Tim: Dear Jocasta. Today is Bastille Day. Now Mum, before you go carrying on, I know that you think the French are absolutely horrible people, ever since they bought up Greenpeace and turned it into a dolphin canning factory, but I still think that Bastille Day is a cause for celebration. Recently, Richard has convinced me that testing cosmetics on animals is wrong. Therefore, please send me only those facial creams that have been tested on the naked skin of refugee babies. Paul's been staggering around a lot and throwing up everywhere. He says it's the rough seas, but I'm not so sure. I've been reading War and Peace recently, but I don't know what it's about. Oh, I was pleased to hear that cousin Valmay's new ears work. It's a pity that falling pianos don't make any noise.

Richard: Dear Mummy-wummy. It's your tinkle-winkle, itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, yellow-polka-dot-bikini, fluffy-wuffy, snuffy-muffy poo writing to you again. It's Bastille Day today, so I'm transcribing the 121 days of Sodom. Tim told me I was the best to do it, because my memory is so good. At least, I think that's what he meant by anal retentive. Paul is being horrible to me again. I'm sick of being treated like an animal. I want to be treated like... an object. But Mummy, Paul's halitosis has gotten much, much worse. His breath smells like when the cat was nibbling on Grandpa's gangrenous leg, threw it up, and buried it in the kitty litter tray. I think he's been drinking...

Paul: Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you for the beautiful otter. I have always wanted one, ever seen you took me to see that kid's film Ring Of Bright Water... when I was 24. And although the otter is an aquatic animal, it was probably a mistake to put it in an air-tight, water-proof plastic bag. But thank you, thank you, thank you anyway. It was good to hear you've become an organ donor. But I think the idea is, you donate your own organs, you don't go out collecting them from other people. I know it's all for a good cause, and you're handy with a stanley knife, but that's not the point. If you're not careful, they'll have a reason for keeping you there... Your son, in complexity, Paul. P.S. I don't think there's enough room for the three of us down here.

Together: One of us has to go.

Newsreader: Shitsu Tonka, news in brief. Sex goddess, Cicciolina was today confirmed as the new Pope by the Vatican. In celebration, Cicciolina abseiled naked down the side of Sistine Chapel. She later commented, "There was so much wind up there, I thought I'd open up like a parachute. Lucky I kept my legs together."

[The main room aboard Titanic II. Paul enters.]
Paul: [drunkenly] Ah! A beautiful chablis! [swigs] With grapes, grown in Normandy. Hey, Harald, watch out for that arrow! [giggles] Ah! A French Bordeaux! It's a beautiful drop. Shhhh! Shhh! Cointreau! That's a whole bloody orange in there! But best, best of all! Napoleon brandy. [swigs] Ahh, Josephine, a thousand kisses, even to your dogs! Oh, God, I love the French!

[Paul's room]
Paul: Red rum, red rum. Little pigs, little pigs, here's Johnny! Oh, Johnny, Johnny I've got to give up the booze. Oh, Johnny, last night I had an out-of-body experience. The only problem is Johnny, I don't know whose body it was. Oh, Johnny, Johnny, I've having a break-through. No, that's not right. I'm having a break-over. I'm, I'm, having a break-down. Johnny, I've got to give up the booze. If I had a holiday. Johnny, you're naked, put some clothes on, don't let your sister see you like that! Oh, Johnny, there's two of you, what is this, a conspiracy!? What a piece of work is man, how noble in reason, in comprehension… hell like a God I need a drink.

[Flacco's box. Flacco is looking through a telescope, while Ross the cockroach types as Flacco dictates notes to him.]
Flacco: As I stare into the star-studded canopy of celestial spaces I ponder to self... Flacco? Little self of mine... why am I here? Where am I? What could it be?... Something is rotten in the state of Denmakr, but this does not really concern me. Ross!... Ross! Take this down quickly! I've discovered another one.. that makes three so far. And this is one ugly set of DNA. [There's a flash of Paul passing Flacco's box's keyhole]. They are huge creatures... with hair, but it is on the top of their heads. One is short and odourous, one is gorgeous and one appears to be a guitarist. Ross. I feel we are on the verge of a major breakthrough, which could explain my entire existence. But what does it all mean? Keyholes, fish, and three very ordinary entertainers? Ah! Of course! How could I be so blind? There is only one possible conclusion... I am stuck in a box, bound for eternity, in a vast submarine laden with Earth's greatest art treasures. History has ended, thanks to Shitsu Tonka, the giant conglomerate of universal power, and Tim and Paul and Richard are locked in vicious conflict with one another and the malevolent forces that surround them! But much worse than this, Ross... I'm in a sitcom!

