Men Behaving Badly, Series 1

Gary:
Oh, yeah. I left your teabag in.

Dermot:
I thought my tongue had fallen out for a minute.

Gary:
Well, you won't be needing your tongue now that Lisa's ditched you, will you?

Dermot:
We're supposed to go on holiday together. I've already bought my flip-flops.

Gary:
You can't afford a holiday.

Dermot:
Yes, I can. Tax rebate.

Gary:
Tax rebate? You've never stay in a job long enough to pay tax.

Dermot:
Well, maybe they'd give you money back if you collected enough P45s. I'll buy Lisa a fabulous present. Something with a lot of straps.

Gary:
Aren't you forgetting something?

Dermot:
Do I owe you some of this?

Gary:
No, dummy. You owe me all of it. And if you buy so much as a newspaper with it. I'll nail your head to the fridge. How am I supposed to keep this mortgage up if you don't pay the rent?

Dermot:
You could always sell one of your kidneys.

Gary:
You're really upset about that girl, aren't you?

Dermot:
Hm.

Gary:
Do you, uh... You want to talk about it?

Dermot:
Yeah, I wouldn't mind.

Gary:
Yeah. Well, it's always going to be sad when you first split up with somebody, isn't it? And you remember all the little things you used to do together. What was she like in bed? Was she a moaner or a squealer?

Dermot:
Oh, leave it out.

Gary:
All right. If you don't want to talk about it. (Clears throat) I'm cooking tonight, what do you fancy?

Dermot:
Anything that takes my mind off sex.

Gary:
Hmm. Toad in the hole? Couple of dumplings? Something wobbly in an oyster sauce?

Dermot:
Yes. Okay, thanks.

Gary:
Snap out of it. You've got a new job to look forward to today.

Dermot:
Great.

Gary:
Selling is a very challenging occupation.

Dermot:
I'm no good at it.

Gary:
I'll tell you what. If you drop in at the office at lunch time, you can give me the money you owe me and I'll teach you how to deal with the public.

Dermot:
Well, I thought I'd just, sort of, let them mill about.

Gary:
Mill about? What's supposed to happen then?

Dermot:
Well, I hope they, you know, go home.

Gary:
Dermot, I can't work it out. You're either very stupid or you're very, very stupid.

Dermot:
Is Dorothy coming over tonight?

Gary:
Mm. I don't know. She just turns up these days. I'm gonna dump her.

Dermot:
Why?

Gary:
Well, we've been going out together for two years. She's warn out.

Dermot:
Ah.

Gary:
I mean, she used to rather enthusiastic in bed.

Dermot:
Then she met you.

Gary:
Yeah. No. I mean she knows what I like, I know what she likes. After a while, you want it the way you like it.

Dermot:
But with someone else

Gary:
Yeah.

Dermot:
So, how are you gonna tell her?

Gary:
(inhales) Well, I have to make it look like it's her decision.

Dermot:
Mm. Start with the moody silence, eh?

Gary:
Yeah, yeah. I'll give her a couple hours' moody silence.

Dermot:
Loll your head a bit.

Gary:
Yeah, yeah. Loll my head. Moody silence. Then I'll ask her for my keys back, say I need a bit of time to discover myself. She'll say: "That's it. Our relationship is going backwards. Let's call it a day." Then I'll look shattered.

Dermot:
Call her a cab before she changes her mind.

Gary:
Yeah. Good idea. And I'll stand in the window all, sort of, tearful, waving the cab off, my little eyes all wet, lip all quivery. Then you and me can go get a pizza.

Dermot:
That sounds very fair. That's the thing, isn't it? I mean, 20 years ago, when men had no respect for women, they just used to say: "You're chucked." But, now we do respect them, we have to lie to them sensitivity.

Gary:
Ask the butcher to cut the liver into the thinnest slices possible. Crush the peppercorns into a pestle and mortar if you have one. Well I haven't got one, Delia. Oh. If you haven't got one use the back of a spoon.

Dermot:
Don't say that speck of dust got back into the house again.

Gary:
How'd it go?

Dermot:
Oh. I'm knackered. I fell asleep against this woman on the bus. She was all right until we got to Oxford Circus and I started dribbling on her shoulder.

Gary:
Slice that, will you? Don't tell me your-- your new employers didn't offer you a cigar and a seat on the board.

Dermot:
They didn't offer me any kind of seat. I was standing up all day fantasizing about sofas.

Gary:
Well, it makes a change from your usual fantasies about semi naked women in bits of white underwear.

