- Why am I Mr Yellow?
- Because you’re a faggot! All right?
- Why can’t we pick our own colours?
- No way. Tried it once. It doesn’t work. You get four guys all fightin’ over who gets to be Mr. Black.
- I just don’t think we’re gettin’ our cut, all right?
- But we’re not the lead act. We’re just the support.
- So you think I’m getting a big head then, do you?
- Nah, I just think you should realise that this isn’t about you.
- Yeah, but you’re gettin’ your own show. Bet you’ll get paid a lot more now.
- Well you need to pitch your ideas for your own show – that’s what I did. I’ve been working my backside off, brown-nosing Mr Blue for years.
- I don’t think he’d go for it. Mr Blue’s got it in for me.
- Well try Mr Purple. You know he’s got Mr Blue’s ear.
- Mr Purple? He’s a lightweight, always smoking ‘herbal’ cigarettes. Maybe I could have a go with Mr Red. He’s kinda goofy. Might be more prepared to listen to me.
- Well just don’t come over all aggressive. You’re a bit like a dog with a bone sometimes, you know.
- I know, I just can’t shake this off. I feel like we’re being stiffed. You know what I saw the other day? Our faces – yours, mine, Henry’s and Dorothy’s – on toddler wipes. Toddler wipes I tell you! That’s what the skivs think of us. They think we’re shit – literally!
- Well that’s what you signed up for when you got the contract.
- Sure, but –
- Hey Henry, you happy with your gig?
- Bahreebop Wags! Bahreebop Cap’n. What’s going on? I thought we were supposed to be rehearsing.
- Old Wagsy here reckons the fab four are scrooging him
– Dude you’ve gottta chill out. You get plenty of bones and there’s plenty of bitches in the crowd. I gotta tell you, I’ve got my eight hands full with those yummy mummies backstage every afternoon! Maybe you should get Dorothy to make you a cup of rosy tea – that’ll help settle you down.
- Henry, you’re such a fag. I’m outta here. You pussies can keep kissing those Wiggles’ butts, but I’m gone. Ciao ciao fellas.
Before Wags can get any further, Captain Feathersword unsheathes his blade.
- Have you lost your fuckin’ mind? I’m not gonna let you make a terrible mistake.
Wags, sensing a challenge, turns around and bares his teeth. Henry tries to intervene.
- Come on, guys. Nobody wants this.
Wags snarls at Henry. Henry starts to fidget and his trademark giggle consumes him. Wags advances on Captain Feathersword, who turns his sword on himself and attempts hara-kiri. He doesn’t get far; his sword is a fuchsia feather.
Dorothy, who has been watching from behind the scrim, rolls her eyes and worries for the future.
‘We’re supposed to be fuckin’ professionals.’
With apologies to Quentin Tarantino. The dialogue in italics is from the Reservoir Dogs script. The rest is mine :)