Title:         D.S. Boulton Goes Postal With A Red Texta
Fandom:        The Bill
Author:        Augustus (gaius_octavius_@hotmail.com)
Pairing:       Sorta Skase & Boulton. Implied Deakin & Caver (ugh)
Rating:        PG for language
Category:      Humour. Oh, DEFINATELY humour. Or wait = is there an "insane"
               category???
Series:        Do you really think that's a good idea???
Archival:      Fabulae. Anyone else just ask :-)
Warnings:      This is insane.
Feedback:      Nice but not compulsory *g*.

Disclaimer: I don't even know who *does* own The Bill. Thames Television,
perhaps? Anyway, this is just my little way of showing my appreciation. To
sue the hell out of me would be a rotten thing to do, seeing as you've
already got rid of Rodney and are about to do the same to John.

Note: This was inspired by a lovely photo they have over at the sunhill
website, where john looks like he's about to stab someone with a texta *g*

****************************************************************************

D.S. BOULTON GOES POSTAL WITH A RED TEXTA

(Upstairs. Pretty much everyone in CID is here. John Boulton is over by the
window, brandishing a texta.)

BOULTON: Look, I'm the sergeant and what I say goes!

MEADOWS: Uh...... John...... I think I outrank you.

DEAKIN: Me too.

BOULTON: Perhaps OFFICIALLY you do. But who's the one holding the red texta?
Huh? Huh?
(There is no answer. Most of them are too busy making 'insane' hand signals
behind Boulton's back to manage a verbal response.)

BOULTON: (Satisfied.) See!!! NOW who's feeling bossy?!?

MEADOWS: Was there a reason you called me in here, John? Inspector Monroe
and I have an important lunch date in ten minutes.

DEAKIN: And I have an outfitting for a new wig.

RAWTON: You wear a wig?

DEAKIN:  Oh. Did I saw that out loud? Damn.

SKASE: Just get on with it, Gov.
(Boulton flutters his gingery eyelashes at Rodney.)

BOULTON: (rather flirtatiously) Why? Is there something you'd rather be
doing, Rodney???

SKASE: Yeah. Sitting at my desk, staring into space, like I usually do.

BOULTON: Nothing else?

SKASE: I wouldn't mind a long black.

BOULTON: Oh.

CARVER: Actually, I wouldn't say no to a coffee myself.

LENNOX: Me too.
(There is a sudden loud clamour, as the whole of CID rather vocally gives
into their caffeine urges.)

BOULTON: Look! I'm trying to hold a briefing here! The next person will have
to face...... (He pauses for dramatic effect)...... THE RED TEXTA!!!

SKASE: Oh, for Christ's sake, Gov, why would we be scared of a texta of all
things? It's not even POINTY. What are you doing to do? DRAW on us???

BOULTON: I might do.

BEECH: Oh, I'm shaking in my boots, Gov.

BOULTON: That's it! I can't live with this constant disrespect!!!
(He rushes forth and promptly defaces one of the police-type posters on the
wall with a large, scrawled "LIVERPOOL F.C. FOREVER", before returning to
his prime position in front of the CID picture window.)

DALY:  Liverpool, John?

BOULTON: Yeah. Wanna make something of it???

DALY:  But you're not even FROM Liverpool.

BOULTON: So??? If we all had to barrack for a team from our home town then
you'd be lost, wouldn't you Jeff.

DALY:  What d'ya mean?

BOULTON: Well there's no Fucksville United team, is there?

DALY:  Oh ha bloody ha.

SKASE: Personally I think football is for hooligans.

BOULTON: (A little offended, but nonetheless reassessing his hobbies and
contemplating changing himself for his man.) Really?

SKASE: Yeah. You get all MUDDY.

RAWTON: I take it you've never played, then, Rod.

SKASE: You've GOT to be kidding!!! I might have broken a NAIL or something!

RAWTON: Diddums.
(Rod just snarles wordlessly.)

