It's long been known that Digi regarded the popular cockney-me-do soap opera EastEnders if not quite with awe, then at least a certain degree of fondness. Especially for its cardboard (not literally - it isn't Crossroads), clichéd, one-dimensional characters, and the storylines that revolve around the microcosm of all east London life that is Albert Square. It's these things that make it perhaps a little too easy to lampoon and send up, but hey - there's nothing wrong with that, man! And that's just what Digi did, documenting these lines that never quite made it out of the mouths of the H-dropping miscreants that call themselves the cast...
(SCENE: Interior. The Fowler household kitchen. Pauline is making tea.)
PAULINE: Arthur, your tea's ready.
(Pauline walks into living room to find Arthur seated in a large box. He turns sharply. What appears to be Copydex coats his lips and gums.)
PAULINE: What are you doing in the Christmas club box?
ARTHUR: Christmas club box... I... love it.
PAULINE: Well get out. I'm off to play horsey now, and I want you to look after our two lovely kids - Chaka Demus and Pliers.
(Pauline puts her hat and "leaves". Cut to interior of Queen Vic pub. Den is talking to Mr Wilmott-Brown.)
WILMOTT: Now look, Dennis, that apple you sold me was bad.
DEN: Sorry, Mr Wilmott-Brown. So sorry.
(Enter Tucker Jenkins.)
TUCKER: I am bald.
DEN: What's that? Bald? So sorry.
WILMOTT: Bald? Bad apple? What's going on, Dennis? This is no way to run a pub. I shall be having a word with the brewery.
(Enter "Lofty" who begins "clipping" punters at the far end of the bar.)
DEN: No "clipping", "Lofty". So sorry.
(Cut to Ali's Café. Ali is there.)
ALI: Oh. Sue. Poor. Tucker. Is. Bald.
SUE: Bald? How can you be so sure?
ALI: Ozcab 5.
(Cut to Pete Beale's fruit stool. He's selling a good apple to Wilmott.)
PETE: Cor treacle, I can't believe that Den would sell bad apple. I was hoping for a fam-ly Christmas, but now Tucker is bald. Fffff.
WILMOTT: Yyy. Yyy. Yepping.
(Camera pan to Nick and Dot Cotton strolling through the Square.)
NICK: Come on Ma. Givvus a fiver.
DOT: Ah, but my dear boy, you see, I would give fiver, but I fear it might be foolishly dispensed with.
NICK: You stupid old bag. I'll remember this. I may return to kill you.
WILMOTT: Dot, have you heard, I was sold bad apple by Den?
DOT: My dear, dear Wilmott. It is simply the end of everything.
(Cut to Fowler household. Chaka Demus and Pliers are running riot.)
ARTHUR: Come on kids, stop all this.
DEMUS (shrieking): My Papa.
PLIERS: Greetings master. Are we well?
(Cut to interior of Patcabs office.)
MIKE REID: Rrrrrrrrunaround!!!!!!
(Cut back to Queen Vic. TV's Danny Taurus has just finished his "set".)
TV's DANNY TAURUS: So, tell me Pauline, have I still got it?
TRICKY DICKY: Very nice. But, ah...
(Pan up to bar. Grant is buying ale.)
GRANT: I'm gonna nut you, Den.
DEN: No trouble please. So sorry.
(Grant nuts Den. Enter Ian and "Pops".)
"POPS": ...You wouldn't get sold no bad apple or bald in Trinidad.
IAN: Shut it old-timer, you're yesterday's man. I am more modern, making deals on my "tell-o-phone".
(Cut to the Arches. Wicksy is there.)
WICKSY: Come on Grant, buy my apples.
GRANT: I've already nutted Den for selling bad apple. Are you looking for a bit of this too, you frightful ass?
WICKSY: No, no. I'm just peddling my wares. Not selling bad apple. These apples are bald-oh.
GRANT: Bald-oh? Hmmm.
(Cut to Queen Vic. Grant runs in, dragging Wicksy and his wares.)
GRANT: Look, everyone - Wicksy.
DEN: Wicksy, I didn't mean to get you involved. So sorry.
EVERYONE: Huh?
DEN: Yes. I must confess. I have indeed been selling bad apple, but I got Wicksy to sell bald-oh apples.
TV's DANNY TAURUS: And?
DEN: And it cause Tucker to go bald. So sorry.
TUCKER: Leg it everyone - it's Baxter!
SAP-SUCKER SUTTON: (laughs)
THE END
EXT. ALBERT SQUARE. DAY
STEVE: You gotta get over it, Matt. Here, let me rub the back of your neck in a sinisterly over-affectionate fashion.
MATTHEW ROSE: Yip-yip. Kerrr-ruff! Gruff! Yip-yip! Snet! But I keep seeing her face, Steeeeve. Snet!
STEVE: Here's 40 quid. Go and enjoy yourself, and try to forget Saskia, who we murdered and buried in the wood.
MATTHEW ROSE: Yip-yip!. Snet! Rrrruff!
EXT. ALBERT SQUARE. DAY
STEVE: Have you two seen Matt?
