Parody of Thomas the tank engine & Friends season 3
I don't own either Blackdder and Thomas the Tank Engine
Sorry for any of those felt insulted because it is a parody that dose not make no sense at all!
Percy the Third
Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends crossover with Blackadder
Main starring
Percy the Small Engine as Percy Small, butler to the Prince,
Thomas the tank Engine as Thomas, a dogsbody,
James the Red Engine as Prince James, their master,
Molly the Yellow Engine as Mrs Molly, a coffee shopkeeper,
Episode One
Dish and Dishonesty
"Percy takes on the task of saving his royal master from bankruptcy at the hands of the new Prime Minister. Unfortunately, his attempts to interfere with the democratic process don't quite go according to plan as Thomas is accidentally elevated to the House of Lords."
Guest Starring:
Harold the Helicopter as Mr. Harold, his own great great great grandfather
Wilbert the Forest Engine as Sir Wilbert Forest, a member of Parliament
Duck the Great Western Engine as Duck the Younger, the Prime Minister, great western
S. C. Ruffy as Scruffy, a candidate
Stanley the American Engine as Duck the even Younger, a tiny great western
BoCo the Dieasel Engine as Brigadier General Bob Connery, candidate
At Molly' home
Percy: Well, Molly, at last we can return to sanity. The hustings are over, the bunting is down, the mad hysteria is at an end. After the chaos of a general election, we can return to normal.
Molly: Oh, has there been a general election, then, Mr. Percy?
Percy: Indeed there has, Molly.
Molly: Oh, well, I never heard about it.
Percy: Well of course you didn't; you're not eligible to vote.
Molly: Well, why not?
Percy: Because virtually no-one is: women,(looks at Thomas) chimpanzees (Thomas looks behind himself, trying to see the animal), lunatics, Lords...
Thomas: That's not true - Lord Bulldog Duke's got a vote!
Percy: He's got a *boat*, Thomas. Marvellous thing, democracy. Look at Man: population, 500; electoral roll, 300.
Molly: Well, I may have the brain the size of a sultana...
Percy: Correct...
Molly: ...but it hardly seems fair to me.
Percy: Of course it's not fair - and a damn good thing too. Give the like of Thomas the vote and we'll be back to cavorting druids, death by stoning, and spuds for dinner.
Thomas: Oh, I'm having spuds for dinner tonight.
Molly: So, who are they electing when they have these elections?
Percy: Ah, the same old story: fat Great Western landowners who get made MPs when they reach a certain weight; raving revolutionaries who think that just because they do a day's work that somehow gives them the right to get paid... Basically, it's a right old mess. Toffs at the top, plebs at the bottom, and me in the middle making a fat pile of cash out of both of them.
Molly: Oh, you'd better watch out, Mr. Percy; things are bound to change.
Percy: Not while Duck the Elder's Prime Minister they aren't. He's about as effective as a catflap in an elephant house. As long as his feet are warm and he gets a nice cup of milky tea in the sun before his morning nap, he doesn't bother anyone until his potty needs emptying.
In the House of Commons (occasionally, sheep are heard in the background)
(a voice, the Speaker)
Speaker: Honourable members of the House of Commons, I call upon the new Prime Minister of Sodor and Her Empires: Mr. Montague Duck Western, the Younger.
Duck: Mr. Speaker, members of the House: I shall be brief, as I have, rather unfortunately, become Prime Minister right in the middle of my exams I look forward to fulfilling my duty in a manner of which Nanny would be proud. I shall introduce legislation to utterly destroy three enemies of the State. The first is that evil dictator, Mr Percival.
(Members shout 'Here here!')
Duck: The second is my old Geography master, William Crewe. But most of all, sirs, I intend to pursue that utter slob, The Prince of Brendam! Why, this year alone, he has spent 300,000 pounds on banqueting (shouts of 'boo! boo!'), 700,000 pounds on Canadian booze (members all hold their noses), and - most astonishing of all - an astonishing 800,000 pounds on socks! Therefore, my three main policy priorities are: 1) War with Ireland; 2) Tougher sentences for geography teachers; and 3) A right royal kick of the Prince's backside!
(all members shout affirmatively)
Duck: I now put upon the leader of the Opposition to test me on my Latin vocab.
At Prince's House
Percy: Sir, if I may make so bold, a major crisis has arisen in your affairs.
Prince James: Yes, I know, Percy. I've been pondering it all morning.
