Peep Show, Series 9

Jez:
This stag is one load of PG-rated, Disney-assed, Which magazine approved, child-proof, high vitamin fucking bullshit.

Hans:
Let's detox till we've got mega cocks.

Mark:
(Finally working at a bank, and banks have turned into phone shops. But it is still a bank. I'm the Wolf of Wall Street. Look out, Boots, I'm going to buy a hundred meal deals and eat them off a prossie in the nude.)

Johnson:
I got something up on my visual display unit this morning, Mark. I thought it was a high-definition photo of some dog shit. Then I took a closer look, and I realised it was actually your sales record.

Mark:
Oh, right.

Johnson:
I pulled strings to get you in, Mark. If you look like a sausage dog fucker, then I look like a sausage dog fucker. Do you get me?

Mark:
(Got to get my dick out of the dog.)

Jez:
("Sorry, Mark. I'm Sorry." So simple and yet it feels like if I say it, I might actually die.)

Jez:
Look, the problem for you is I'm your friend. I know you, Mark. I know you like to pretend you're this stuffed shirt who reads incredibly boring books about dead people killing each other with bayonets and typhoid, but I know the truth. I've watched Grand Designs with you. That smile when some eco-glass gets delayed on it's way from Antwerp and the nice couple gets pushed over budget. That's the real you.

Mark:
(It wasn't Antwerp, it was Freiburg.)

Jez:
You're this pathetic human who likes Twirls and Downton and Bond and Burgers. So don't come the big guy with me, because it won't fucking wash!

Jez:
Look, Mark, you need to face facts. Jerry's a wanker. Kick him out and kick me back in.

Jez:
What about going Litvinenko?

Mark:
Kill him? With polonium?

Jez:
Not full Litvinenko. Just a little bit of something debilitating in his pasta each night. Grind him down, weaken him, till he's all pathetic, and you can just [motions scooping Jerry up with his hand]

Super Hans:
I owe Jez. He took a bullet for me. You, you're a pure chrome dildo. Solid.

Mark:
OK, everything's out. What now?

Jez:
We could tie him to a hot air balloon. Then he would drift away out of the window.

Mark:
Um...

Jez:
You like that? The hot air balloon? Or punch him, Hans?

Super Hans:
What you looking at me for? You punch him. Maybe you could sit on him, intimidate him, yeah? Fart on his face.

Jez:
Psychological warfare. Yeah, grind him down. Attack his beliefs.

Super Hans:
Yeah. That, plus we fart.

Mark:
What is this, farty Guantanamo?

Jez:
He is, sort of, bagged for our convenience.

Mark:
What?

Jez:
We could just... bag him up and sling him out.

Mark:
(I'm definitely going to agree to this. I just need to put up an acceptable level of objection so I can be all reproachful if it proves to be a disaster, which it almost certainly will.) No! No way. No. Well, ok. But on your heads be it.

Jez:
(Megan's so lovely, I'm definitely falling in love with her. But what the hell is she talking about?)

Super Hans:
Look, I don't think I've ever said this before, but I've got a huge amount of respect for you, yeah? When UKIP come to round us all up, you'll be there, won't you, at the barricades saying "No"?

Mark:
Oh, that's... that's very nice of you to say, Hans.

Super Hans:
Yeah. So, it's like this. I want you to be best man at my wedding.

Mark:
Best Man? What about Jez?

Super Hans:
Molly hates him. I need a... norm. And you, well you're a real meat and potatoes, straight up and down, Beef Wellington, don't trust the Argies, dick in the vagina, Cheddar Cheese and Chicken Tikka Masala man.

Mark:
...Thank you? (There is nothing that could persuade me to strap myself to the huge, flaming Super Hans wedding zeppelin with a gang of drugged-up goons.)

[Mark is working on his Best Man speech]

Mark:
Anything I could use that might be a bit more romantic? Also, and I know this might sound like a bit of a starter question, but... what's your name?

Dobby:
Wicked, hitching! Well one of us is definitely going to get murdered. Probably bloody me, it's usually the girl.

Jez:
(Am I a guy who just slept with a guy, which is fine, or am I a guy who is a gay guy, which is also fine, or am I a guy who sometimes sleeps with guys and sometimes doesn't? Which is also fine. It's all totally fine!)

[Jez has found out that Mark, Dobby and Gregory saw him having sex via Mark's webcam]

Jez:
Him as well?

Mark:
You chose to go into my bedroom. You filmed yourself!

Jez:
I didn't know your room was bristling with surveillance equipment!

Super Hans:
[To Mark] That's what real mates do. They take a pounding, but they still come up smiling. Bit like Jez with that bloke in your bed.

Jez:
God, has the entire world seen this fucking video?! I came here to talk to someone about this. Get some perspective. Turns out I can just read the fucking YouTube comments!

Molly:
[To Hans] Simon...

Mark:
(Simon? Super Simon? Simon Hans?)

Molly:
You are the best of men. The truest, kindest, most generous of men.

Jez:
(I think he might be the opposite of all those words.)

Mark:
[preparing to deliver his best Man speech] (Mention the seven years working Richer Sounds in Kew, miss out the Thai jail, onto the bands, drop the first marriage. Hit Jeremy and their long friendship, minus all the bad blood and occasional sucking each other off, blah blah blah. Wrap up with a toast to the bride and groom. Hans, or possibly, Simon and his wife, whose name I've unfortunately forgotten. Shit! I don't really know either of their names!)