LENNY: I think I saw him going over to the squat earlier.
FAT-WELSH: He kept saying something about helping to murder someone and having to bury her in the woods.
LENNY: He's such a joker!
STEVE: Yes. Joker. Ha ha ha! Do you guys like Spandau Ballet then?
FAT-WELSH: Who?
EXT. ALBERT SQUARE. DAY
BIANCA: Shout! Shout! Shout!
RICKY: Mumble mumble... y'know.
BIANCA: Shout! Shout! Shout! Shout!
RICKY: I don't know what you want me to do, Bianca.
BIANCA: Shout! Shout!
RICKY: No I never. Mumble.
BIANCA: Shout! Shout! Shout! Waaaaah?
EXT. ALBERT SQUARE. DAY
STEVE: Right, Matt. Here's the plan. As the guests walk through this door, you charge them five pounds a head. I'll stand over here with my crystal ashtray, and smack them with it as they pass.
MATTHEW: Snet! Whubber wheen?
STEVE: Don't worry, Matt. No one will ever find out.
MATTHEW: But, Steve, boc-boc-a-do!
EXT. ALBERT SQUARE. DAY
GRANT: Hey, Phil!
PHIL: What are you doing, bruv? why are you crawling around on your stomach like that?
GRANT: I'm trying to cross Albert Square "Beetle-Fashion".
PHIL: What do you mean?
GRANT: Come on and try it.
(Phil lays on the ground)
PHIL: Hey - this is real big fun!
EXT. ALBERT SQUARE. DAY
GRANT: Look at me, Phil!
PHIL: Get down off the roof of the Queen Vic, bruv. You'll do yourself a mischief.
GRANT: But I like it up here. It makes me feel like a bird.
PHIL: A bird? Are you going all noncy?
GRANT: No - a bird that flies.
PHIL: Oh. Now I understand.
INT. QUEEN VIC
PEGGY: Look, I've had Roly The Dead Dog stuffed, and mounted on the bar.
STEVE OWEN: Why has he got udders?
PEGGY: I've had him hollowed-out, and filled with spirits. Pushing each of his legs will dispense a measure. Back right leg: vodka. Back left leg: whisky. Front left leg: cherryade. Front right leg: sours.
STEVE OWEN: What happens if you pull his tail?
PEGGY: He vomits milk.
INT. QUEEN VIC
PHIL MITCHELL: What are you all looking at? Ain't you never seen a man dressed as a Mexican before?
STEVE OWEN: But, mate, you're not dressed as a Mexican.
PHIL MITCHELL: Why are you all looking at me, then?!
STEVE OWEN: Look, let's just calm down.
PHIL MITCHELL: WHY ARE YOU ALL LOOKING AT ME??!!?
STEVE OWEN: Because you're naked.
INT. QUEEN VIC
PEGGY: Who egged my son Phil Micthell? It's the biggest mystery in the history of Albert Square!
PHIL MITCHELL: That's right.
PEGGY: Phil! You're back from the dry cleaners - did you get all the egg off?
PHIL MITCHELL: Yes, thanks. But it's no longer a mystery who egged me. I can reveal that my mystery assailant was... YOU, Space Robot X47!
SPACE ROBOT X47: +++ ESCAPE MODE ACTIVATED +++
INT. QUEEN VIC
PEGGY: I'd like you all to meet the newest addition to Albert Square, my nephew, Yentil-Tot Micthell! He's sure to be a big hit with the viewers... I mean, residents of Albert Square.
YENTIL-TOT: Heyylllooossssrr.
MARK FOWLER: You never said you had a nephew, Peggy.
PEGGY: No, well, we don't like to mention him on account of the fact he's got a kitchen blender for a head.
YENTIL-TOT: I love to blend!
INT. QUEEN VIC
PEGGY: I've got some news, but it's not so good, I'm afraid. I've had to sell the Queen Vic.
MARK FOWLER: That is not so good.
PEGGY: Now, everyone, I'd like you to meet the new landlord of the Queen Vic, James The Swan!
PHIL MITCHELL: But it's just a swan.
PEGGY: Not just a swan. He's also the new landlord of the Queen Vic, and - OW! He bit me on the eye!
INT. CHIP SHOP
IAN BEALE: Look - look at me! Glug... slurp... gurgle.
DENNIS WATERMAN'S DAUGHTER: Ian, don't drink the batter mix straight out of the batter bowl! You'll give all the customers your cold sores.
IAN BEALE: I don't care about that. I just love this batter mix! Slllurp!
DENNIS WATERMAN'S DAUGHTER: Stop it, Ian. Stop smearing it around your face, and licking your lips. It makes me want to... Ugh. Now look what you've made me do - I've been sick on the cod.
INT. CHIP SHOP
MARK FOWLER: Good afternoon. I'd like fish and chips, please.
IAN BEALE: Certainly. Would you like salt and vinegar on that?
MARK FOWLER: Yes, I would. Thank you.
IAN BEALE: That's my pleasure. Here you are. Your fish and chips.
MARK FOWLER: What the...? This is just a hedgehog wrapped in newspaper.