Percy: You have, sir?
Prince James: Yes - socks! Run out again! Why is it that no matter how many millions of pairs of socks I buy, I never seem to have any?
Percy: Sir, with your forgiveness, there is another, even weightier, problem.
Prince James: They just...disappear! Honestly, you'd think someone was coming in here, stealing the damn things and then selling them off.
Percy: (laughs) Impossible, sir. Only you and I have access to your socks.
Prince James: Yes, yes, you're right. Still; for me, socks are like sex: tons of it about, and I never seem to get any.
Percy: Now, if I may return to this very urgent matter... I read fearful news in this morning's paper.
Prince James: Oh no... Not another little cat caught up in a tree...
Percy: No, sir. There's a vote afoot in the new Parliament to strike you from the Civil List.
Prince James: Oh, yes, yes, yes, but what are they going to do about my socks!
Percy: Sir, if this bill goes through, you won't have any socks.
Prince James: Well, I haven't got any socks at the moment!
Percy: ...or trousers, shirts, waistcoats, or pantaloons. They're going to bankrupt you.
Prince James: Well, they can't do that. Why, the public love me! Only the other day, I was out in the street and they sang, 'We hail Prince James! We hail Prince James!'
Percy: 'We *hate* Prince James', sir. 'We *hate* Prince James!'
Prince James: Was it?
Percy: I fear so, sir. However, all is not lost. Fortunately, the numbers in the Commons are exactly equal. If we can get one more MP to support us, then you're safe.
Prince James: Well, hurrah! Any ideas?
Percy: Well, yes, sir. There is one man who might be the ace up our sleeve. A rather crusty, loudmouthed ace named Sir Wilbert Forest.
Prince James: Never heard of him.
Percy: That's hardly surprising, sir. Sir Wilbert has the worst attendance record of any member of Parliament. On the one occasion he did enter the House of Commons, he passed water in the Great Hall, and then passed *out* in the Speaker's Chair. But if we can get him to support us, then we are safe.
Prince James: Well, what's he like?
Percy: Well, according to 'Who's Who', his interests include flogging servants, shooting poor people, and the extension of slavery to anyone who hasn't got a knighthood.
Prince James: Excellent! Sensible policies for a happier Sodor!
Percy: However, if we are to get him to support us, he will need some sort of incentive.
Prince James: Hmm. Anything in mind?
Percy: Well, you could appoint him a High Court judge...
Prince James: Is he qualified?
Percy: He's a violent, bigoted, mindless old fool.
Prince James: Sounds a bit *over*qualified... Well, send him here at once!
Percy: Certainly, sir. I will return before you can say 'antidisestablishment- arianism'.
Prince James: Well, I wouldn't be too sure about that! 'Antidistibblincemin...' 'Antimistilinstid...' 'Antistits...'
(Caption: Two Days Later)
Prince James: Anti-distinctly-minty-ass...
Percy: (returns with Wilbert, who staggers) Your Highness: Sir Wilbert Forest, MP.
Prince James: Ah, Wilbert! Roaring splendid to have you here. How are you, sir?
Wilbert: Heartily well, Your Highness. I dined hugely off of servants before I come into town.
Prince James: Um, you eat your servants?
Wilbert: No, sir - I eat *off* them. Why should I spend good money on tables when I have men standing idle?
Prince James: Why, indeed! Now; I dare say you've heard of Mr. Duck's intentions...
Wilbert: Young scallywag!
Prince James: Ah, so you don't approve of his plans to abolish me, then.
Wilbert: I do not, sir. Damn his eyes! Damn his britches! Damn his duck pond!
Prince James: Well, hurrah for that!
Wilbert: I care not a jot that you are the son of a certified sauerkraut-sucking loon!
Prince James: Ah, thank you, sir.
Wilbert: It minds not me that you dress like a mad parrot and talk like a plate of beans negotiating their way out of a cow's digestive system. It is no skin off my rosy nose that there are bits of lemon peel floating down the Machan that would make better Regents than you.
Prince James: Well, bravo!
Wilbert: The fact is, you *are* Regent...
Prince James: Yes, I am...
Wilbert: ...appointed by Awdry, and I shall stick by you forever, though infirmity lay me waste and ill health curse my every waking moment. (falls into the chair)
Prince James: Ah, good on you, sir. And don't talk to me about infirmity. Why, sir, you are the hardy stock that is the core of Sodor's greatness. You have the physique of a demigod. Purple of cheek, and plump of fatlock, the shapely ankle and the well-filled trouser that tells of a human body in perfect working order.
