Pumped Comedy Feeds

This programme contains some strong language.

How am I supposed to maintain concentration levels across a

four-hour shift on a single Dairylea Dunker?

Is this a wee strop about Jen coming home?

Do you think maybe you should concentrate on the manky pile of

scants on my bedroom floor instead of my love life?

I just think maybe you should learn to do your own washing instead of

stalking your ex on Facebook and doofing into a sock.

Camel, hello. No, I mean toe.

No, hello.

Spunk, Barry's here.

Just wiping my bum, Fletch.

Anything nice in your lunchbox?

A pot noodle, a can of Monster, and there was a single bloody Dunker.

Oh, that is a disgrace, Barry.

I would give you all the dunks that you could handle if you were my boy.

What flavour's your noodle?

Oh, Bombay Bad Boy.

Are you a bad boy, Barry?

I am an absolute fucking bastard.

What is the baddest thing you have ever done?

I decapitated a squirrel with an air rifle at Cub camp when I was nine.

Have you still got your woggle?

Spunk! They'll be wondering why Patrick Swayze's turned up for your

job interview instead of you.

Patrick Swayze's dead, Mum.

Well, they'll be all the more surprised, then, won't they?

Wait till you hear his welcome home song for Jen.

He's going to play it to her later, at the barbecue.

You've got a little something on your face there, Fletch.

Oh, allow me, Barry.

CAR HORN

What barbecue?

What barbecue?

Oh, it's the Pied Piper of Poon and the Lord Commander of Castle Snatch.

Not today, Wendy.

-Not today.

-Jen gets back today.

With her winkle-picking wank wand of a boyfriend.

Mate, he won't be fit to sniff your doof sock.

One more mention of my doof sock

and I will annihilate your testicles with my bare hands.

Do I make myself clear, Wendy?

I meant no disrespect, Fletch.

Are you nervous, Fletch?

I don't want to talk about it.

It's your song, Fletch.

MUSIC: You're Beautiful by James Blunt

It was the Bonnybrigg International Under-16s Potato Festival.

I had just been crowned bachelor of the year for the first time,

along with a frankly embarrassing slew of other honours.

-Arse of the year.

-Most fanciable fancy dress at the Spud Ball.

She was an exquisite Pocahontas.

I, resplendent as P Diddy.

You were magnificent, Fletch.

-He still is.

-I kissed her gently at first,

before we ramped up the tongue-toshing

to an outrageous level of torque.

They tried to pull you apart, didn't they, Fletch?

But they couldn't. Like two dogs fused at the genitals,

we were inseparable.

And so began a love story between me,

a dangerously provocative 14-year-old and...

A wee schoolboy!

That's probably that wanker Wonka.

Whoever he is, he looks hurt, Fletch.

No, no, no, Wonka's pulled this ruse before.

Last time he snuck a frozen dog shite in the glove box.

I didn't find it for a week.

He's a cunning strategist.

Wendy, consult the book.

Swift as the wind, quiet as the forest, steady as the mountain.

We need to be quick and quiet, and not move much.

Like a mountain.

I'm coming, wee boy!

-No, Spunk!

-Spunk!

Wonka, you wanker.

Fletch, you fat nonce.

I will annihilate your undescended testicles with my bare hands.

You'd like that, wouldn't you? Fondling my testicles.

Yes.

Wait, no.

You massive nonce.

You frivolous shit-smear.

Breakfast is served.

Oh.

My suit!

Yeah!

We have struck an important blow today

against Wonka's hairless testicles that will live long and...

Down, you twats!

MUSIC: You're beautiful by James Blunt

She's not supposed to be back yet.

Fuck me. That's a swimmer's build if ever I've seen one.

You can make out the outline of his cock and balls, Fletch,

and they're big. All three.

Give me your suit, Spunk.

Do you think maybe I should go to my job interview really quickly,

Fletch? It's just, it's a second call-back and it's...

basically a formality.

You selfish bastard!

I am running an international conglomerate here,

not a fucking piss party, so pull your dick out of your mouth

and buckle up your arsehole, sunshine.

They're either doing a performing arts project in there, or I've just

interrupted a rural sex crime.

We might want to devise some sort of safe word for you in case things get

a wee bit too excruciating.

-Safe word?

-Take a deep breath, James.

You are about to be dunked headfirst into the deep end of Bonnybrigg.

What do you mean, "safe word"?

Oklahoma.

Oklahoma?

I am running an international conglomerate here, not a...

-Hi, Spunk.

-Are you all right, Jennifer?

-Wendy.

-All right, Jen, how are you doing?

It's me. It's me, Barry.

Yeah, Fletch. I know.

Guys, this is James, my fiance.

Welcome home, Jen.

So, I guess you didn't go to Edinburgh Uni with Becky, then?

No, Fletch broke his pinkie that summer.

I had to stay here and cover his shifts.

Probably wasn't for me anyway, you know?

University and girls and all that stuff.

Snagged it on a go-kart roll cage.

You've done all right landing this one, Jen.

Fuck me.

He looks like something that's been grown in a Nazi test tube.

Strong jaw. Proud bulge.

You know how to pick them, Jen.