IAN BEALE: Hee hee! Hee hee hee! A-hoo! A-hee hee hee hee hee!
INT. QUEEN VIC
PEGGY: Quick, everyone: barricade the doors, otherwise the zombie Dirty Den will get in here and eat our faces.
ZOMBIE DIRTY DEN: Iiiii wiiiillll eat your braaaaaaains.
PEGGY: Brains, faces. Whatever.
MARK FOWLER: I've got an idea. We might be able to repel the zombie Den by using a powerful smell.
PEGGY: What sort of sm... oh. Oh, THAT sort of smell. Ugh. Oh, Mark! Ohhh.
INT. QUEEN VIC
PHIL MITCHELL: Hsss. Hssss!
MARK FOWLER: What's that, Phil? You've filled your bath with blubber?
PHIL MITCHELL: Hssssrrr! Hsssss? Hssrrrr! Hssss!
MARK FOWLER: I see. And then what happened, Phil?
PHIL MITCHELL: Hhhhuuuu! Hssrrrr-hsss.
MARK FOWLER: You got mud on it? That's your fault for dragging it around.
INT. QUEEN VIC
MARK FOWLER: Now come on, Pat. Let's not be hasty: put the fork down.
PAT BUTCHER: I'll fork you all, freaks!
IAN BEALE: Why do you want to do that, Pat Butcher? What has upset you?
PAT BUTCHER: Because... I'm not really Pat Butcher. Hrrrrugrrrttttch! Buzz!
MARK FOWLER: Yoinks! Pat Butcher's head has come off, revealing that she's nothing more than a prosthetic body, playing host to a colony of hyper-intelligent space wasps!
INT. QUEEN VIC
PEGGY: I've got an announcement. I'm getting married again!
STEVE OWEN: Married? But to whom?
PEGGY: Please meet my husband-in-waiting: a giant metal bee!
STEVE OWEN: Wow! The circumference of its torso alone must be in excess of one hundred metres.
PEGGY: And then some! Even better, if I pull on this spike, coloured foam pulses out of its eye.
INT. QUEEN VIC
PEGGY: Everyone, I'd like to introduce you to the new co-owner of the Queen Vic - Thom Yorke out of Radiohead!
THOM YORKE: Hello.
PEGGY: We've decided to divide two sides of the pub between us, each with different themes.
THOM YORKE: Mine's going to based around pigs in cages on antibiotics.
PEGGY: Brilliant!
INT. THE LAUNDERETTE
PAULINE: Urgh, Dot! What's all that stuff coming out of your head?
DOT: What stuff?
PAULINE: That stuff – pulsing from a small suit behind your ear. It looks like… fat. Gallons of it, pulsing out and dribbling down your back in oily clumps.
DOT: Ohhhh, that. You see, my son Nick has hollowed me out and replaced my internal organs with a sophisticated rendering plant. It's just a scheme he's trying out.
INT. THE LAUNDERETTE
PAULINE: Listen, Dot. I've got a new plan to shake-up the way we do the washing here in the launderette.
DOT: I'm all ears.
PAULINE: What do you mean?
DOT: I mean… this. You will see, as I remove my dungarees, that the lower part of my body has been replaced by a massive earlobe.
PAULINE: But… it's only partially formed. And why is there a vicar sticking out of it?
INT. FISH AND CHIP SHOP
IAN BEALE: Look, wife: I'm swimming in the batter.
BEALE’S WIFE: Stop it, Ian. You remember what happened last time.
CUSTOMER: Hello. I'd like to complain about the fish and chips I just bought from you. You see, I unwrapped it when I got home, to find it full of hair. Worse than that, the fish turned out to be nothing more than a battered pair of underpants.
IAN BEALE: Look at me, customer: look what I'm doing in the batter! Ha ha ha!
EXT. ALBERT SQUARE
IAN BEALE: Pat, why are laying in the road doing that sort of funny horizontal dance?
PAT: This isn't a dance. I've fallen onto my back, and can't get up. All I can do is lay here, wriggling my arms and legs.
IAN BEALE: I'm afraid I must go now.
PAT: Aren't you going to help me?
IAN BEALE: No.
EXT. ALBERT SQUARE
IAN BEALE: Everyone gather round – gather round and look at Pat, who's fallen and can't get up.
MARK FOWLER: Why is she doing that funny horizontal dance?
PAT: I'm not dancing! I'm struggling to get up. Oh, kind sirs, please help me.
IAN BEALE: No.
PAT: Why not?
IAN BEALE: No.
INT. QUEEN VIC
ALFIE MOON: Oi oi!
KAT SLATER: That's enough cheek, you.
ALFIE MOON: Wahey! Whooh!
KAT SLATER: Shut-up! Just shut-up!
ALFIE MOON: Oi oi! Wahey! Duchess!
IAN BEALE: Somebody help me - I hid my kids in a couple of big seashells, and now I can't find them anywhere.
ALFIE MOON: Oi oi!
Do you know of any important moments from the annals of Digi history that have been omitted? If so, then mail me (superpage58@gmail.com) right now, man. Credit will be duly given for anything that gets put up.