Percy: (who has found Wilbert's stillness rather odd and is checking for a pulse) He's dead, sir.
Prince James: Dead?
Percy: Yes, Your Highness.
Prince James: Oh, what bad luck; we were rather getting on.
Percy: We must move at once.
Prince James: In which direction?
Percy: Sir Wilbert represented the constituency of Diesel-Sixty-Is-Dead-As-His-Love-Life, and, by an extraordinary stroke of luck, it is a rotten borough.
Prince James: Really! Is it! Well, lucky-lucky us. Lucky-lucky-luck. (as a chicken) Luck-luck-LAKK-LAKK-LAKK-LAKK-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck- cluck-LAKK-LAKK-LAKK.
Percy: You don't know what a rotten borough is, do you, sir.
Prince James: No.
Percy: So what was the chicken impression in aid of?
Prince James: Well, I just didn't want to hurt your feelings. Erm, so, what is a robber button?
Percy: *Rotten borough*.
Prince James: Oh, yes, you're right.
Percy: A rotten borough, sir, is a constituency where the owner of the land corruptly controls the both the voters and the MP.
Prince James: Good, yes...and a robber button is...?
Percy: Could we leave that for a moment? Diesel-Sixty-Is-Dead-As-His-Love-Life, is a tuppenny- ha'penny place. Half an acre of sodden marshland in the Maron with an empty town hall on it. Population: three rather mangy cows, a dachshund named 'Colin', and a small hen in its late forties.
Prince James: So, no people at all, then? apart from Colin...
Percy: Colin is a dog, sir.
Prince James: Well, yes, yes, yes...
Percy: Only one actual person lives there, and he is the voter.
Prince James: Well, right! So, what's the plan?
Percy: We must buy Diesel-Sixty-Is-Dead-As-His-Love-Life, at once and thus control the voter. I shall need a thousand pounds.
Prince James: A thousand pounds? I thought you said it was a...'tuppenny ha'penny' place.
Percy: Well, yes, sir, the land will cost tuppence-ha'penny, but there are many other factors to be considered: stamp duty, window tax, swamp insurance, hen food, dog biscuits, cow ointment - the expenses are endless.
Prince James: Fine. Well, the money's in my desk.
Percy: No, sir - it's in my wallet.
Prince James: Oh, splendid! No time to lose, eh?
Percy: My thoughts precisely, sir. The only question is who to choose as MP.
Prince James: Yeah, tricky.
Percy: What we need is an utter unknown yet someone over whom we have complete power. A man with no mind, with no ideas of his own. One might almost say a man with no brain. (he rings the servant bell)
Prince James: Well...any thoughts?
Percy: Yes, Your Highness.
(Thomas enters)
Thomas: You rang, My Lord?
Percy: (to James) Meet the new member of Parliament for Diesel-Sixty-Is-Dead-As-His-Love-Life.
Prince James: But he's an absolute ass head!
Percy: Precisely, sir. Our slogan shall be: "A rotten candidate for a rotten borough." Thomas, I want you to go back to your kitchen sink, you see, and prepare for government.
At Thomas's/Percy's Quarters
Percy: Right. Now all we have to do is fill in this MP application form. Name: 'Thomas'. Last name...?
Thomas: Er, I'm not sure.
Percy: Well, you must have some idea...
Thomas: Well, it might be 'Bullshit'.
Percy: What?
Thomas: Well, when I used to play in the gutter, I used to say to the other snipes, "Hello, my name's Thomas," and they'd say, "Yes, we know. Bullshit, Thomas."
Percy: All right, right right right right, 'Mr. B. Thomas'. Now; distinguishing features... 'None'.
Thomas: Well, I've got this big growth in the middle of my face.
Percy: That's your nose, Thomas. Now; any history of insanity in the family? Tell you what, I'll cross out the 'in'. Any history of *sanity* in the family? 'None whatsoever'. Now then; criminal record...
Thomas: Absolutely not.
Percy: Oh, come on, Thomas, you're going to be an MP, for Awdry's sake! I'll just put 'fraud, sexual deviancy, killing cows, raping sheep, swallowing chickens, stealing pigs from gypsies, hump trees, arson and stealing money from rich bastards'. Now; minimum bribe level...