You two used to date?

- For, like, three months. - Three weeks.

You lift, mate? You've got the body of a Persian Prince.

-I swim.

-I knew it.

-I said that earlier.

-James is a writer.

He's working on his first novel.

Brains and beauty. If I was a bender, I'd do a shout.

And if you were a bender - which you're obviously not

and neither am I - so...

Congrats on being a writer, James.

-Thanks, Sperm.

-Spunk.

-Spunk.

-So, when do you start your new job at the school, Jen?

-How do you know about that?

-Fletch told us.

He's never off your Facebook, Jen.

Probably crops Big Jim out your pictures and saves them into a

-wank bank.

-It's not a wank bank, it's a...

I mean, it's not a wank bank.

I'd never crop you out, big man.

-Oklahoma.

-Yeah.

Probably enough weirdness for one morning.

See you later on, Jen.

Gies a shout if you fancy going for a swim, big guy.

-Wendy?

-Gavin Wendel.

-Spunk?

-Roddy Chisholm.

-Sounds like jism.

-And that anomaly, Fletch?

Believe it or not, he used to be kind of a legend around here.

Like a Scottish Sasquatch?

He had a car.

Fuck off.

Yes, Wendy, mate, I'd love to go for a swim.

We could go for a smoothie, grab a panini...

What's happening later on, Spunk?

Jen's having a welcome home barbecue.

The secret's been tearing me up inside like a hurricane of shame.

Jen's having a welcome home barbecue and she didn't invite me?

That's inconceivable.

She's just scared she'll fall in love all over again.

That makes sense.

You need to crash that barbecue and assert your dominance.

It's just like in the kingdom of the apes.

Gorilla lasses, they want three things in a man - resources,

genes and leadership.

Now, you've tricked Jen into thinking you run an

international conglomerate. But business tycoons,

they don't live with their mums, mate.

Oh! He could move in with me.

It's pasta night, Fletch.

Wait till you get a mouthful of my mum's lasagne.

Belter! Now, good genes...

That is trickier. Big Jim,

he's like an onyx Captain America crossed with a vanilla Barack Obama.

When did you last shave your ball-sack?

Don't worry, five minutes with me,

I'll have that scrotum looking like a suede walnut.

This barbecue is a battlefield.

You need to eat more than him, drink more than him,

and show Jen you are still the sexy-sacked silverback of this town.

Beat off the man!

Win back the girl.

Simple as plums pie.

I will annihilate his testicles in front of her entire family.

Fletch, do you think I could maybe do my song first?

It's just I've been learning it all week and...

I haven't really slept.

You selfish bastard!

Is this about the Dunker?

Or is it about being able to freely pleasure a woman without worrying if

her orgasmic shrieks might annoy your own mother?

Have you ever once brought a woman home?

And whose fault's that?

Is your mum still on those Thai diet pills she saw on Watchdog?

Aye. She says they give her the stamina of Mo Farah and the agility

-of Patrick Swayze.

-Nick some.

I'm doing a concoction to help Fletch at the barbecue.

Help Fletch with what?

Facing up to the bulging fury of big Jim.

I mean, it's like a one-legged man running a marathon whilst holding in

a massive jobbie. With those pills and a dash of DX99,

he might just stand a chance.

What's DX99?

It's a primate suppository used to treat monkey prostates,

and the base for the most effective performing-enhancer known to man.

It's exactly that sort of shite Lance Armstrong was injecting into

-his bell-end.

-Where did you get that?

My pen pal Paku in Sumatra.

He's got a gibbon.

-Ah, Wonka, you wanker.

-Fletch, you fat shit-knuckle.

Look, we're here for your sister's barbecue, all right?

So just step aside before I command Spunk to annihilate your testicles

-again.

-Sorry about hoofing you earlier, Wonka.

I don't know what came over me.

I came over him. And I won't hesitate to do it again.

You came over Spunk?

Yes.

Wait...

# They tried to make me go to rehab

# But I said "No, no, no"

# Yes, I been black

# But when I come back... #

They threatened to waterboard me with Ribena.

You're no going to cause a wee scene, are you, love?

Even you got an invite?

Fuck me, mate. There's more meat in them shorts than the barbecue.

You drop a mixed grill down there?

Erm, that's completely raw.

Real men like it raw.

Hey, those are James's special buns.

I have a mild wheat intolerance.

Well, well, well,

the only thing I'm intolerant to is weak-bowelled

word-loving jizz-pipers.

I'm sorry, Jen. The secret was molesting my moral compass.

It's OK, Spunk, it was inevitable.

Textbook opening salvo.

Now, suplex his sphincter while his arse is on the ropes.

A dry Chardonnay and a wee handful of beef Monster Munch,

please, Barry.

And remind me to cut you a key.

The last thing your mother wants to hear is the sound of you pounding on

my back door during the night.

Oh, don't you worry about me, Mrs Jism.

Did you just say Jism or Chisholm?

-Jism.

-Brenda, I'm still not sure if you are saying Jism or Chisholm.

Jism.

A wee lemonade for Wonka?

-Up yours, Fletch.

-Just ignore him, Neil.

