What About Dick?

- Good evening, ladies

and gentleman and welcome

to another edition of oral cinema.

A popular series of movies for the ears.

Well, we'll be going on

air live in just a couple

of minutes, so please,

may we first of all test

the applause level?

Thank you.

Excellent, thank you very much.

Well, tonight's cinema for sound features,

What about Dick?

An emotion picture for

radio which tells the story

of the decline and fall

of the British Empire as

seen through the eyes of a piano.

So, will you welcome please,

tonight's fantastic cast.

Oh the Orpheum Theatre

theater in downtown LA

Tonight we invite you to picture a play

A radio screenplay

approved for your ears

Oral movies, pluck up my ears

Yes, it's time once again

for the cinema of sound

To transport you across the radio waves

To bring you, What about Dick

It's oral cinema

Once upon a time there

were two sisters who lived

with their Aunt Maggie in

a rambling old Edwardian

Novel in Kensington.

Emma, the older, was an

emotionally repressed English

girl, who spent all day

staring out of the window,

dreaming of a submissive

role in a sick relationship

with an older sadomasochistic Englishmen.

Helena, her younger

sister, was a dark-haired

foxy minx, who stole

umbrellas to repress her

sexual urges.

- What's a minx, is it an Egyptian thing?

- No dear, that's a sphinx.

- Oh, I thought that was

the backside of something.

- No dear, that's the sphincter.

- Ah!

- Anyways, these two

sisters lived together

in a two-story Novel

with their Aunt Maggie,

an amateur dipsomaniac

who spent the afternoons

in Hampstead under a

young Austrian doctor.

- His name is Freud, Roger Freud.

He's licensed in Massage and colonics.

- And who exactly are you?

- I am the narrator of this tale.

Everyone in the story

has touched me and played

with me and run their

fingers over me until I

rang with joy.

For you see, I, am a piano.

- A piano narrating a story?

- Yes!

- Furniture doesn't narrate stories.

- I'm not furniture, I'm an instrument.

- Well, that's stupid.

Are we to have Macbeth

narrated by the bagpipes?

- Or Les Misrables by the french horn?

- Look, it's my f***ing

play and I'll play a

piano if I want to.

Anyway, this is the story of a piano.

- Heavens, is that the time,

the 3rd of August, 1910?

- Evening Star and

Standard, read all about it!

Another English human found

half-eaten in Houndsditch.

- Oh dear, not the reaper again.

- No, this one's the

mutilator, apparently he eats

his victim.

- Ew, how disgusting!

Just then, the Reverend

Whoopsie walked into the door.

- Ouch!

- Walked into the doorway.

- Oh sorry!

Hello ladies, do I intrude?

- Not from this angle, Mr. Whoopsie.

- The Reverend Whoopsie

is a, well he's a--

- He's a single clergyman

who's kindly disposed

toward men.

- Especially working men,

who I adore above all and

put on a pedestal and

offer five shillings to.

- Your Christianity does

you credit, Whoopsie.

- Let us not forget

our Lord himself had 12

little male friends, all

sailors and nobody said a word.

Have you seen, Dick?

- Not for ages, Mr. Whoopsie.

Not since the coming out ball

turned unexpectedly fruity--

- No, I think he means your Nephew, dear.

- Oh, dear, yes. Oh, he's

coming down today from Oxford.

- I wondered if he'd like

to come camping with me.

I'd love a weekend of Dick.

- I've always found 20

minutes quite sufficient.

Helena, why don't you play something for

Mr. Whoopsie on your harp?

- I hate the harp, I'm sick of plucking.

- Well you should try a

mouth organ like Dick,

so you can suck and blow--

- Yes, yes, yes, yes, thank you, Emma.

Why don't you sing us

one of your Victorian

ballads?

- Righto.

Blow me

A kiss in the moonlight

Blow me

A kiss in the dawn

Blow me down, I never knew I would dare

Now must I swallow

My pride while I'm there

Heavens, he's coming

Inside now

He's coming to make me his own

In these cold marble halls

Where the men hold their balls

Why must I always be all alone

- Lovely dear, just lovely.

- At that moment they spotted Dick.

A young man with floppy

hair, bee-stung lips and

a strangely ambivalent sexuality.

One of those impossibly

pretty English boys

with ravish me bedroom

eyes and bathroom legs

and drawing room thighs--

- Yes, thank you piano

but I think we get it.

Dick!

- Hello everybody!

Hello Whoopsie!

Hello Emma, old sausage!

- Hello, Dick!

- What are you reading at Oxford, Dick?

- Beauty on the Mountain.

- That's Mutiny on the Bounty.

- Sorry.

How's the umbrella thing, Helena?

- Oh, Dick...

- Why does she take umbrellas?

- Well, it's just female hysteria, dear.

She needs a little rogering in Hampstead.

Ew, he has a new machine

called the Happy Trappy,

which relieves all my female tension.

- How does it work?

- Well, I lie down, he attaches it to me--

- Where?

- Well, in Hampstead.

- I say, Dick.

Do you fancy a weekend in Norfolk?

- Golly, it sounds a bit dull.

- Well, yes it is a bit dull,

but we can play Tiddlywinks.

- Oh yes, that's sounds spiffing.

- Splendid!

If you'll excuse me.

- Mind the umbrellas.

- Ouch!

- Good heavens, look it's

Mr. Hudson coming here

to this very house to meet

me for the very first time

and perhaps fall hopelessly

in love with me which

he will not be able to

express because he is

English and cannot

mention emotions and has

a beastly wife who cannot

satisfy his perfectly

normal manly urges which

would very easily be

satisfied with some

cold cream, a hand towel

and a copy of the

Guinness Book of Records.

Thank you, Aunt Maggie.

- I hope I don't disturb you ladies.

- Hey you, visitor, I'm not a lady.

- Oh, forgive me, it is your hairstyle.

My name is Hudson, I am in rubber.

- Oh really, are you wearing it?

- No, no, not wearing

it, it is my business.

- Well, of course it's your

business what you wear.

- No, no, no, it's my

business, my business.

- Mr. Hudson is the owner of

the Hudson Rubber Company.

- Oh, the manufacturer

of the Happy Trappy.

Well, I find it most

satisfactory, although

occasionally I do miss

the disappointment of a

real man.

- Mr. Hudson discovered

those gadgets in India.

He saw the future of

rubber and embraced it.

- How precisely this woman understands me.

And how perfectly lovely

she is with her warm eyes,

her rosy lips and her firm,

welcoming curtly, bouncy--

- I can hear you, Mr. Hudson.

- Very sorry, Miss Schlegel.

- Have you seen Dick, Mr. Hudson?

- Yes, quite a lot in India.

- No, no, this is Dick, he's at Oxford.

- Oh, well what is he reading?

- The Three Musty Queers.

- The Three Musketeers.

- Sorry, yes, no.

- I read French Philosophy,

trouble was it was

all in French, didn't get

a word of it.

- Mr. Hudson, you're such a card

- Yes, yes, well, well

we mustn't spend all day

doing that.

This isn't America.

- How very witty Mr. Hudson is and he has

such lovely eyes and such

manly thighs and such

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