Meet the Feebles Page #3

Harry?

I can feel it coming on.

Oh, boy,

it's going to be a gusher!

Oh, no!

No, no!

No, help!

Take that!

Oh, no!

Take that, you b*tch!

I beg you, please now stop it!

Call me "sir", slut!

Ow!

Leave her alone!

Are you all right, madam?

Cut!

Jesus Christ!

You've a nasty habit of sticking

your nose in where it's not wanted.

I'm sorry.

You ruined my take, kid.

I never do two takes!

I didn't know it was a film.

Hurry it up,

I'm freezing!

I'm sorry for interrupting.

I won't disturb you any longer.

We'll skip the whipping.

Let's move on to the blowj*b.

Where's the Masked Masochist?

Oh Christ that's all I need!

He's carked!

Didn't you realise

you were sitting on his face?

I felt a bit uncomfortable, but

I thought it was my haemorrhoids.

What the hell, maybe I can sell it

as a snuff movie.

You'll have to find a substitute.

I don't do self abuse.

No sorries, Daisy.

I know just the guy.

What do you know!

It's Dennis on a smelly minge binge.

Oh gosh! I was just looking

for the soap powder.

Sure, Dennis.

Have a whiff of these.

They've got

a real distinctive bouquet.

Dennis,

we've got a little job for you.

Oh my god!

Next!

All right everybody,

from the top!

Music, please!

For Chrissake!

What the hell was wrong

with that?

Who is holding

that red pennant?

Me sir.

And what on earth do you think

you're doing?

I'm patrolling the moat, sir.

Patrolling the moat?

I see.

You were instructed to stay

upstage left.

Italian pennant bearers of

the XVll century were frequently...

known to patrol the rampart

on the lookout for Turkish invaders.

How very elucidating.

I've been reading up on it, sir.

My drama teacher at school

said...

I should always research

a role thoroughly.

Really?

Let me tell you something.

This is a television variety show...

not a homage to Soviet Realism!

I asked for a pennant,

not a pedant!

All right, again!

From the top!

Excuse me!

Stop!

Sh*t!

Oh, God!

What is it?

It's just I'm having trouble

with my motivation.

I don't understand

why I would remain still...

when the scene itself suggests

vigorous physical action...

danger even.

I suppose you'd like everyone

to stop singing...

while you come forward to do

a little war dance centre stage.

Is that it?

Well, it had crossed my mind!

My god!

Sorry guy, I hate to interrupt,

but I don't think...

the knife thrower's assistant

is going to pull through.

Shall I cancel Winyard's act

entirely?

I think not.

I've got just the substitute.

"Dennis Does Daisy!

Take 1.

Dennis, drop your strides.

Come on, come on,

the camera's rolling.

Oh for Chrissake!

Is that the best you can do?

Trevor do something about this guy!

Come on, get aroused!

I can't.

Well, I'm not doing anything

until he cracks a fat.

What's the matter?

Doesn't she turn you on?

Here you go.

Will these help?

Oh god, not another panty-sniffer!

He's going to want me

to piss in his mouth next.

Ok kid, do your stuff.

Oh yes!

Yes!

Oh, God!

It's terrible!

I feel terrible!

What's happening to me?

What's the matter, Harry?

Not feeling too well?

What?

Who said that?

It's all those last nights.

Maybe you're not getting

enough vitamins.

Care to join me for lunch?

Hmm, carrots!

It's not one of yours, is it Harry?

You are sick!

No, Harry.

I think you are.

Give me the rundown

on your symptoms.

I ain't got nothing,

you sh*t-eating journo.

You can't suppress the media,

Harry.

Come on, you can tell me,

I'll be very discreet.

I'm as fit as a fiddle.

I feel fantastic.

And I'm sick and tired of your...

Hold it right there!

"I'm tired and I'm sick",

says Harry...

the Hare star of

the Feebles Variety Hour.

Sounds like the germs

of a good story.

Leave me alone!

You can't hide the truth.

Whatever you've got, I'll find it out

or I'll make it up.

This is going to be a great scoop!

Jesus Trevor,

have you got the stuff?

I'm hanging out, man.

I'll get you the money tomorrow,

I promise.

Hello, my name's Robert.

- Are you the new supplier?

- I've been sent by the director...

to assist you in your

knife-throwing routine.

- Oh, sh*t!

- I wondered if you'd like to practice.

No, I don't know, man,

I really don't know.

It's not such a hot idea.

- Have you got any smack?

- Smack?

Horse, liquid sky,

skag...

snow, coke, crack,

methadone...

benzedrine, pinkies, San Ped...

Morning Glory, nutmeg,

blue meanies...

aspirin, Ados, paracetamol...

Vicks Vapour Rub?

Oh, you don't happen to be

an asthmatic by any chance?

Could I borrow your huffer?

I don't take drugs of any sort.

I don't believe it's right

to abuse your body like that.

Oh, that's easy for you to say.

You haven't been to hell and back.

- Eh?

- Nam!

- You've been to Vietnam?

- I saw the worst of it, kid.

Tet Offensive 1968.

Charlie had our backs

against the wall!

There were six of us.

No, there were five of us.

Every gook north of Saigon

was drawing a bead on us.

Winyard!

Cover me!

Jim! Jim!

Thanks Jim, I owe you one!

I wasn't about to see my best buddy

peppered with Charlie's lead.

Three weeks later...

we were on a routine patrol

north of Tai Pang.

Charlie was close...

so close

you could almost smell him.

Where's Eightball?

We better go back and look for him.

Eightball!

Thank God!

We thought the gooks

had got you, Eightball.

Drop your weapons and put your hands up

revisionist running dogs.

In the days that followed

I wished a thousand times...

that it was my head

on that stake.

Re-education time

for fascist imperialists.

You... read...

You... read.

I can't see, you bastards!

We didn't see Chuck for two days.

We thought he was a goner.

But then on the third night

they brought him back to us.

The bastards had taken his legs.

I still say that private enterprise...

is acceptable

at a village level...

providing it is strictly controlled

by the party.

We must not let petty

bourgeois aspirations...

taint socialist pedagogy.

Reform is the enemy

of revolution.

The one hadn't finished with us yet.

Their twisted communist minds

had devised one last torture.

As I stared down

the muzzle of that gun...

I thought of Chuck and Eightball...

and the thousands of others

who had perished...

in that godforsaken wilderness.

I was not afraid to join them.

Let's go out of here1

Help me!

Come on buddy, help me up!

Winyard! Winyard!

Don't leave me!

Please!

Dear god-no!

It was six months before

I got out that Saigon hospital.

By then I was hooked

on every barbiturate known to man.

Gosh!

What an awful time you've had!

Hey kid...

you want to express your sympathy

in some kind of material away?

How can I do that?

Vietnam Vets Association.

We're badly under-funded.

Minimum donation fifty bucks.

Thanks, kid.

The Association was in bad need...

of a cash injection.

Ooh! Ooh!

What an organ!

Do you really think people

are interested in nasal sex?

Sure boss.

It's the latest fad.

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