Oh, a conflicted sexuality.

The first whisper of fuzz on his wee doofer.

It's a difficult age, that.

That's enough, Barry.

Did he just call Neil "Wonka"?

It's a daft nickname. Drop it.

MRS CHISHOLM: Tell us about your novel, James.

Well, it's a fictional biography of Kafka's childhood.

FLETCH LAUGHS

Absolute fucking page-turner.

And what about you, Barry? Are you a fan of Kafka?

Well, I think he has been shite

since he left Real Madrid.

We're losing them. This is your moment.

I know.

Who wants to hear my song?

A ruptured gonad will heal, given time.

Humiliation, on the other hand, is a bell that can never be unrung.

Today, revenge is a dish best served...

..brown.

Wonka, you curious wee bastard, you.

Out!

SPUNK PLAYING GUITAR AND SINGING

# Oh, Jen! #

APPLAUSE, CHEERS

Spunk. Spunk!

I'm not sure which one's the DX99.

Wonka left another bottle in the bog

while he was trying to sneak a gander at my doofer.

I'm pretty sure the right one was on my left.

-You're left-handed, right?

-Mm-hm.

-So you'll have put the bottle down with

your right and picked up the DX99 with your left.

-Right?

-Right, my left, or your left?

Motivate me, Wendy.

You're a big-balled gorilla with a hairy dick and the heart of a bear.

So, was it three weeks or three months you dated Fletch?

-Does it matter?

-Of course not.

-Who dumped who?

-Are you serious?

Every night for a month he was in that field,

singing that awful James Blunt song.

I can't even hear it now without wanting to beat him to death with

-his own guitar.

-Fletch, or James Blunt?

Is that your gluten-free beer they're drinking?

-Cheeky fuckers!

-It's fine.

-Let them have a few.

-No, it's not fine, James.

They've latched onto your only weak point.

You need to establish your dominance before they walk all over you.

-What weak point?

-Your wonky bowels.

It's mild intestinal bloating, Jen, it's not going to kill me.

That's what Achilles said about his shitty heel.

Jesus, Jen, this isn't Sparta.

No, you're right, this isn't Sparta.

This is Bonnybrigg, and it is way more mental.

I'm a big baldie gorilla, with a hairy bear and the heart of a boy.

Oh, Christ, here they come.

Those are James' gluten-free beers.

Do they swell you up, big Jim?

Thank you.

-The arse of a marble cherub.

-What if James had the DX99?

The effects will be subtle, Spunk.

We need to monitor him carefully.

-IN A BAD SCOTTISH ACCENT:

-# And I would walk 500 miles

# And I would walk 500 mo-ore. #

HESITANT APPLAUSE

Oh, yeah.

What do you think of that, son?

I thought it was a bit racist.

STOMACH RUMBLING

Oh, that'll be those raw hot dogs, Barry, you chubby bastard.

You should ask Jen where Wonka got his nickname again.

But Jen almost ate me alive.

It's such a funny story, she doesn't want it stealing centre stage.

So what's Wonka all about, then?

James, I told you to drop it.

Come on, Wonka, spill the beans.

SHE SOBS

Mum suffers from IBS and one night she was...caught short

at a school production of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

-Willy Wonka.

-Fletch was an Oompa-Loompa.

Smashed it.

JAMES LAUGHS

Wait.

That's not funny at all.

Why can't I feel my nipples?

What the FUCK, James?

Spunk, get the guitar.

It's time.

MUSIC: You're Beautiful by James Blunt

# My life is brilliant. #

FART

# My love is pure. #

WET FART

Has he just shit himself?

He's shit himself.

Do you think it was the sausages, Fletch?

On another note, we might have accidentally slipped

big Jim a performance-enhancing steroid instead of you.

Every time something good is about to happen to me...

..you fuck it up.

Am I a disappointment, Fletch?

You're a selfish bastard.

What do you say we go for that swim now, mate?

Maybe even grab a baguette?

You're not fit to sniff Fletch's doof sock,

you big beautiful bastard, you.

Oklahoma!

What happened last night?

You broke into the school pool.

And you called my mum a jazz plumber.

I think my balls have shrunk.

MUSIC: You're Beautiful by James Blunt

# My life is brilliant... #

Do you remember when we saw Avatar,

and we thought that day would never end?

Yeah, that was a long film.

It was one of those perfect days.

We had a Nando's, I caressed your bosom in the back row.

You honked me like a clown horn, Barry.

That was a lifetime ago.

Someone might have spiked James with steroids.

I'm sure he's really usually a really good guy.

Well, he wants me to take a restraining order out on you.

What a prick.

-Do you?

-I won't,

if you tell him we went out for three weeks instead of three months.

But it really was three months.

I know.

Why is it always the beautiful ones that tug at our banjo strings?

As if our hearts had never been broken.

Love is a fickle big bastard.

But we'll tame him yet.

One thing's for sure.

I'm going to need your help.

Both of you.

Friendship truly is the glue

that binds our hearts and holds steadfast.

-Shut up, Spunk.

-OK.

You did your own washing.

Are you back, Barry?

Yes, Mum.

I'm back as fuck.