Peep Show, Series 8

Jez:
(We could be the Chemical Toilet Brothers.)

Mark:
(So great that Dobby's agreed to move in. Just gotta close the deal. Get her into the flat and keep her locked down like Fritzl. No, not like Fritzl, like a nice normal loving guy who knows where she is at all times. Which at no point would be locked in the cellar.)

Jez:
Jeff?!

Mark:
I think it's okay. Or do you think there's any chance he's trying to kill all of my offspring. Like Herod.

Dobby:
Oh, Jez, Mark told me about you burning the band. Are you okay?

Jez:
Yeah. I'm too big to fail.

Mark:
He doesn't know what that means.

Jez:
I do know what that means.

Mark:
(He doesn't know what that means.)

Mark:
(What if I broke the microwave? Test case: if she buys a new one I know she's never moving in.)

Mark:
(Yes Gerrard, but there's a sting in the tail, a scorpion in the Kinder Egg, a nail in the Toblerone, and… 'tis I.)

Mark:
(Maybe Ian won't remember I gave him away to another man. If he does, he'll be some kind of memory genius. Yeah, my son hates me, but he can remember a full deck of cards and that's why he lives in Vegas.)

Jez:
I've always got the Three 0h Walcott millions.

Mark:
Jeremy's planning to sell the headline "Three Oh Walcott" to a tabloid newspaper when Theo Walcott turns thirty, and we've agreed not to argue whether that's a good plan.

Jez:
It is a good plan.

Mark:
I know.

Jez:
(Right, therapy. What do I really want from therapy? A harsh, unremitting stare at the bare facts of my actual life. Ah, f*** that, he's eating a Twix! I can't take him seriously.)

Mark:
(Hang on, this is prime therapy time. Oh I get it, the lady doth eat bhaji too much, methinks. I've seen behind the curtain. Ahoy there, moral high ground. He's wasting five hundred of my pounds, and it feels fantastic!)

Mark:
What did he die of?

Dobby:
Flu.

Mark:
He died of flu? Hey, Jeremy, Gerrard's died of flu.

Jez:
Bull-shit

Mark:
Seriously.

Jez:
Bloody hell, that is SO Gerrard.

Mark:
I know.

Dobby:
He had a weak immune system Mark.

Jez:
He had a weak everything, to be fair Dobs.

Mark:
(The reproachful, but still quite irritating, voice from beyond the grave.)

Mark:
(Funeral parlour, massage parlour - those are the main parlours, aren't they? What's the link, both lying down? Except, pizza parlour?)

Mark:
(Interview then funeral, the ultimate combo. Minicab waiting, same outfit for both.)

Mark:
(This is a mega-funeral. It was a mega-interview. Hugh was the only real rival, but look what's happened to Gerrard. This is what I do to rivals, I put my rivals in the ground.)

Mark:
(Well played Gerard, you couldn't beat me on Earth so now you're shitting on me from heaven, like a dead jealous pidgeon)

Mark:
(This must be the greatest quantity of squeezable mustard ever present at a literary lunch.)

Jez:
Look, I'm just going to say this. I love you Celia. (So great for a first date. Stone cold classic.)

Celia:
That is so true.

Jez:
(Of course it's true. I just made it up.)

Mark:
Robert, is Super Hans my boss now? Have you just promoted him?

Robert:
Well that depends how you define "boss".

Mark:
In the normal way?

Robert:
Then yes, he is.

Super Hans:
I'm guessing: cat

Mark:
(Yes, and this cat's going to help me lure Dobby in, like a classic 70s paedo with a Ford Grenada.)

Dobby:
We will do this for real, right? We will go interrailing?

Mark:
(Ohh, she's insatiable. I don't want to sleep with strangers in hostels and never have a proper relaxed poo.) Yeah, sure.

Jez:
I've got medical training, I've got a certificate.

Mark:
I gave you the certificate. It's utterly meaningless.

Jez:
In a way, aren't all so called qualifications meaningless?

Mark:
(Wow, you're like a sexy, human, Duncan Bannatyne.)

Mark:
(Am I expecting to have adulterous sex with Stephanie? I don't know. I did put my nice pants on. But then I also wore those to the Jubilee pageant)

Mark:
(What can I get away with before it's sure-fire infidelity? A kiss on the lips? Some people say hello like that. Touch the waist? Another innocent greeting gesture. As long as she doesn't rub my penis. No-one says hello like that, other than in prison.)

Jez:
(You're not letting me steal your girlfriend you total bastard.)

Jez:
(Good old fate. It does the hard work so you don't have to. Or am I thinking of flash?)

Mark:
Well, me and Dobby make a great team... Opposites attract!

Jez:
No they don't. Not really. That's just something scientists and people in horrible relationships say.

Mark:
I'll kill you, Jeremy, for trying to steal Dobby, and electrocuting me, and destroying my f***ing pie!

[Eulogy at Gerard's funeral]

Johnson:
Look, nothing can make today alright but maybe we can take some comfort from the brutal reality that the weak must make way for the strong. Evolution marches on. The scythe is remorseless. I hope the scythe's remorseless swing can bring some comfort to you all.