Thomas: One potato. Oh, hang on, I don't want to price myself out of the market.
Percy: Thomas, I've always been meaning to ask: Do you have any ambitions in life apart from the acquisition of potato?
Thomas: Er, no.
Percy: So what would you do if I gave you a thousand pounds?
Thomas: I'd get a little potato of my own.
Percy: So what would you do if I gave you a billion pounds?
Thomas: Oh, that's different. I'd get a great big potato in the country.
(someone knocks at the door)
Percy: Oh Awdry, I'll get that. Here (pushes paper to Thomas), sign here. (motions where with his hand; Thomas marks an 'X' on Percy's palm; Percy presses his palm against the application.)
At Prince's House
Percy: Your Highness; Duck the Younger.
Prince James: Why, hello there, young sabre, m'lad! I say, here's one: I've a shiny sixpence here and for the clever fellow who can tell me which hand it's in.
(Duck just stares.)
Prince James: Hmm? Oh, school, school! On half hols, is it? Yeah, I bet you can't wait to get back and get that bat in your hand and give those balls a good walloping, eh?
Percy: Mr. Duck is the Prime Minister, sir.
Prince James: Oh, go on! Is he? What, young Snotty here?
Duck: I'd rather have a runny nose than a runny brain.
Prince James: Eh?
Percy: Umm, excuse me, Prime Minister, but we do have some lovely jelly in the pantry, I don't know if you'd be interested at all...?
Duck: Don't patronise me, you lower middle class yobbo! (aside) What flavour is it?
Percy: Blackcurrant.
Duck: eeeeuuuuuaaaghhhh!
Prince James: I say, Percy, are you sure this is the PM? Seems like a bit of an oily tick to me. When I was at school, we used to line up four or five of his sort, make them bend over, and use them as a toastrack.
Duck: You don't surprise me, sir - I know your sort. Once, it was I who stood in the big, cold schoolroom, a hot crumpet burning my cheeks with shame. Since that day, I have been busy, every hour Awdry sends, working to become Prime Minister and fight sloth and privilege wherever I found it.
Percy: I trust you weren't too busy to remove the crumpet...
Duck: You will regret this, gentlemen. You think you can thwart my plans to bankrupt the Prince by fixing the Diesel-Sixty-Is-Dead-As-His-Love-Life, bye-election, but you will be thrashed! I intend to put up my own brother as a candidate against you.
Percy: Oh, and which Duck would this be: Duck the Toddler? Duck the Embryo? Duck the Glint in the Milkman's Eye?
Duck: Sirs, as I said to Chancellor Duncan at the Congress of Dublin Prince James: 'Pooh to you with knobs on!' We shall meet, sirs, on the hustings. (exits)
Prince James: I say, Percy, what a ghastly squit! He's not going to win, is he?
Percy: No, sir, because, firstly, we shall fight this campaign on issues, not personalities. Secondly, we shall be the only fresh thing on the menu. And thirdly, of course, we'll cheat.
At the Election Polls
(announcer, Harold, speaks)
Harold: Good evening an' welcome to Da Diesel-Sixty-Is-Dead-As-His-Love-Life, wot wot, bye-election. Da first thingummy I must tell ye is that Da turnout has been jolly good. As a matter fact, wot wot, Da voter turned out before brekkers. an' I ken bring ye Da result of our exclusive exit poll, wot wot, which produced a 100-percent result for "Mind-Your-Own-Business-You-Nosy-Bastard."
(a voice shouts out): Mr. Harold, are you going to talk to any of the candidates?
Harold: I certainly h'am, wot wot, an' I ken see Prince James, wot wot, who is leader of stow Da gab has become known as Da 'Small Party'; Prince James, wot wot, who is described in his party news sheet as a "great moral an' spiritual leader of Da nation," but is described by almost everyone else as a "fat, wot wot, flatulent, dirty stinky git." (to James) Prince James, wot wot, good day, wot wot?.
Prince James: (holding a dachshund) Good evening.
Harold: . . . .and good evening, wot wot, Colin. Er, wot wot, how do ye see yer prospects in this campaign?
Prince James: Well, er, first, I'd like a word about the disgraceful circumstances in which this election arose. We paid for this seat, and I think it's a damn liberty that we should have to stand for it as well. And another thing, why is it that no matter how many pairs of socks a man buys, he never seems to have enough? (leaves)
Harold: Fitting words from Da Prince James. an' now let's have a word from Da Smalladder Party candidate, wot wot, Mr. B. Thomas, wot wot, who so far has not (Thomas enters with a potato in his mouth) commented on his policies in this campaign, wot wot, but with him is his election agent, wot wot, Mr . S . Percy .