DEAKIN: (Looking at his watch.) Look, I'm due for my re-thatching in five
minutes. You'd better hurry it up, John.

MEADOWS: Yeah. And Andrew...... I mean LUNCH...... will be getting cold.

LENNOX: Lunch is ALWAYS cold in that damn caf'.

MEADOWS: We're eating in his office...... And trust me, it's going to be hot.
REAL hot......

(Boulton's not paying attention to any of this. He's busy peering out
through the slats of the venetian blind at the CID picture window.)

BOULTON: Don't look now, but George Garfield's down there.

HOLMES: So? It's the car park, Gov. He's probably just heading out for duty
or something.

BOULTON: If that's the case, then he's heading out for duty completely
naked......

EVERYONE: What?!?!?!?!?

BOULTON: I don't think I've ever seen anything so hideous in my entire
life!!!

CARVER: You're kidding, right, Sarge?

BOULTON: Oh, yeah. That's right. There WAS that time I walked in on you and
Deakin.

CARVER: That's NOT what I meant!

HOLMES: Why? What were you doing? Gov? Jim?

DEAKIN: (Coughs.) Never mind.

HOLMES: Well DON'T tell me then!
(Holmes pouts like the dozy cow she is.)

CARVER: (shrugging) We weren't intending to.

PROCTOR: Hey! I want to talk! I haven't had a line yet!
(Trev strides up to the front of the group and strikes a heroic pose.)

TREV: YOU haven't had a line? YOU haven't had a line?!?!?!? You don't even
know what the phrase MEANS!!! I've been sitting around here, growing fatter
and fatter, for YEARS, and do you think I've ever got to say anything more
meaty than "excuse me" as I wander past, clutching a handful of irrelevant
files? NO! Of course not. I'm as irrelevant to this department as the files
I constantly cart around the office. If I died tomorrow, there wouldn't be a
huge funeral with loads of floral tributes, and moving eulogies. No, you'd
probably just buy a stray dog from the pound and teach IT to carry around
files in the background. Well it won't work! No dog can hang around a coffee
machine in quite the same way that I can! Can a dog say "excuse me" as it
passes you in the hall? No! No it can't! All that a dog can do is carry
files in its slobbery jaws and occasionally add a little light relief to the
office by lifting its leg where it shouldn't. I can piss in inappropriate
places too, you know! Look! Look!
(With this, Trev unbuttons his fly and proceeds to piss on Proctor's
computer. Unfortunately, electrical products and urine don't mix, and Trev
is soon a pile of twitching ashes on the CID office floor.)

PROCTOR: My computer! My precious computer! I had two years worth of
Internet porn on that hard drive!

HOLMES: Doesn't anyone care that Trev just died a horrible and agonising
death?

EVERYONE: No.

BEECH: The bastard always talked too much, anyway.

BOULTON: Listen to me! Listen to me! Someone give me some attention,
Goddamnit!!!
(John climbs up onto Daly's desk and starts jumping up and down.)

BOULTON: You all HATE me, don't you?!?! Well, I hate you TOO! So there!

DEAKIN: (Sleazily.) I don't hate you, John.

BOULTON: I wish you did. Maybe then you'd stop trying to get into my pants.
Honestly, you never call anyone else into your office fifty times a day.

CARVER: Uh......

BOULTON: Oh, yeah, I wasn't counting you. You only go in there to blow him
anyways. (shrugs)

DEAKIN: Only 'cos YOU won't.

BOULTON: I'd rather die.
(Boulton grumpily gazes out the window.)

BOULTON: (Suddenly.) Fuck me! Cryer's just joined Garfield! And I think
that's Reg Hollis stepping out from behind that tree! Urgh....
(He quickly jumps down from the table and is copiously sick in a wastepaper
basket.)

BEECH: Let me see that!
(All of the others follow his lead in dashing over to the window. Soon the
entire CID staff is preoccupied with being copiously ill into wastepaper
baskets, inboxes, filing cabinets, Deakin's wig...... pretty much anything
that's handy, really.)