[Eulogy at Gerard's funeral]

Mark:
(Yeah. Listerine in the cab, swill the backwash into my Volvic, spurt of Lynx, it's the busy man's shower! OK, the edit, the brutal edit.) Um, OK, hi. So there's, there's so much to say about Gerrard. (That can all go, that goes.) In a way, whatever I say will end up feeling incomplete. (Covered myself there.) So why don't I just sum up? My first day I thought, what a great guy. I liked him as soon as I met him. (This is gonna take forever.) Yes, I mean, why don't I just give you the stories, the highlights? Aberdeen, the Finnemore numbers, tube up the nose! But so noble. World of Warcraft, huge for him. JLB, obviously, which I think Alan hit. (Sum up, time to sum up.) Look, I don't want to warble on when we probably all want to be out grieving and crying in a more well-catered environment. Sarnies! God, he loved a sandwich, seriously. (That's enough.) So, I just feel very sad, that's the take home message which I want you all to go away with. (Think I got away with that. Yeah, if you've got any complaints, tell 'em to Gerrard.)

[Jeremy goes in for his therapy session]

Jez:
(OK, Mr. Bendicks, bring it on.) Want some Curly Wurly? (Yeah. You weren't expecting that, were you?) Nothing, OK, I've heard about this. Harsh Freudian. I suppose you want me to sit here, yeah? Well, how about if I go and stand over here instead? You think you can handle that, hmm? So I suppose I can say anything in here. That's the whole idea, right? I can call you a dickhead if I want. Yeah, got a big dick for your head. (Is he going to get me sectioned? I hope he doesn't have a secret sectioning button under there.) So what do you want me to do? Pull down my pants and fertilise the plants? Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you? Yeah, then you'd have a real patient on your hands. More mental millions for your high interest account, or ISA, or share portfolio, or to spend on your wife, or your boyfriend, chowing down on an Aberdeen Angus steak from your Volkswagen Passat. That's right, kemosabe, I've got your number. Yeah, doesn't feel very nice when the searchlight is turned on the searchlight operator. Hmm, yeah, pal? How about if I just pulled my knob out, and started wanking? Yeah? Oh, you'd love that wouldn't you? My gonads out, one ball dangling in front of each eye. That's your dream, yeah? WELL I'M NOT GOING TO!

Mr. Bendicks:
Would you like a glass of water?

Jez:
Yes, please.

Mark:
Jez, will you please get your filthy hands out of my girlfriend's brain?

Jez:
What?

Mark:
You'd better not be about tell her to expect more out of life or follow her heart.

Super Hans:
Uh, widely acknowledged to have nicked our sound.

Jez:
The Chemical Brothers.

Super Hans:
Correct. Bullshitters turning wank into cash.

Jez:
Flaming Lips?

Super Hans:
Correct. Oh, arsehole.

Jez:
LCD Soundsystem.

Super Hans:
Fakers.

Jez:
Pavement.

Super Hans:
Yep. Oh, we thought we had her number, and you got a bit over-excited, but it turned out to be a not very funny joke?

Jez:
Lily Allen.

Super Hans:
Correct. Phonies.

Jez:
Foo Fighters.

Super Hans:
Yeah. Oh, demanded the Ramsgate blowjob.

Jez:
Mumford & Sons?

Super Hans:
Mmmm.

Trish:
That's your lot.

Jez:
(I'm so good at this. But I bet not one person here is gonna give me a blowjob.)

Jeremy:
(Good old Fate. It does the hard work so you don't have to. Or am I thinking of Flash?)

Robert:
Yeah, I just spoke to Dave Franks. Apparently you and another bloke tried to swindle him? And then one of you did a shit in a display toilet.

Mark:
That wasn't us, there was also a five-year-old boy.

Robert:
Well, he didn't mention a boy.

Mark:
There honestly was one. The shit will be child-sized, if you ask him.

Robert:
I'm not asking him that.

Mark:
Okay...Am I fired?

Robert:
Yes.

Mark:
Look, I think we need a cooling-off period. Just go back to London, find out what Nancy's up to, watch some pornos, have a couple of gay flings and then, at the end of two weeks, if you still feel the same, then maybe you can say something.

Jez:
Look, I'm really, really serious, Mark. I can't see a way out of this. I think maybe... like... like one of us should kill ourselves.

Mark:
The life coach speaks!

Mark:
Well why don't you go back to London, then?

Jez:
Oh, so you can ask her to marry you?

Mark:
That's what we agreed.

Jez:
Fuck the agreement.

Mark:
Oh, great, that's brilliant. Fuck the agreement. Fuck the Geneva Convention. Fuck Parliamentary democracy. Fuck everything. Is that your great new idea?

Jez:
You know how weak my powers of self-control are. Normally I can't wait five minutes before having a wank or a spliff or a chocolate biscuit. I've restrained myself for nearly three hours. That's got to stand for something. I'm sorry, but I'm going to tell Dobby how I feel about her.