[Paul's room]
Paul: I hate my life, I hate my life, I hate everything! Oh, Christ, I've got the fear again! [Main room]
Tim & Richard: Christ, he's got the fear again. [Paul enters.]
Paul: What was that?
Tim: The fear, the fear Paul, you've got the fear again.
Paul: There's nothing to fear, nothing to fear at all, I'm perfectly normal, I'm fine, I'm OK, you're OK, we're OK…
Tim: Paul, Paul, you've gotta relax mate, there's nothing to be scared of. No one even knows where we are down here. History's finished.
Tim & Richard: There is no more sexism, there is no more racism, there is no more conflict, Shitsu Tonka take care of everything, and Donny Osmond is President of the United States of America.
Tim: Everybody's happy except you Paul. You've got a real chip on your shoulder [Tim takes a potato chip from Paul's shoulder and eats it].
Richard: Yeah, Paul, the reason is because you're short.
Paul: Short? I'm not short.
Tim: Yes, you are Paul. You're tiny, you're a runt, you're a hobgoblin, you're a weeny weeny hobbit
Richard: You're a pixie, a gemlin, a dwarf, petite, an itsy-bitsy, teensy-weensy microscopic germ!
Paul: What is it you're trying to tell me?
Tim: Face it mate. You look terrible. I mean, some people have bowl haircuts. You haven't even used a saucer.
Richard: Yeah, Paul, you look like Bert from Sesame Street.
Tim: And your hands are shaking!
Paul: They are not, look! [Paul holds out his hand and his head begins shaking with the struggle to stop his hand shaking]
Richard:You've got a drinking problem Paul.
Paul: A drinking problem, Rich, is that what it is? Call it a drinking problem cause you don't want to face up to the reality. You both hate me.
Richard: We don't hate you Paul.
Paul: Yes, you do, you hate me. And I know why. It's because I've got a tin leg.
Tim: You don't have a tin leg.
Paul:Yes, I do. I've got a tiny leg. Funny, funny, that was funny, Douglas Spader, reach for the sky. Ha, ha, ha.
Richard: Paul, we just want to talk to you, OK.
Paul: Oh, yes, talk to me. It's pretty easy for you to say, isn't it. But it's pretty hard for me to talk when I've got a lisp.
Tim: You don't have a lisp.
Paul: Yeth, I do. Youf jutht never notithed before cause youf never lithtened to me. You're listening now, aren't you. Oh yes. You hate me because I've got a tin leg, because I lisp, and because I… stutter.
Richard: Paul, you don't stutter.
Paul: P-P-P-P, yes I do, I've got a t-t-terrible st-st-stutter.
Tim: Oh, get a grip on yourself. And stand still!
Paul: Oh, stand still! Funny man, funny man, you know it's pretty hard for me to stand still, when I've got P-Parkinson's disease.
Richard: Next he'll be saying he's got Alzheimer's.
Paul:Who are you, and what are you doing in my house? Why do you keep feeding me dog food?
Tim: Grow up, Paul!
Paul: You hate me because I've got a tin leg, because I lisp, because I've got a stutter, I've got Parkinson's disease, and who are you anyway, and what have you done with the Lindbergh baby?
Tim: Paul, what I want to know is where you've been getting this alcohol from? Have you been done to the alcohol library? Some of those bottles are priceless, boy, have you been done there?!
Paul: I had a terry-towel bathrobe, and I don't know where it is.
Tim: Here take this. [Hands Richard a gun.] I'm gonna have a look. Don't let him move. [Leaves.]
Paul: Let him move, funny man! Funny man! Ha, ha, ha!

[Corridors. Tim is looking into doors for the alcohol library. Behind one is dancing girls. One girl kicks Tim in the face. He slams the door on her leg. Spins around.]
Tim: Bitch! Seeing that leg crushed in the doorway reminds me of my poor cousin Valmay. She's got a glass eye. Which is pretty tragic for her I suppose, but I guess she's the only girl I know who can see eye to eye with herself, and watch two TVs at once. I remember when we were children. She used to keep her pocket money just behind the eyeball, just at the back of her skull there. Once, I lost the will to live. I found that back there as well. [Leaves]

[Troy The Invincible]
Troy: Strike, strike, strike, strike, strike, strike. Workers of the world, unite! Tolvsky once said, it'll never heal if you pick it. So picket, picket, picket! Through one man's self-emulation, all men may self emulate. [Douses himself in fuel and sits down.] Malcolm X once said, burn, baby, burn, disco inferno. Strike, strike, strike [Lights a match], a light, workers of the world, ignite! [Sets himself on fire. BOOM!! He reappears as a burnt and smoking skeleton. Sings:] Don't blame it on the sunshine, don't blame it on the moonlight, don't blame it on the good times, blame it on the boogie!

[Main room. Paul is tied to chair, while Richard is retrieving all the hidden alcohol.]
Paul: Hey, Rich, Rich, I'm not asking for money, I'm not asking for money, Richard, just give us a drink. Come on. A little nip, just a dram, a wee drop!
Rich:No, Paul. Tim said no, Paul.
Paul: A bit of the hair of the dog, Richard. Come on!
Rich: Paul, there's some in this bottle, mate. D'ya want what's in this bottle? Hey? Hey? [Holds bottle above Paul's head.] Come on, lift up, come on, here it comes, come on, here [Spills it down Paul's front, into Flacco's box.]Awww, I spilt it.

