Neil: [holding a letter] Guys, guys, guys. Guys, I think I've solved our money problem. I'm writing to my bank manager. See what you think, OK: "Dear Bank Manager."
Neil: Well, that's it. I'm quite pleased with it so far, though.
Mike: Oh, well, it's a strong opening, certainly.
Vyvyan: I don't like the "dear." Sounds a bit too much like "Will you go to bed with me?"
Mike: Well spoken, Vyvyan. Uh, what do you think instead?
Vyvyan: Uh, what about... "darling"?
Neil: [writing] "Darling Bank Manager..."
Rick: No, no, no, no, no, not "Bank Manager," it's far too crawly bum-lick. Tell it like it is, put "Fascist Bullyboy"!
Neil: "Darling Fascist Bullyboy."
Mike: That's nice, yes, so far so good. So what do you want to say?
Neil: Well, basically, I want to ask him if I can have, like, an extension on my overdraft, but I know there must be a better way of putting it than that.
Mike: Well, what about, "Give me some more money"?
Vyvyan: "You bastard!"
Neil: Don't you think that's a bit strong?
Mike: Ah, Neil, people like that respect strength.
Neil: Yeah, you're right. Uh, "Darling Fascist Bullyboy, give me some more money, you bastard." Uh... "Love, Neil."
Vyvyan: Not "Love, Neil"! That sounds far too much like "Come and get it like a bitch-funky sex machine!"
Neil: Yeah, you're right. Uh... uh, what about "Yours sincerely"?
Rick: Oh, come off it, Neil. If you're going to be that sycophantic, why don't you go round there now and stick your tongue straight down the back of his trousers?
Neil: Oh, no, no, I know, I know, why not put "Boom shanka"? It means, "May the seed of your loin be fruitful in the belly of your woman."
Mike: He'll never understand "Boom shanka". You'll have to write the whole thing out.
Neil: Right, OK, here we go. "Darling Fascist Bullyboy, Give me some more money, you bastard. May the seed of your loin be fruitful in the belly of your woman, Neil."
Rick: Well, if that doesn't work, I don't know what will.
[interlude between scenes]
Bloke: I've just been round to my neighbours, to borrow a drill - but he wasn't in!
Bloke: ...So I broke in and ate his fish tank - but I weren't even hungry!
Bloke: ...You won't catch me with me trousers!
[laughs even harder]
Neil: [Reading his letter to the bank manager] Darling fascist bully-boy... Give me some more money... You bastard... May the seed of your loins be fruitful in the belly of your woman... Neil.
Rick: Didn't your mother ever tell you about the birds and the bees?
Neil: Mine did, but I didn't believe her. Well, I mean, what if the bird got stung, like halfway through? Well, I mean there's a big size difference. Ostriches are really big, right...
Police Recruiter: It's been a terrible blow to my life looking like Mussolini, you know. Especially when I was a kid, you know, I was about seven, right, and I was down the Youth Club, you know, dancing away, right, like in the sixties, doing the Twist you know. And, em, there was this girl, right, and she comes up to me, and she goes "'Ere! Are you Mussolini?" I said, "Emmm... Yeah." She says, "I thought you was dead." I says "No, it was just me day off, you know." So she pulled me over the dance floor and butted me in the face! I said, "What's that for?" She said "That's for the invasion of Crete!"
Vyvyan: Neil, is it really necessary to nail the plates to the table? What happens when we want to play Monopoly? Go directly to plate? Do not pass plate nailed to the table by a stupid hippie?
Mr. Balowski: [singing] Whenever people bother me, when they shout and raise their voices, I don't let it get me down, I just make some stupid noises!
Man On TV: Let's assume for one moment... that this table is a crowded shopping street on a Saturday afternoon. And this... meringue, filled with whipped cream, is a young mother weighed down with groceries. And this... juicy, over-ripe tomato is a tiny little girl, who doesn't know what a dangerous place her exciting new world is. And let's assume that this... clingfilm parcel, of mashed banana and jam, is a deaf senior citizen, who is in a wheelchair, and is blind. And this... cricket bat, with a freeze-block nailed to it, is your car. Now what happens when your car mounts the pavement?
[annihilates the meringue, tomato and parcel of banana and jam with the cricket bat]
Man On TV: Think once. Think twice. Think DON'T DRIVE YOUR CAR ON THE PAVEMENT.
Rick: Vyvyan's baby will be a pauper. Oliver Twist! Jeffrey Dickens! Back to Victorian values! I hope you're satisfied, Thatcher!
Police Recruiter: [dressed as Mussolini, speaks with an Italian accent] And if you don't get it right, I kick your head in.
Police Recruiter: [nodding] Si.
Vyvyan: Quick, get the stirrups! I'm going to have my baby now!
Rick: [to Neil, who is now a policeman and has been trying to arrest them] Look what your rough-arm tactics have done, fascist!
Neil: Quick! Dial 999! Get an ambulance!
Mike: I can't watch this.
[Mike gets up and leaves the room]
Neil: Oh, no!
[Vyvyan writhes on the bed then does a very long, loud fart]
Rick: [is handcuffed to Vyvyan] Quickly, the keys to the handcuffs! I'm suffocating!
[Neil searches his pockets for the keys but can't find them. Rick gags on the smell of Vyvyan's flatulence. Finally Vyvyan stops farting. Mike comes back into the room]
Mike: Is it over, then? Congratulations, Vyv. Well, what have we got, a boy or a girl?
[Mike puts a cigar in Vyvyan's mouth and gets out a lighter]
Rick: No, Mike! No!
[Mike ignites his lighter. Cut to exterior of the house, a huge explosion destroys it. As the end credits roll, the four of them stand amongst the burning remains, their newfound luxury gone up in smoke. Mike looks crestfallen, Neil looks fairly nonplussed, Vyvyan looks amazed, Rick weeps]