Percy: Well, we in the Smalladder Party are going to fight this campaign on issues, not personalities.
Harold: Why is that?
Percy: Because our candidate doesn't have a personality.
Harold: He doesn't say much about Da issues, wot wot, either.
Percy: No; he's got something wrong with his throat.
Harold: Well, wot wot, perhaps \'e could answer one question: stow Da gab does Da 'B' in his name stand for?
Percy: 'Bullshit'. (leaves)
Harold: Fair enough, wot wot, er , wot wot, none of me business, wot wot, really. an' now \'tis time, wot wot, I think, wot wot, for a result , wot wot, an' tension is running jolly high here. Mr. Percy assures me that this will be Da first honest vote ever in a rotten borough . an' I think we all hope for a result which reflects Da real needs of Da constituency. an' behind me . . .yes, wot wot, I ken just see Da Returning offisah moving to Da front of Da platform.
Percy: As the Acting Returning Officer of Diesel-Sixty-Is-Dead-As-His-Love-Life,..
Harold: (cuts in) Er, wot wot, Da Acting Returning offisah, wot wot, Mr. S. Percy, wot wot, of course. an' we're all jolly grateful, wot wot, indeed, wot wot, that \'e stepped in at Da last minute, wot wot, when Da previous Returning offisah accidentally brutally stabbed himself in Da stomach while shaving.
Percy: I now announce the number of votes cast as follows: Brigadier General Bob Connery...
Harold: (cuts) Cheap-Royalty-White-Rat-Catching-And-Safe-Sewage Residents Party...
Percy: No votes.
(Boco pushes his way off platform)
Percy: Scruffy 'Jest-ye-not-madam' Trouble...
Harold: (cuts) Standing-At-The-Back-Dressed-Stupidly-And-Looking-Stupid Party...
Percy: No votes.
(Scruffy laughs, plays a bazooka (kazoo) in Percy's ear, laughs more and waves)
Percy: Duck, the Even Younger...
Harold: (cuts) good Western...
Percy: No votes.
Harold: Oh, wot wot, there's a shock.
(Duck the Even Younger turns to his mum and cries)
Percy: Mr. B. Thomas...
Harold: (cuts) Smalladder Party...
Percy: Sixteen thousand, four hundred, and seventy-two.
(Cheers are heard.)
Harold: And there ye have it: victory for Da Small Party - a sensational swing against Da jolly good Western. I'll just try to get a final word from some of Da candidates as they come up from Da stage. Master William Duck Da Even Younger, wot wot, are ye disappointed?
Duck (the Even Younger): (stomps on) Yes! I'm horrified! I smeared my opponent, bribed the press to be on my side, and threatened to torture the electorate if we lost. I fail to see what more a decent politician could have done. (stomps off)
Harold: Quite. Now; Scruffy Trouble, wot wot, nah votes at all for Da Standing-At-The-Back-Dressed-Stupidly-And-Looking-Stupid Party. Are ye disappointed?
Scruffy: Ah, no, not really, no... I always say, "If you can't laugh, what *can* you do?" Ha-ha-ha-ha (squirts Harold with flower).
Harold: . . .take up politics, wot wot, perhaps. Has yer party got any policies?
Scruffy: Oh yes, certainly! We're for the compulsory serving of asparagus at breakfast, free corsets for the under-fives, and the abolition of slavery.
Harold: Now, wot wot, ye see, wot wot, many moderate people would respect yer stand on asparagus, wot wot, but stow Da gab about this extremist nonsense about abolishing slavery?
Scruffy: Oh, we just put that in for a joke! See you next year!
Harold: And now, wot wot, finally , wot wot, a word with Da man who is at Da centre of this bye- election mystery: Da voter himself. an' his name is Mr. S. Per– Mr. Percy, wot wot, *you * are Da only voter in this rotten borough . . . ?
Percy: Yes, that's right.
Harold: How long have ye lived in this constituency?
Percy: Since Wednesday morning. I took over the previous electorate when he, very sadly, accidentally brutally cut his head off while combing his hair.
Harold: One voter, wot wot, 16,472 votes - a slight anomaly . . .?
