What About Dick? Page #2

eloquent hips and--

- I can hear you, Miss Schlegel.

- Oh, I'm sorry.

- Well, I must be off,

I need to lubricate a

new oiler for my jigger, I

have no idea how that sounded.

- It sounds so romantic.

Dick, Dick, what about Dick

Is there some dreadful mystery

Hidden in his history

Dick, Dick his light is short of gas

I don't think he is playing

from a full deck of cards

Everybody likes Dick

Everybody wants Dick

Though he seems to be a

sandwich short of a full picnic

Dick, Dick's a cappuccino with no foam

The lights are on but is

there really anybody home

- Those boys in the pub

seemed to take a real

shine to you, Dick.

- Mm.

- Dick, has anyone ever told you about the

birds and the bees?

- I'm 26.

- Oh, but did

anybody ever tell you

about the birds and the birds?

- No!

- Well, Dick, remember

when we were very young in

the nursery with nanny,

being violently incontinent

and we were like Peter

Pan, we never wanted to

grow up?

- Yes.

- Well, when Peter comes

fluttering in through

the bedroom window, he

wants Wendy, but not

for a wife.

- He's looking for a

Mommy for the lost boys.

- You are one of the lost boys, Dick.

- Mm, because I have no mommy.

- Because you are different, Dick.

Lost boys are not so

much as lost as hiding.

- From whom?

- From the cruel world,

Dick, which frowns on

boys trying on Tigerlilie's

flimsy dresses or

borrowing makeup from

Tinkerbell, or going out

hunting for rough, male pirates.

Let me put it another

way, when Oscar Wilde

talks of a love that

dare not speak its name--

- What's that?

- Well, it's male love.

- No, no, not that,

that, there on the beach.

- Oh good heavens, it's a piano.

What's it doing on the beach.

- Sounds like Rat Maninoff.

- I'm going to give this

piano to the working

classes.

- Why?

- Because they need some new instruments.

- But I saw it first.

- Then we shall call it

the Dick piano for the

working classes.

- Hey Burt.

- Yes, Ken.

- See that piano?

- Yeah.

- What's it doing on the beach?

- Well perhaps it fell off

the back of the Titanic.

- Maybe its a symbol.

- Nah, it's definitely a piano.

- Hey you two idiots.

- Yes, Gov?

- What's your name?

- Burton Russell.

- The Philosopher?

- No Sir, Burton Russell

the furniture remover.

- Oh, well, I want you

to remove this piano to

London, I'm going to give

it to The Working Classes.

- Wow, I'm sure they'll be thrilled,

all 25 million of 'em.

You okay, Ken, you got a bit pale.

- There's something oddly

familiar about this piano, Burt.

- What?

- I've seen it before.

- Where?

- In India.

When I was in the regiment.

It was August 1898, a

stinking hot day in Shagistan.

- What's going on?

- He's having a flashback.

- Oh dear, can you stop him?

- Too late, Sir, it's started.

- I was in British India in Shagistan with

the Queen's Armed Gay Gordon's,

a cross-dressing British regiment sent to

raise morale on the Northwest Front Yard.

We were a hundred men under Lord Darling,

guarding the back passage to India.

One day, I came across a local man by the

name of Deepak Rushdie Obi Ben Kingsley.

He was making something rather special.

- There, that is it.

It is finished.

- What is it, Deepak?

- Well, what does it look like?

- Well, it looks like a dick.

- Exactly, in fact, it

is a dick, but a toy one

for the women.

- What kind of toy.

- A toy women can play with.

- Where?

- in their privates.

- Well, what will they do with it?

- Well, they could, sit on it.

- You mean--

- Yes.

- Good grief! You're a monster.

- No, that's just

shortsighted, women will enjoy

this little toy.

- But, I can't believe that any woman--

- Oh, yes, they will, you

will be shocked, Sergeant

but you're looking at the future.

Hitherto, these little

private toys have been

made only in merchant ivory but now,

look, you, rubber, much more flexible,

much more easily sat upon.

- Good God!

- You are very nave, Sergeant, there is a

shining future for the

personal stimulator.

You see, I believe that

one day every woman will

have one of these things,

they'll have models

of all shapes and sizes,

they will make different

things and they will shake

and they will vibrate

and they will buzz.

They will be called

The American Happy Boy,

the Old Colonial Ghetto

Blaster, Slippery Sid,

Black Beauty, Ol' Calcutta,

and your dick will

be useful for a little

while yet, Sergeant but

when push comes to

shove, it will be nothing

better than one of these

little rubber things,

and that is the future then.

And then the Hudson Rubber Company will be

worth a fortune and I

will get a proper Indian

accent.

This...

Yes, this I believe.

Thank you.

- Morning, Colonel Darling.

- Morning, Sergeant.

How's drag night coming along?

- Well, I mean, I'm very

much looking forward

to it, Sir.

I've been up all night

sewing their frocks.

- Is there any finer

sight than a regiment of

young, British men in full drag?

By God, it must terrify the enemy.

- Scares the sh*t outta me, Sir.

Good grief!

- What is it, Sergeant?

- Over there, Sir, in the scruff.

- What is that?

- It looks like a piano, Sir.

- Beware, Sir, my Lord Darling, this piano

could very well bring

about the collapse of the

entire British Empire.

- What?

- Oh, don't mind Deepak, Sir.

He always predicting the future.

Last week he foresaw Sarah Palin.

- What's that?

- Some kind of British

comedian, I think, Sir.

And then only last night,

he foresaw the Kardashian's.

- Is that some kind of disease?

- Yes it is.

- And you should see his little dick.

- I beg your pardon.

- He's got a little rubber toy, Sir.

Apparently, women will put

it up their hoochie coo--

- That's quite enough of that.

Take this piano back to

camp, it will make its

debut tonight at the

regimental fancy dress ball.

- Oh no, Sir, I beg you,

the rivers will run with

blood, the wren will leave

its nest, the frogs will

fall from the sky and

lambs will give birth to

little tadpoles.

And the owl will hoot at night and--

- The owl always hoots at night.

- This one will hoot in French.

- Oh, shut up, Deepak!

And Sergeant?

- Sir?

- I want to see you in my

tent the minute we get back.

- It might be a few minutes after, Sir.

- Why?

- Well, I have to take a Donald.

- A what?

- A Donald Trump.

- Oh, a dump!

- So I was taken back to

camp by the piano warriors,

a small hill tribe used

by the Scot's Gays for

moving furniture.

While Sergeant Russell took

a Donald and hurried off

to meet Lord Darling.

It's a tent.

- Oh, sorry

- You wanted to see me, Sir.

- Ah, yes, Sergeant.

Come in!

The thing is, I wanted

a little talk with you,

because there's something

that I want to get off

my chest.

- That ugly picture of your wife, Sir?

- No, my own chest, not off the furniture.

- Perhaps it's just a bad angle, Sir.

- It's from the front.

- Exactly.

- Sergeant, I'm trying

to tell you something

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