Yet Another Dialogue

Doug: Are you writing an article for someone?

Mark: yes, why?

Doug: You had made mention.

Doug: Explain.

Mark: for the Beat.

Mark: it

Mark: s

Mark: an

Doug: more slowlly please

Mark: obit

Mark: of

Mark: errol

Mark: thompson

Mark: better

Mark: known

Mark: as

Mark: "ET"

Mark: he

Mark: was

Mark: a

Mark: studio

Mark: engineer

Mark: and

Mark: dub

Mark: mixer

Mark: he's

Mark: dead.

Mark: now

Doug: How did it befall him? The death? Pray tell, milord.

Mark: his heart did fayl him.

Mark: No! I err in my speeche.

Mark: there was lacke of suffycient aire to his braine

Mark: they calle it in some parts, a stroke.

Mark: we didst predict that he woulde ryse and walk againe, but the the spectre of the man with the scythe did appeare, and he was taken to the other worlde.

Doug: That dist befall milord Paddington this fortnight hence. Hark! I hear him now, his spectral form...that braying which does plague me as it did in life, oh God! Still my aching pancreas such that I might live another day to see my Lady Bettina on the threshing floor.

Mark: the grym reaperre did dutyfully performe his grym chore, and his spirite was no more.

Doug: And having laide him on the floore, he exeunt through the doorre.

Mark: Lady Bettina WAS raised into the aire, and when she came back doune agayne, it was on a spyke of irone.

Doug: A most painful boille didst she, late of Hunsdon's Faire, develop internallye.

Mark: someone should write jacobean or elizabethan tragedy in 2004.

Doug: Nice.

Doug: VERY gory.

Doug: After a while you're not able to see the film, were it be a movye, for the thick filme of bloode.

Doug: I hope you wrote the obit in the Jacobean style.

Mark: I wrote it in Gyoko-San.

Mark: I have to deal with dinner.

Doug: Godspeede.

Doug: Good my liege.

Doug: Take my kidneye, sire, may it serve you welle.

Mark: I hath lain down upon a gilded sword, and it hath penetrated my back.

Doug: Hark, my liege, for I heare the Giante Bunnie of Exchester!!!

Mark: Hithens! To the ramparts with violent haste! Chaste the risens! Hairsclombe the adronials!

Mark: Gleesen the Mound of Filth!

Mark: Do chubbit, my whizzens. For the burling whappit doth range amongst feral fear, and my horse is rent asunder like a tail-wind dog.

Doug: Slarth the umberlins! Chaywaste to the barrowcats! Ha, ha! Let this be the undoing of milord Guppy's blisterwinkles!!!!

Mark: Hath ye no mind for mavens??

Doug: [General alarum]

Mark: [Many are slain]

Doug: CURTAINE

Doug: Annnnnd that's a print!

Doug: Okay, see you all back here tomorrow.

Mark: All the actors are charcoal black racist caricatures, peeling off Kenneth Branagh masks

Doug: Who peel off the blackface and are albinos.

Doug: Who rub away the white pancake and are hedgehogs.