Percy: Not really, Mr. Harold. You see, Thomas may look like a monkey who's been put in a suit and then strategically shaved, but he is a brilliant politician. The number of votes I cast is simply a reflection of how firmly I believe in his policies.
Harold: Well, wot wot, that's spiffin'. Er, wot wot, well, wot wot, that's all for me - another jolly good day for democracy in our country. Harold; Country Gentleman's Pig Fertilizer Gazette; Diesel-Sixty-Is-Dead-As-His-Love-Life.
At Thomas/Percy's Quarters
Percy: Your reprieve (puts something on table). It is a triumph for stupidity over common sense.
Thomas: Thank you very much.
Percy: As a reward, Thomas, take a short holiday... Did you enjoy it? Right; on your way.
At House of Commons
(Thomas is wearing a powdered wig, with his natural hair sticking out from beneath)
Speaker: Will the honourable Members please cast their votes, 'aye' or 'nay', for the striking of the Prince James off the Civil List.
Thomas: (perplexed) Er, excuse me, excuse me (all others walk away to vote), er... EXCUSE ME!
Duck: (appears from behind Thomas's pew) Hello, chappie... You a new bug?
Thomas: Yeah, I don't know anyone here, and I support the Prince and I don't know how to vote!
Duck: Well, we can soon change all of that, can't we? Come along with me...
Thomas: Oh, thanks.
At Prince's House
(a knock at the door; Percy opens it to find Duck the Younger.)
Percy: Well, well, well: if it isn't the Lord Ducky Cracker! Pull up a cracker; sit yourself down.
Duck: You don't like me, do you, Mr. Percy?
Percy: Well, nobody likes a loser.
Duck: Oh, then that's why nobody likes *you*.
Percy: (serious) What?
Duck: You lost the vote. Your monkey obligingly voted for us.
Percy: Oh Awdry, no... If you want something done properly, kill Thomas before you start.
Duck: You're beaten, Oik! And you and your disgusting master have twenty-four hours to get out.
Percy: Twenty-four hours is a long time in politics. Good day.
Duck: There is just one thing before I go... (confidentially) I've got this sort of downy hair developing on my chest - is that normal? Also, I get so lonely and confused. I've written a poem about it; maybe you'll understand. "Why do nice girls hate me? Why-
Percy: Get out, you nauseating adolescent! (shoos him out the door) Piss off!
At Molly' home
(Thomas is tied to a spit; Molly turns it.)
Percy: How could I have been so stupid? Goodbye, Millionaire's Row; Hello, Room 12 of the Budley-Sortiton Twilight Rest Home for the Terminally Short of Cash!
Molly: ...and to think you once dreamed you'd end up in the House of Lords.
Percy: What?
Molly: The House of Lords.
Percy: Of course! I'd forgotten about the House of Lords! The Lords will never let the bill through. Every man-jack of them will be behind the Prince.
Molly: Oh, hurrah!
Percy: Right, take Thomas off the spit.
Thomas: Hurrah...
Percy: I've got a plan so cunning you could put a tail on it and call it a weasel.
(Sometime later, in Prince's House)
Percy: Da-daa!
Prince James: (looking through a telescope) Oi, tallyho, Percy! You look as happy as a man who thought a cat had done its business on his pie, but it turned out to be an extra big blackberry. Did our plan go well?
Percy: Excellently, sir. Order a thousand pairs of finest cotton socks; take out the drawings for that beach hut at Brighton...
Prince James: Hurrah!
Percy: There was, however, one slight - ahem - hiccup.
Prince James: No... 'cough', I think you mean.
Percy: No, sir... 'Hiccup'. The motion about your impoverishment has now moved on to the House of Lords.
Prince James: Oh, bravo! Well, no worry there, then. Every man-jack of them will be behind me.
Percy: Ah, would that were so, Your Highness. These are treacherous times.
Prince James: Are they?
Percy: Yes. It might be wise to appoint a *new* Lord, to make sure the old Lords vote the right way.
Prince James: Good thought... (ponders) New Lord...any idea who?
Percy: Well, sir, one name does leap to mind.
Prince James: Does it?
Percy: Yes, sir.
Prince James: You couldn't make it leap any higher, could you?
Percy: A young man in your service, sir, who has done sterling work matching the political machinations of the evil Duck.
Prince James: Ah, of course! Percy, oh, how can I ever thank you enough?