Dermot:
Not really. These sofas already had semi naked women in them. They squeezed up to let me sit down.

Gary:
That's your trouble. You're obsessed with sex.

Dermot:
Well, that's your fault. You keep on giving me suggestive food. What are you cooking anyway.

Gary:
Well, it's basically an adaptation of a Persian dish and a rather subtle juniper sauce followed by jelly and ice cream.

Dermot:
With hundreds and thousands?

Gary:
Yeah.

Dermot:
I need something to take my mind of Lisa.

Gary:
Yeah.

Dermot:
I taught her all my best beer-mat tricks, you know. Why did she leave me?

Gary:
Perhaps you shouldn't have slept with her best friend.

Dermot:
Mm. Women don't like that much, do they? Her teeth went all clenched, like in Dallas. Is this mine?

Gary:
Nope.

Dermot:
Good. I'm gonna change.

Gary:
Well, change into something useful, like a curry.

Gary:
Hey, I think a woman's gonna move in upstairs. I found a letter addressed to someone called Deborah.

Dermot:
Great. What's it say.

Gary:
How should I know? It's private. Actually, I did accidentally steam it open and read it. Her mother enjoyed her holiday in France but the weather was a bit disappointing.

Dermot:
France, eh? (Imitates French accent) Bonjour, Deborah. Je m'appelle Dermot. I am sensitive and artistic.

Gary:
Have you got the sharp knife in there?

Dermot:
Yeah, it's on the side. I'll bring it out in a minute. Yo! Get down, bitch.

Gary:
Dermot! Oh, I see. It's a duvet. Well, silly old me. I thought for a moment you'd spent all the money you owe me on a new suit, you piece of scum.

Dermot:
I'm looking after it for a friend.

Gary:
No, you're not.

Dermot:
All right. It's an investment.

Gary:
No, it isn't. It's a bloody new, bloody suit, you bastard.

Dermot:
It's not my fault. Whenever I see a cheque, I go out of control. I'm the same with tight black skirts, actually.

Gary:
This is my money we are talking about here. What would you say if I emptied your wallet and went out on a spending spree?

Dermot:
I'd say, "What can you buy these days for an old library ticket and a picture of Lisa bending down on Brighton Beach?"

Gary:
Shut up. Well, what else have you bought for yourself?

Dermot:
Nothing.

Gary:
Well, what's in that bag?

Dermot:
Oh, it's-- it's a cookery book.

Gary:
You expect me to believe that, do you?

Dermot:
You're always saying you're tired of me cooking the same thing all the time.

Gary:
(sighs) Yeah, all right.

Dermot:
Not that there's anything wrong with fish fingers Sur La Toast.

Gary:
Take those stupid sunglasses off.

Gary:
That's something women find hard to believe, isn't it? To men can have a quiet evening on their own, enjoying a thoughtful and civilized conversation.

Dermot:
That fat bloke pushed his way to the front again.

Gary:
Isn't that Richard Gere?

Dermot:
You've left it a bit late, haven't you? She's probably off to see this new bloke now.

Gary:
No, she saw him last night.

Dermot:
That must be why she was looking so knackered.

Gary:
If you must know, they were up late playing chess

Dermot:
Is that what she told you?

Gary:
What's that supposed to mean?

Dermot:
No, you're probably right actually. When you first start seeing someone, you can't stop playing chess with each other, can you? You meet to go to a movie, have a quick game of chess before you go, rush home afterwards have another game of chess. Possibly in the shower, when you're all soapy. Then in the morning, you play with each other's pieces again. Even if you've woken up in the night and whopped your bishop out. Then you see her bending over to do her shoes up, and you can't resist giving her a right good chessing before she goes to work.

Dermot:
Bye, Graham, nice to meet you. Must have a game of chess some time.

Graham:
Sorry, I don't play chess.

Gary:
What?

Graham:
I don't play chess.

Gary:
Oh, you "don't play chess"?

Graham:
No, I don't

Gary:
You, don't play chess! HOW DARE YOU NOT PLAY CHESS WITH MY DOROTHY!

Graham:
Well, I'm sorry.

Gary:
GET OUT OF MY FLAT, THE PAIR OF YOU!

Graham:
[to Dorothy] Is he always like this?

Gary:
GET OFF TO YOUR POXY HOSPITAL, AND DON'T PLAY CHESS TOGETHER! GET OUT!

Dermot:
Don't mind them. We could have a game of chess if you want to.

Deborah:
No, it's not that. You're leaning on my hair.

Gary:
Oh, sorry.

Dermot:
I'm just showing you what it would be like if you went out with me.