Jez:
Hans. Super Hans, I've known Hans for many a year now. It's been a long road and now, as you've found Molly, er, and I don't really want to get into this, but I've started it now, but I'm going to bring it round, so don't worry. People said Molly wasn't right for you. That she was a downer. But you know what? If someone loves someone, he just loves them. And if that person is considered to be a downer, or even a yawn-a-thon, who cares? And even if someone loves another man, or, what's in a name? Or gender? Is it possible to love two people at once? Three? Four is surely the limit. But is it? What is love anyway? Is it, er, an act, or a feeling or, who am I to speak? Who are you to listen? Why is a marriage a marriage? But society says it's wrong for two men to love one another even though now it says it says that now it's OK? Is it OK because society says it's OK? What next? Dogs getting married? Could I marry my own son? No. Possibly not? Correct. Or is it? What I'm trying to say is that people should do whatever they want to do, at a temperature that suits them, within limits. Thank you. (Pretty sure someone's going to print that speech on a tea towel someday. Yeah, eat that, Obama. Fuck off, Mandela. Take that, Mark, I'm the best man. I'm the best man who ever lived.)

Mark:
(Hmm, once upon a time, I might've woken to the sound of a song thrush. Now, it's a couple of guys pounding the living daylights out of each other. I mean, it's fine. It's just, when Jeremy had sex with women, I hated the noise, but at least there was something in it for me. Now it's like there are two Jeremys in there humping each other. That would be his dream.)

Mark:
It's Moroccan. Like my eyeshadow.

Jez:
(This is a disaster. Joe thinks I'm an idiot. I'm not an idiot, I'm Paxman.) To be honest, uh, I've never really got it about Jesus. I mean, apart from all the Christian stuff, what did Jesus actually do?

Angus:
What did Jesus do, apart from Christianity?

Jez:
Yeah, put that aside.

Angus:
The moral universe we all live in?

Jez:
I'm not knocking the guy! I'm just saying, you know, apart from that, what did he actually achieve? You know I'm not saying I like him, but at least Hitler did some paintings.

April:
Can you tell him I need to talk to him?

Mark:
(Maybe I will, April. Although you might've picked a slightly corrupt postman.)

Joe:
Who's the most famous person you've life-coached?

Jez:
Uh, I would probably have to say... (think of someone famous, think of someone famous) ...the Queen. (Interesting choice.)

Joe:
The Queen?

Jez:
Yeah. It was either the Queen, or, Jenson Button, but, in the end, I'd probably have to say the Queen.

Mark:
41! I win! (What do I win - most physically defective male?)

Mark:
I feel completely normal. But also, bit like I want to karate chop my hand through a very high stack of pappadams.

April:
You could hold up a keema naan, and I could punch my fist through it.

Mark:
Kung Food!

Jez:
I don't like it. It smells of crime.

Super Hans:
You'll be well compensated. Money up front. I'm talking five figures.

Jez:
Five figures?

Super Hans:
Well, there's a decimal place after the first three figures.

Jez:
So three figures?

Super Hans:
Five figures total. Three figures actual.

Mark:
Is... is that him? Is that the robber? Shit! Where's the panic button? I can't find the panic button. I'm panicking and I can't find the panic...

Jez:
Macchiato and a blueberry muffin, please.

Mark:
A muffin? You're going to stand here waiting for a massacre eating a muffin?

Jez:
What difference does it make?

Mark:
Unbelievable. Uh, flat white extra hot and a biscotti. But this is on you! I'm holding you fully accountable.

Jez:
I don't need to take a stupid IQ test to know that I'm three times as intelligent as you.

Mark:
Oh, really? And what's three times a hundred and thirty-three?

Jez:
(Three hundreds and thirty and thirty and thirty. But then all the threes, is it a trick question?) Mark no one does maths these days. We've all got calculators in our pockets, just like all our maths teachers said we wouldn't. Anyway this proves nothing. Probably most people are below average.

Mark:
(A big chat, during which I will reverse out of our agreement, as elegantly as a man backing his car into the entire peloton of the Tour de France.)

Sophie:
If you don't want to move in after all you don't have to bury me, just send a fucking text!

Mark:
It's Ian. I can't find him anywhere. So many bloody kids. I need to somehow get them all cleared out. Maybe shout "fire" or I could tell the staff that you were a famous paedo. That would clear the place like Jaws at the beach.

Jez:
A famous paedo?

Mark:
What? You're very famous and easy about labels. You don't mind a bit of a "bad boy" rep.

Mark:
(Let the dream crumble. Lovely, crumbly dream that I can’t even eat with custard.)

Jez:
It’s the journey of life. Radio 1, Radio 2, Classic FM, Heart, Magic, dead.

Super Hans:
Love's hard mate. Fucking hard. Doesn't work... breaks. But you've got to give it a go. Norwich are never going to win the league, but they still turn up every week don't they? The pricks.

Mark:
(Hello dad, you're living inside me now, are you?)

Mark:
I mean, I know I'm not perfect. In fact, I'm not even probably average. I'm a misshapen potato. An oddball (Feel free to disagree, April!). I'm mean-spirited, and I only really like hearing about other people's holidays when they've been disastrous.

Mark:
(I’ve won! It’s like I’m Napoleon invading Moscow and the Tsar’s fucked off to Ibiza! I’ve conquered the whole of Russia! I’ve only gone and won!)

[final lines]

Jez:
(Aww, we do love each other, really...)

Mark:
(...I simply must get rid of him.)