Based on a true story

Int House: Hallway
A middle aged man, Bob, is pushing buttons on a fax machine. A young man, his son, Dave, walks up to him.

DAVE: Are you still using the fax machine. Why don't you send an email?

BOB: Son, I like faxes. You know where you are with a fax machine.

(The fax machine gets a ring tone and dials)

Voice From out of the fax machine: Hello? Hello? HELLLLOOOO?! Hello? FOr god's sake

BOB: FAX! It's a FAX! FAX!!

DAVE: Dad, she can't hear you. It's a fax machine. It hasn't got a microphone

Voice: Hello???

BOB: FAX!

(Fax machine hangs up)

DAVE: You've dialled a phone number, not a fax number. I bet that's what you've done.

BOB: Why doesn't she switch it over?

DAVE: Because it's not a fax number and she can't. She might be nothing to do with whoever you're sending a fax to.

BOB: Are you sure it's got ink in it

DAVE: Ink? The sending and receiving of faxes has got nothing to do with ink dad, we've been through this before.

BOB: Go check on your grandad

DAVE: Just cancel and redial

(BOB starts to open the fax machine to check for ink)

DAVE: It's nothing to do with...

BOB: Go check on grandad

INT Sitting room

Grandad is asleep in the armchair in front of the TV with his feet stretched out and crossed at the ankles. The dog, a labrador, comes in and starts to heave and then promptly throws up on grandad's feet.

We see Dave start to open his mouth and then stop again.

BOB: (From out in the hallway) FAX! FAX! FAX!

Dave sits down and places his head in his hands...

We hear the dog start to eat his own sick...

DAVE: (quietly) Good dog. Good dog

As said, this is based on a true story.  It's actually a combination of two stories and is probably a waste of both.  My father has an unhealthy relationship with the fax machine combined with a shockingly poor grasp of the technology behind it.  This leads him to misdial regularly and then shout 'FAX!' at the fax machine.  It was funny the first time.  After the hundredth time it can get a little tedious, particularly after having explained the situation every time.  He genuinely believes sending a fax requires ink and, of course, that shouting 'FAX!' will somehow make the person at the other end know what to do with it.

The other part, i used to babysit my grandad.  When my grandad was living with us it seemed like my folks were always out every evening.  This was a bummer because it meant i was in charge of grandad but also a good thing because i could sneak out the back and smoke a spliff.  (This is also the reason i'd volunteer to walk grandad home, so i could smoke a jay on the way back).  So, grandad is asleep.  I'm buzzin out my tiny teenage mind, in walks the dog and throws up all over his feet.  I sit there thinking "did that really just happen?" and eventually manage to snap out of it.  I go to get a cloth and some water.  While i'm doing that the dog's thinking "Hey, what's this?  Food!" so the dog gets most of it up.  Luckily, grandad is wearing patent leather slippers so it's fairly easy to wipe his feet clean.  I'm trying to be as quiet as possible.  He opens one eye at one point but goes back to sleep.  Think i rewarded myself with another zoot. 

Cool story bro etc...

To boldly go

Int: Bridge of Spaceship. CAPT GRANT, a human, is speaking to NARNON, a blue hairy alien type; use your imagination. They are both sitting.

CAPT: So, what makes you feel you'd be right as a pilot?

NARNON: I'm a splendid communicator Captain Grant. I'm conversant in 400 languages including text speak and illiterate facebook chav.

CAPT: Oh, really? I could never get my head around it at the academy.

NARNON: It's not that complicated really. You just swap i's for y's and end every sentence with 'innit blud' and you're halfway there.

CAPT: It says here that you were almost part of the Technotronic Galaxial Royal Family.

NARNON: Yes. I was due to marry Princess Mardiothon but I just couldn't go through with it.

CAPT: Why ever not man?! Think of the money, the power, the pan, the van, the Boursin. Besides, I heard technotrons can do strange and wonderful things with their third inmurpredates.

NARNON: (beat) There will be things I'll miss about her but it would never have worked. The whole family support Accrington Stanley.

CAPT: Accrington Stanley? Who are they?

NARNON: A shit football team from the Northwest of England....originally. But now, they are part of the Neo-scouse Religious Soccer league. Games last days. Cars are ceremonially left on bricks and it's frowned upon if you don't chant (in scouse accent) 'Exactly' over and over again. I just couldn't do it anymore.

CAPT: So how did you get out of it then?

NARNON: Oh, I just whistled the tune to Please Release Me until she asked what I was singing. Then I sang her chorus while giving her the finger. I still have bruises on my dwarfinin.

CAPT: So, do you want the job.

NARNON: Don't you need to see any credentials. You've not asked if I can fly the thing yet.

CAPT: Fly? This is Transport for Pluto, Pal. We're on strike till next year. You'll have plenty of time to learn. Welcome aboard comrade.

PMT Sketch

INT: Bedroom

Close up of an horrendous looking HELL-BEAST with salivating mandibles and red eyes

Camera pulls out slowly to a shot that frames the bed and the door to the left of it whilst

FX: sickening growling sound in time with HELL-BEAST's breathing

We see HELL-BEAST is sat up in bed wearing a tattered pink pyjama top. It's a double bed and HELL-BEAST is in the bed on the side furthest from the door.

HELL-BEAST: (in a woman's voice)
Dave! Are you bringing that hotwater bottle?

DAVE: (from outside the room)
Yeah, just doing it. Was waiting for the kettle to boil.

HELL-BEAST: Have you burped it?

DAVE: Sorry, love, what did you say?

HELL-BEAST: HAVE YOU BURPED IT? I LIKE IT BURPED.

DAVE: (Evenly)
I know, I'm just doing it, won't be a sec

Enter Dave in pyjama bottoms carrying hotwater bottle

DAVE: Here you go love. Was just switching off in there.

Dave hands over hotwater bottle and gets into bed. The both get settled. From the bumps in the covers we see DAVE extend a leg over and rub down HELL-BEAST's lower leg and foot.

HELL-BEAST: Dave, f**king seriously?

DAVE: (beat) Sorry, sorry.

End.