Names have been changed to enhance the experience.
*The scene opens with Morgan, Jen and Daniella gathered in a room to review the proposed designs of the Spanking Horse and St. Andrews Cross. Notice the rather large breasted women in the background taking notes.*
Morgan: Now, Ladies, we have two basic suggestions for the architectural design of this Spanking Horse and St. Andrew's Cross, and I thought it better that the architects themselves demonstrate the particular advantages of their designs. Ah! That's probably the first architect now. Erm, Mr. Fang of Ironside and Malone.
Fang:: Good morning, ladies. This is a model of a 12-storey block combining classical neo-Georgian features with the efficiencies of modern techniques. The tenants arrive here in the entrance hall, are carried along the corridor on a conveyor belt in extreme comfort, past murals depicting Mediterranean scenes, towards the rotating knives. The last twenty feet of the corridor are heavily soundproofed. The blood pours down these chutes and the mangled flesh slurps into these large....
Jenn: Excuse me.
Fang: Yes?
Jenn: Did you say 'knives'?
Fang: Rotating knives, yes.
Daniella: Are you proposing to slaughter our clients?
Fang: *Adjusts stockings* Just a few of them. Does that not fit in with your plans?
Jenn: Ah, no, no it does not. We asked for a simple Spanking Horse and a St. Andrew's Cross.
Fang: Ahhh. I hadn't fully divined your attitude towards the clients. You see I mainly design slaughter houses. Pity.
Mind you, this is a real beaut. None of your blood caked on the walls and flesh flying out of the windows incommoding the passers-by with this one. My life has been leading up to this.
Daniella: Yes, and well done, but we wanted a Spanking Horse and St. Andrew's Cross.
Fang: May I ask you to reconsider. You wouldn't regret this. You could have Sheik going through the slaughter house daily and charge people to see it. Think of the tourist trade.
Jenn: I'm sorry, but we want a Spanking Horse and a St. Andrew's Cross. Not an abattoir.
Fang: Yes! Well, that's the sort of blinkered philistine pig ignorance I've come to expect from you non-creative Civilian garbage. You sit there on your loathsome spotty behinds squeezing blackheads, not caring a tinker's cuss for the struggling artist, you excrement. You whining hypocritical toadies with your colour TV sets and your Tony Jacklin golf clubs and your bleeding Civilian secret handshakes. You wouldn't let me join, would you, you blackballing bastards. Well I wouldn't become a Civilian now if you went down on your lousy stinking knees and begged me.
Daniella: We're sorry you feel that way but we did want a Spanking Horse and a St. Andrew's Cross, nice though the abattoir is.
Fang: Oh sod the abattoir, it's not important. (He dashes forward and kneels in front of them.) But if any of you could put in a word for me I'd love to be a Civilian. Civilianism (I just made that word up so bite me!) opens doors. I'd be very quiet, I was a bit on edge just now but if I were a Civilian I'd sit at the back and not get in anyone's way. Well…..maybe just in Goober’s way.
Jenn: (politely) Thank you.
Fang: Can't we just put Goober and The Doctor back to back and shoot them?
Daniella: Thank you.
Fang: I have a really sharp stick we can poke them with?
Jenn: Thank you.
Daniella: Is there anyone else to see?
Morgan: Yes, there's a bald short man with a horrible golf game pretending to be a lawyer on discussion boards.
Daniella: Well, I didn't expect The Shake.