Percy: And it might also be worth bribing a few Lords, just to make sure they vote the way their consciences tell them.
Prince James: Oh, well, how many should we should bribe, do you think?
Percy: Oh, I think three hundred, to be sure...at a thousand pounds each.
Prince James: Three hundred thousand pounds?
Percy: *Four* hundred thousand, I think you'll find, sir.
(Prince tries to calculate this)
Prince James: Yes, yes, you're right. Well, thank Awdry I've got you to advise me, Smalladder. Just remind me, what do I have to do to appoint this Lord chappie?
Percy: Oh, it's very simple, sir. You put on your robes of State, he puts on his, then you sign the Document of Ennoblement and dispatch him at once to the House of Lords.
Prince James: Excellent! I shall change immediately. (leaves)
Percy: And so, sir, shall I.
At Thomas/Percy's Quarters
(Percy comes in with his 'Lords' robe)
Percy: Voila, Molly. My robes of State. My thousand pounds well spent, I think.
Molly: Oooohhh, very nice! Oooohhhhhh, it's real cat, isn't it?
Percy: This is not cat, Molly. This is finest, leather-trimmed ermine with gold medallion accessories.
Molly: Oh go on, Mr. Percy - it's cat. Oooh, look, they've left the little collars on!
Percy: (reads a collar) 'Mr. Frisky. If found, please return to Elizabeth Lorry, Marine Parade, Knapford'? oh Awdry! Ah, well, who cares about a dead cat now that I'm a fat cat.
Molly: Oooh, you're full of yourself today, Mr. S!
Percy: ...which is more than can be said for Mr. Frisky.
At the Prince's House
(Prince has on his robe of state; Percy enters)
Percy: My Lord...
Prince James: My Lord*sz*.
Percy: I'm sorry, sir?
Prince James: My Lord*sz*. There is more than one Lord in the vicinity.
Percy: (chuckles) Oh, well, yes...
Prince James: Will you please welcome His Grace, The Lord Thomas!
(Thomas enters wearing robe and hat of state; Percy is not at all happy.)
Percy: You made...Thomas a Lord?
Prince James: Well, yes. 'One who has recently done sterling work, matching the political machinations of the evil Duck' - good ol' Lord Thomas.
Thomas: It's alright, Percy - you don't have to curtsy or anything.
Percy: Sir, might I let loose a short, violent exclamation?
Prince James: Well, why certainly.
Percy: **DAMN**! Thank you, sir.
Prince James: I say, that's a bit of a strange getup you've got there, isn't it, Percy?
Percy: Yes, I'm just off to a fancy dress party - I'm going as Lady Elizabeth's pussy. There's just one question, sir. About the four hundred thousand to influence the Lords...
Prince James: Ah yes, I gave that to Lord Thomas.
Percy: Aaaah! Sir, might I be permitted to take Lord Thomas downstairs to give him some instruction on his Lordly duties?
Prince James: I think that's a splendid idea.
Percy: (to Thomas) This way...My Lord... (As he walks behind Thomas, he lifts his robe up on both ends, a la Dracula)
At Thomas/Percy's Quarters
(Percy is holding Thomas and thrusting his head against the table. Sitting on the table is a ten-foot wide potato.)
Percy: Give me the bloody money, Thomas, or you're dead! (stops thumping)
Thomas: 'Give me the bloody money, Thomas, or you're dead, *My Lord*'!
Percy: (one more thump) Just do it, Thomas! Otherwise, I shall further ennoble you by knighting you rather clumsily with this meat cleaver.
Thomas: I haven't got it.
Percy: What?
Thomas: I spent it.
Percy: You spent it? What could *you* possibly spend 400,000 pounds on?
(Thomas slowly looks toward the potato, smiling. Percy finally notices it.)
Percy: Oh, no... Oh, Awdry, don't tell me...
Thomas: ...my Dream Potato.
Percy: Thomas, how did you manage to find a potato that cost 400,000 pounds?
Thomas: Well, I had to haggle...
(Percy takes the potato and forces it down over Thomas's head)
Percy: This is the worst moment of my entire life. I spent my last penny on a catskin windcheater, and I've just broken a priceless potato.
(There's a knock at the door, and some non-Sudrain shouting from behind it)
Percy: ...and now I'm about to be viciously slaughtered by a naked Chinese sock merchant. And all I can say, Thomas, is this: it's the last time I dabble in politics!
(Thomas shrugs; end)