THE COMPLETE AND, INDEED, *UNABRIDGED* FILMSCRIPT TO
*** THE MEANING OF LIFE ***
Transcribed by Jason R. Heimbaugh
Further edited and slightly enhanced by Richard C. Karsmakers
THE MEANING OF LIFE
THE AUTUMN YEARS
[Elegant restaurant. A man in a dressing gown, who is not Noel
Coward sits at a piano.]
Not Noel Coward: Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Here's a
little number I tossed off recently in the Caribbean. [Sings]
Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis,
Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong?
It's swell to have a stiffy,
It's divine to own a dick,
From the tiniest little tadger,
To the world's biggest prick.
So three cheers for your Willy or John Thomas,
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake,
Your piece of pork, your wife's best friend,
Your Percy or your cock,
You can wrap it up in ribbons,
You can slip it in your sock,
But don't take it out in public,
Or they will stick you in the dock,
And you won't come back.
[Spontaneous applause breaks out all over the restaurant.]
Oh... thank you very much.
Woman: Oh what a frightfully witty song.
[Mr Creosote enters.]
First Fish: [in tank] Oh shit! It's Mr creosote.
[All the fish disappear with six flicks of the tail.]
Maitre D: Ah good afternoon, sir, and how are we today?
Mr Creosote: Better...
Maitre D: Better?
Mr Creosote: Better get a bucket, I'm going to throw up.
Maitre D: Gaston! A bucket for monsieur!
[They seat him at his usual table. A gleaming silver bucket is
placed beside him and he leans over and throws up into it.]
Maitre D: Merci Gaston.
[He claps his hands and the bucket is whisked away.]
Mr Creosote: I haven't finished!
Maitre D: Oh! Pardon! Gaston!... A thousand pardons monsieur.
[Puts the bucket back.]
[The Maitre D produces the menu as Mr Creosote continues
Maitre D: Now this afternoon we monsieur's favourite - the
jugged hare. The hare is *very* high, and the sauce is very rich
with truffles, anchovies, Grand Marnier, bacon and cream.
[Mr Creosote pauses. The Maitre D claps his hands and signs to
Gaston, who whisks away the bucket.]
Maitre D: Thank you, Gaston.
Mr Creosote: There's still more.
[Gaston rapidly replaces the bucket.]
Maitre D: Allow me! A new bucket for monsieur.
[The Maitre D picks the bucket up and hands it over to Gaston.
Mr Creosote leans over and throws up onto the floor.]
Maitre D: And the cleaning woman.
[Gaston hurries off. The Maitre D takes care to avoid the vomit
and places the menu in front of Mr Creosote.]
Maitre D: And maintenant, would monsieur care for an aperitif?
[Creosote vomits over the menu. It is covered.]
Maitre D: Or would you prefer to order straight away? Today for
appetizers... er... excuse me...
[The Maitre D leans over and wipes away the sick with his hand
so that the words of the menu are readable.]
Maitre D: ... moules marinieres, pate de foie gras, beluga
caviar, eggs Benedictine, tart de poireaux - that's leek tart -
frogs' legs amandine or oeufs de caille Richard Shepherd - c'est
a dire, little quails' eggs on a bed of pureed mushrooms, it's
very delicate, very subtle...
Mr Creosote: I'll have the lot.
Maitre D: A wise choice, monsieur! And now, how would you like
it served? All mixed up in a bucket?
Mr Creosote: Yes. With the eggs on top.
Maitre D: But of course, avec les oeufs frites.
Mr Creosote: And don't skimp on the pate.
Maitre D: Oh monsieur I can assure you, just because it is mixed
up with all the other things we would not dream of giving you
less than the full amount. In fact I will personally make sure
you have a *double* helping. Maintenant quelque chose a boire -
something to drink, monsieur?
Mr Creosote: Yeah, six bottles of Chateau Latour '45 and a
double Jeroboam of champagne.
Maitre D: Bon, and the usual brown ales...?
Mr Creosote: Yeah... No wait a minute... I think I can only
manage six crates today.
Maitre D: Tut tut tut! I hope monsieur was not overdoing it last
Mr Creosote: Shut up!
Maitre D: D'accord. Ah the new bucket and the cleaning woman.
[Gaston arrives. The Cleaning Woman gets down on her hands and
knees. Mr Creosote vomits over her.]
[Some guests at another table start to leave. The Maitre D
Maitre D: Monsieur, is there something wrong with the food?
[The Maitre D indicates the table of half-eaten main courses.
The guests shrink from his vomit-covered hand. The Maitre D
realises and shakes a little off. It hits another guest, who
wipes his eye.]
Guest: No. The food was... excellent...
Maitre D: Perhaps you are not happy with the service?
Guest: Er no... no... no complaints.
Guest's Wife: It's just we have to go - um - I'm having rather a
[A slight embarrassed silence while the rest of the party look
Guest: And... we... have a train to catch.
Guest's Wife: [as if covering for her previous gaffe] Oh! Yes!
Yes... of course! We have a train to catch... and I don't want to
start bleeding over the seats.
[An awkward pause. The Maitre D gropes for words.]
Guest: Perhaps we should be going...
[They start to go. The Maitre D follows.]
Maitre D: Very well, monsieur. Thank you so much, so nice to see
you and I hope very much we will see you again very soon. Au
[He pauses. A look of awful realization suffuses his face.]
Maitre D: ... Oh dear... I've trodden in monsieur's bucket.
[The Maitre D claps his hands.]
Maitre D: Another bucket for monsieur...
[Mr Creosote is sick down the Maitre D's trousers.]
Maitre D: And perhaps a hose...
[Someone at another table gently throws up.]
Companion: Oh Max, really!
[At another table someone else has really thrown up all over the
place. His mother and brother look at him incredulously.
Meanwhile Mr Creosote has scoffed the lot. The Maitre D
approaches him with a silver tray.]
Maitre D: And finally, monsieur, a wafer-thin mint.
Mr Creosote: No.
Maitre D: Oh sir! It's only a tiny little thin one.
Mr Creosote: No. Fuck off - I'm full... [Belches]
Maitre D: Oh sir... it's only *wafer* thin.
Mr Creosote: Look - I couldn't eat another thing. I'm absolutely
stuffed. Bugger off.
Maitre D: Oh sir, just... just *one*...
Mr Creosote: Oh all right. Just one.
Maitre D: Just the one, sir... voila... bon appetit...
[Mr Creosote somehow manages to stuff the wafer-thin mint into
his mouth and then swallows. The Maitre D takes a flying leap and
cowers behind some potted plants. There is an ominous splitting
sound. Mr Creosote looks rather helpless and then he explodes,
covering waiters, diners, and technicians in a truly horrendous
mix of half digested food, entrails and parts of his body. People
Maitre D: [returns to Mr Creosote's table] Thank you, sir, and
now the check.
The text of the articles is identical to the originals like they appeared in old ST NEWS issues. Please take into consideration that the author(s) was (were) a lot younger and less responsible back then. So bad jokes, bad English, youthful arrogance, insults, bravura, over-crediting and tastelessness should be taken with at least a grain of salt. Any contact and/or payment information, as well as deadlines/release dates of any kind should be regarded as outdated. Due to the fact that these pages are not actually contained in an Atari executable here, references to scroll texts, featured demo screens and hidden articles may also be irrelevant.