[Inside Flacco's box. Flacco is dressed in a raincoat, carrying an umbrella. It's raining very heavily, of Paul's spilt alcohol. Flacco holds out a wine glass and takes a nip:]
Flacco: Not a bad drop that!

[Main room, a bit later.]
Paul: Come on, ya sprog-breath, let me go, ya stupid moron! Gimme a drink, ya bloody bugger! You…
Richard: Oh, I'm so scared, Paul.
Paul: Big head! Hey Rich, hey Rich. Hey, what is with you and this goody-two-shoes Ferguson? Hey? Why are you so buddy-buddy with him? It's not as though he really likes you or anything, Rich. You know how he talks about you behind your back? You know why he does that? He says you're too ugly to talk to face-to-face. Oh, come on, Rich, I'm not asking for a drink. I'm just asking for a couple of pretty things to look at.
Richard: Like, like what?
Paul: Like some household disinfectant. Come on, there's some in my room. [Richard goes into Paul's room.] There's some household disinfectant in there, go and get it for me, will ya? And there's some metho in the fridge, and there's some turps on the other side of my room and there's some caustic soda, and there's some lemon essence over there near the gold fish bowl. And there's some, ah, lighter fluid in my toothbrush jar. Get that. [Fake cough.] Cough, cough, I've got a bit of a cough, could ya get my cough medicine, it's next to the salmon liver pate. Oh, you're a saint, mate, you're a saint, you're a Christian man, Rich, you're a Christian. [Richard places them out of Paul's reach] You're a, you're a… Rich, Rich, d'ya wanna just give me a bit of metho to clean me lips with?
Richard: I'm afraid I can't do that Paul.
Paul: Just get up and give me a drink.
Richard: I can't get up Paul.
Paul: Why's, why's that Rich?
Rich: I've got a big head, remember?

[Bar room. Tim enters the bar and Bob is standing behind the bar.]
Bob: The usual sir? [Tim nods and Bob begins to prepare a molotov cocktail.]
Bob: I got a problem. I spent most of my childhood strapped to the leg of a piano. I had to learn to recognise my family by their kneecaps. My Aunt Eileen had fat dimply knees that sort of met in the middle and never parted. My Uncle Charlie had razor-sharp pleats in his pants and shiny black shoes that hurt when they kicked ya. Every Thanksgiving the whole family would gather round and Aunt Eileen would play 'Yellow Rose Of Texas' on that old piano and my Uncle Charlie would be stuffin tobacco in my mouth, yellin 'Chew Bob! Chew! Chew!'. And one day in the middle of all this yellin and playin and screamin and chewin I heard a voice, and the voice said 'I am the one God the Father of the Almighty Maker of Heaven and Earth, of all that is seen and unseen... and Bob, you got a problem.
[Bob lights the molotov and pushes it down the bar towards Tim. Tim pushes it back and it explodes.]
Bob: I'm Bob, and I'll be back.

[Flacco is drunk with Ross and several other cockroaches.]
Flacco: You know Ross, my mother always said to me, Flacco, the world is at your feet. Now tell me Ross, as whose feet is it not at? Drink! Drink my poignant friends. Nah, put it away Ross, put it away, it's my shout. Ah Ross, we go back a long way, eh mate? Lots of water under the bridge. Tell you what, you scrub up pretty well after forty billion years. Let me tell you this, seeing you lie there like that, legs akimbo, I could go for you mate. I reckon you're bloody gorgeous, Ross. You know Ross, just the other day I was thinking, what a difference Milo makes. [Flacco passes out and falls to the floor.]

[Main room. Paul still tied to chair.]
Richard: The last snaps of bottle.
Tim: The last bottle of tequila with a mescal engorged worm inside. Now we can either drink these separately, or we can put them together and make…
Paul: A Mexican Hitler! Make a Mexican Hitler!
Tim: A Mexican Hitler. Yes, indeed, the world's most disgusting, abhorrent drink, with a worm inside. Would you like some Paul?
Paul: Oh, yes, mate.
Richard: Well, you can't Paul, you're an alcoholic, remember?
Paul: Everybody hates me, everybody hates me…
Tim: Shut up, and eat the worm!
Paul: No, it killed my family!
Richard: Paul, it drowned in alcohol.
Paul: I'll give it mouth-to-mouth resuscitation then. [Sucks worm up.]

[Paul's hallucination.]
Tim: [Dressed as a Nazi.] Ha, ha, ha! Live at the Tiuana Tear Garten, it's Adolf Gomez McDermott! Call him liberty, call him Speedy Gonzalez, just don't call him short! [Makes the little pinky gesture.]