Deborah:
Yes, but it never stays like this. How long would the flowers last? A week? A month?

Dermot:
They'd last forever. They're plastic.

Dermot:
Get in there, my son!

Gary:
Get out, Dermot.

Dorothy:
Get out!

Dermot:
Deborah, hi. Come in.

Deborah:
Thanks, I can't stay long.

Dermot:
Right.

Deborah:
Well, what's wrong, Dermot? Normally you ask me out twice before we've even reached the kitchen.

Dermot:
Got the sack today.

Deborah:
Oh, no. Why?

Dermot:
Had an argument with a customer.

Deborah:
Well, if that was a sacking offence, I wouldn't have any staff.

Dermot:
Well, it wasn't just an argument. I picked him up and dangled him by his feet until he stopped calling me Mr. Stinky.

Deborah:
This is a child, isn't it?

Dermot:
Yeah. Children in that toy department can be so hurtful.

Deborah:
Well, I think I would've let you off with a warning.

Dermot:
I'd already had a written warning for calling another one a stunted little turd.

Deborah:
Well, maybe you shouldn't work with children.

Dermot:
No. This was an old lady in the china department.

Deborah:
Maybe you shouldn't work with human beings.

Dermot:
Do you need anyone in your restaurant?

Deborah:
Oh, Dermot. I don't know.

Dermot:
You said you were short-staffed.

Deborah:
Well, you've got a record of dangling people by their ankles.

Dermot:
No, thats it. I'm through with dangling.

Deborah:
Well, have you worked as a waiter before?

Dermot:
Yeah.

Deborah:
Where?

Dermot:
Tiny place in Scotland. It's closed down now.

Deborah:
Oh, well. I suppose we could give you a try.

Dermot:
Oh, brilliant!

Deborah:
(Grunts)

Dermot:
Didn't even have to wear my lucky interview underpants.

Deborah:
No! You've just got to get your face out of my neck.

Dermot:
We're sharing a magic moment.

Deborah:
Oh, speak for yourself, Dermot.

Gary:
Put her down, Dermot. You're making a fool of yourself.

Dermot:
She's just given me a job.

Gary:
Thought you already had a job.

Dermot:
Got made redundant.

Gary:
You're never made redundant. You're always fired.

Deborah:
Hi, Gary. Nice day at the office?

Gary:
Oh, pretty standard. George spent the day showing me how to make a model windmill out of paperclips. Anthea had a nervous breakdown in her lunch hour, fortunately. And I filled my briefcase with yogurt.

Dermot:
Oh, Billy Banana flavour. My favourite.

Deborah:
Well, I must go. I came to ask you if you could move some of your things out of the garden shed to make room for some of my stuff.

Dermot:
Sure. What do you got?

Deborah:
Oh, a lawn mower, tools.

Dermot:
What, gardening things?

Deborah:
Yes, Dermot. How do you cut the grass?

Dermot:
We just sort of flatten it down.

Gary:
It seems to stop growing after a while.

Deborah:
Right.

Gary:
How did you persuade Deborah to give you a job?

Dermot:
Told her I had experience.

Gary:
Have you?

Dermot:
Not yet.

Gary:
Look at your work record. What a mess!

Dermot:
These are my wilderness years like Churchill and Gary Glitter.

Gary:
I bet Churchill was never kicked out of Securicor for leaving the keys in the ignition while he did a bit of shopping.

Dermot:
There was a sale on.

Gary:
You've got no ambition, have you?

Dermot:
Have.

Gary:
I'm talking about careers, Dermot. Not your ambition to clash glands with Linda Lusardi. What did you want to be when you were a kid?

Dermot:
Rock guitarist.

Gary:
Yeah.

Dermot:
What, you too?

Gary:
No, no. Manager of a small engineering firm.

Dermot:
Funny, isn't it? The crazy dreams we once had.

Gary:
Crazy.

Dermot:
I reckon I could still be a guitarist, you know? If I learnt to play guitar.

Gary:
For a while, I wanted to be that little girl on the test card playing noughts and crosses

Dermot:
Yeah. Well, didn't we all?

Gary:
Mm.

Dermot:
Then after that, you want any job where there's lots of women around.

Gary:
Mm-mm.

Dermot:
I wanted to be choreographer for Pan's People. Sent off for details, actually.

Gary:
Mm. My parents just wanted me to have a respectable job.

Dermot:
Oh, you've done all right, then.

Gary:
Yeah, yeah. Nothing wrong with my career. I'll give it my best years to high quality security equipment.