BOULTON: Stop it! Stop it!
(Boulton's really chucking a tanty now.)

BOULTON: All I asked for was a little attention while I told you all about
my good news. But no, that was TOO much to ask, wasn't it? You had to mock
my lethal red texta, and then disrespected me by vomiting in my coffee cup.
But I'm not going to put up with this any longer! You're all DROPPED!!!!

LENNOX: Dropped? What the hell are you talking about, Sarge?

HOLMES: Yeah, like I'd EVER consider dating you!

BOULTON: Don't flatter yourself Kerry. Like I'D ever date a carrot top!!!

RAWTON: Uh...... Gov...... Isn't your hair rather reddish too???

BOULTON: No. Definitely not.

RAWTON: Oh...... okay then......

SKASE: And I think you'll find that if you read clause 2A in your bitch's
contract, Boulty, YOU can't actually drop ME. It has to be the other way
around. And until then you have to submit to my every sexual whim and
desire.

BOULTON: Maybe dropped is the wrong word. I know the word I mean begins with
D, though......

BEECH: How about delightful? We're all delightful.

BOULTON: No.

CARVER: Delicious?

MEADOWS: Dateable?

DEAKIN: Divine?

BOULTON:  Nope, nope and nope. Uh....... D...... D...... De....... Oh!
That's it! You're all DEAD!!!
(He runs at them, brandishing the texta. It's  uncapped!)

DALY:  (Bored) Oh, you can't honestly be serious.
(For that comment, he is chosen as the first to be attacked. John stabs him
repeatedly with the texta, which is obviously a lot sharper than it looks.
Geoff eventually falls to the floor, covered in blood and red permanent
marker.)

BOULTON: (laughing maniacally) Ha-HA!!! Who's next?
(He picks Kerry Holmes and then works his way through the rest of CID,
merrily killing and maiming all of them, except, of course, for Rod.)

SKASE: I hope you're not thinking of killing ME, Boulty.
(Rod opens his eyes wide and puts on his pretty boy face.)

SKASE: I thought you LOVED me!

BOULTON: (Frowing) I do. That's what my announcement was going to be. I was
going to tell you all that I was going to marry you! I was going to tell
them all about how we were going to live in the country in a pretty little
thatched cottage, with a picket fence and vegetables. Maybe a dog! We could
call it Trev! And then we could have lots and lots of kids and live happily
ever after.

SKASE: Uh...... Was I going to get any say in this?

BOULTON: No.  It's YOUR turn to be the bitch.

SKASE: This is NOT in the contract, John.

BOULTON: FUCK the contract! I've got a RED TEXTA.

SKASE: Yeah. So you've demonstrated.

BOULTON: So, will you marry me and live with me in a pretty little cottage
in the country???

SKASE: I don't think men can marry each other in England.

BOULTON: We'll move to France then. They're all gay over there.

SKASE:  Uh...... okaaaaay......
(Skase slowly begins to back away.)

BOULTON: Oh, you're not going ANYWHERE, Roddy-woddy. You're going to stay
here with me! Forever!

SKASE: I just remembered...... I think I left the iron on......
(Skase attempts to make a run for it. But Boulton is too quick. He tackles
Rod and pushes him to the floor, sitting on him to prevent any escape.
Grinning evilly, he raises the texta.)

SKASE: Oh right. You love me, so now you're going to KILL me. That makes
PERFECT sense.

BOULTON: I'm not going to kill you Rodney. I'm just going to make sure that
you'll NEVER leave me.
(Quickly and deftly, he draws a beard and moustache and glasses on Rod's
face before colouring his nose bright red.)

SKASE: (Screams) My face!!! My face!!! I'm UGLY!!!

BOULTON: You're never going to leave me now, Roddy-woddy. After all, who
else would want you?
(More maniacal laugher as Rod screams seemingly endlessly.
Fade.)

FIN
Augustus, 23-06-2000