I did the same thing for Harold

last New Year's Eve so I know exactly...

Oh, she looks so pale!

Put some cold water on her head

and I'll make some coffee.

I'll call you in a few minutes, huh?

Bye-bye, Edna.

Hi, Stan.

I've been looking all over for these.

Uh... Mrs Ford, Miss James.

Come on, you silly, drunken old bat!

It's wonderful. She won't remember a thing

tomorrow. I can say what I want.

Come on, you silly, drunken,

meddlesome old bat!

Yes! "Old bat" is what I said,

and old bat is what I meant.

You old bat!

Hello?

Dear?

Anybody home?

Well, how could she have disappeared?

Oh.

Stan, wives don't just suddenly

up and disappear like that.

What I mean is it's not that easy, boy.

I mean, it's not that easy.

You and I both know

what women are, Mr Ford.

They're sensitive little creatures.

They're masters - or should I say,

mistresses? - Of the fancied slight.

Some little teeny thing goes wrong

and whoosh! -

off they go, home to Mother.

And that's probably where

your wife is now, with her mother.

Yeah. Somewhere in Italy!

Thank you.

Which concludes our report from

Washington. In a lighter vein,

readers of 463 newspapers

from Bangor, Maine, to Honolulu

are asking this question -

will Bash Brannigan, hero of America's

favourite comic strip, The Brannigans,

really murder his wife?

If the answer is yes, is this a new trend?

Will Dagwood murder Blondie?

Will Little Abner knock off Daisy Mae?

The answer remains a secret

of cartoonist Stanley Ford

and Mrs Ford, said to be

the real-life prototype of Mrs Brannigan,

is unavailable for comment.

On the weather picture

in New York tonight...

It's perfectly clear what happened.

She saw the drawings of Brannigan

murdering his wife, and in a...

typically idiotic, female way,

she took it as some kind of a

personal insult or something,

I don't know.

Anyway, the...

Look, Harold, if we're both gonna pace,

we gotta work out a traffic pattern.

You go this way,

I'll go that way, all right?

Anyway,

she just picked up her raincoat,

and her bathing suit

and her dog and she left!

Stan, I'm sure that's exactly

the way it happened,

but there is an awful lot of evidence -

circumstantial, I'll admit -

but there's a lot of evidence - plenty!

You can't try anybody for murder, Harold,

unless you produce a body.

Well, normally, Stan,

yes, that would be true.

But in this case, Stan,

you see, you and I and Edna and the police

and 80 million readers

of 463 newspapers from Maine to Honolulu,

they all know, and my kids know,

that you murdered her

and buried her in the goop

from the gloppetta-gloppetta machine.

Now, what I mean

is I'm going to be doing

my very best for you, Stan.

But it's only fair to warn you

that it doesn't look good.

It does not... look good.

Murdered his wife,

fiendishly and in cold blood.

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