INT. PAWN SHOP - DAY
A dimly lit, cluttered pawn shop. GREGOR, a man resembling a ferret in a suit, examines a chipped porcelain doll with suspicion. The air smells faintly of dust and despair.
RICK, clad in a threadbare anarchist t-shirt and comically oversized spectacles, stands before a rack of vinyl records, flipping through them with disdain. MIKE, ever the wheeler-dealer, leans against the counter, trying to charm the shop owner, OLD MR. PERIWINKLE (Laurence Olivier), a man who looks like he's been embalmed several times over.
MIKE: (Smoothly) So, Periwinkle, my good man. What's the absolute rock bottom price on this… antique toaster? I see a lot of potential here. We're talking historical significance, cultural commentary, the works.
MR. PERIWINKLE: (Deadpan) It's broken. And it's not antique. I got it from a skip last week. Five quid.
MIKE: Five quid? For a piece of British history?! You wound me, Periwinkle! WOUND ME!
Rick snorts derisively from the record rack.
RICK: British history? More like British hysteria! All this capitalist garbage! Where's the Clash? Where's the Sex Pistols? All I see is bloody Cliff Richard and Barbara Streisand! It's a conspiracy, I tell you! A CONSPIRACY!
Three figures enter the shop. They are clowns. Not happy, brightly colored clowns, but clowns with smeared makeup, ragged costumes, and expressions of profound weariness. There's BOZO (Roy Kinnear), the apparent leader, who has an unnervingly intense stare; CHUCKLES (Jack Thompson), who constantly sniffles and dabs at his runny nose with an oversized handkerchief; and GIGGLES (Anthony Hopkins), who has a vacant, almost terrifying grin plastered on his face.
BOZO: (Gravelly voice) We are looking for… a unicycle. Preferably one with a working horn.
Mr. Periwinkle points a bony finger towards a dusty corner.
MR. PERIWINKLE: Over there. Don't touch anything else.
The clowns shuffle towards the corner. Rick, oblivious, continues his tirade.
RICK: And look at this! Engelbert Humperdinck! Who even buys this rubbish? I bet it's all Thatcher's fault! She's brainwashing the youth with MOR music!
He hurls the record back into the rack with unnecessary force, accidentally knocking over a precarious stack of porcelain cats.
RICK: Oops.
The crashing sound makes the clowns jump. Bozo glares at Rick.
BOZO: Watch it, mate. Some of us are trying to conduct business here.
RICK: (Scoffs) Business? You mean perpetuating the soul-crushing cycle of consumerism? I'd sooner die than participate in this… this… merchantile obscenity!
MIKE: (Whispering to Rick) Shut it, Rick. They look a bit… clowny.
RICK: Clowny? They look like refugees from a particularly depressing circus! Probably victims of the capitalist machine, forced to entertain the masses for a pittance! I pity them!
He marches towards the clowns, puffed up with self-righteous indignation.
RICK: Comrades! I understand your plight! You are victims of the system! I offer you solidarity! We must rise up and overthrow the bourgeoisie!
Bozo stares at Rick for a long, unsettling moment.
BOZO: Are you… taking the mickey?
RICK: (Confused) The… mickey? What mickey? Is that some kind of euphemism for capitalist oppression?
Chuckles hiccups and lets out a mournful honk from a rusty clown horn he's found.
CHUCKLES: He's mocking us, Bozo. I can feel it in my funny bone.
GIGGLES: (Manic grin widening) Mocking… funny bone… Hee hee hee!
RICK: I am NOT mocking you! I am trying to liberate you from the shackles of… of… clownhood!
Rick grabs Bozo's red nose and gives it a playful honk.
RICK: Honk honk! See? We are all clowns in this crazy world!
Bozo's eyes narrow. He grabs Rick's wrist with surprising strength.
BOZO: You know what I do to people who honk my nose?
RICK: (Nervously) Uh… give them a free balloon animal?
Bozo punches Rick square in the face. Rick crumples to the floor.
MIKE: (Panicked) Alright, alright! Let's not get carried away! He didn't mean anything by it! He's… artistically challenged!
BOZO: (To Mike) You his mate?
MIKE: (Backpedaling) Mate? No! Acquaintance! Brief encounter! I barely know the bloke!
Bozo cracks his knuckles. Chuckles starts juggling rusty spanners. Giggles just keeps grinning.
BOZO: Right. Let's teach these two some clowning manners.
INT. THE FLAT - DAY
NEIL, wearing a threadbare tie-dye shirt and looking particularly glum, sits cross-legged on the floor, meticulously polishing a lentil. VYVYAN, sporting a studded leather jacket and a disturbingly enthusiastic expression, is dismantling a toaster with a hammer.
NEIL: (Sighing) The vibrations are getting stronger, Vyvyan. I can feel it in my aura.
VYVYAN: (Bashing the toaster) Bloody Commie toaster! Probably transmitting subliminal messages from Moscow! Gotta get to the bottom of this!
NEIL: I think it's coming from the walls. A low, persistent hum. Like… like the earth is groaning.
VYVYAN: Groaning? Awesome! Maybe it's a prehistoric monster waking up! I'll get the chainsaw!
He brandishes a chainsaw (which he somehow acquired) and revs it menacingly.
NEIL: No, Vyvyan! Don't be ridiculous! We need to investigate scientifically!
VYVYAN: Scientifically? You mean like with explosions and stuff?
NEIL: No! With… with… yoga!
Neil closes his eyes and assumes a complicated yoga pose.
NEIL: (Chanting) Om… the earth… is one… the vibrations… are… heavy, man.
Vyvyan ignores Neil and starts hacking at the wall with the chainsaw. Plaster dust fills the air.
VYVYAN: Coming out, you scaly beast! I'm gonna give you a haircut you won't forget!
NEIL: (Coughing) Vyvyan! You're disrupting my chakra flow!
Suddenly, the humming intensifies. The walls seem to vibrate more violently. A picture falls off the wall.
VYVYAN: Woah! Did you feel that? It's getting closer! I think I'm onto something!
He rips a large chunk of plasterboard off the wall, revealing… nothing. Just more wall.
VYVYAN: (Disappointed) Bugger. False alarm.
The humming continues. Neil opens his eyes, looking pale.
NEIL: I think… I think it's coming from the ceiling.
Vyvyan looks up. He notices a small, almost imperceptible crack running across the ceiling.
VYVYAN: Huh. Never noticed that before.
He pokes the crack with the chainsaw. A shower of dust rains down. The crack widens.
VYVYAN: Oops.
Suddenly, the entire ceiling collapses in a cloud of dust and debris.
VYVYAN: DOUBLE oops.
INT. THE FLAT - CONTINUOUS
Rick and Mike are thrown through the hole in the ceiling, landing in a heap on top of Neil and Vyvyan. They are covered in flour and have grotesque clown makeup smeared on their faces.
RICK: (Dazed) What… what happened? Did Thatcher nuke us?
MIKE: (Grumbling) Clowns, Rick. Clowns happened. They made us do the Hokey Cokey with a badger… it wasn't pretty.
The three clowns peer down through the hole in the ceiling. Bozo is holding a unicycle.
BOZO: Sorry about the mess, lads. Wrong flat.
CHUCKLES: (Sniffling) We were looking for the chip shop.
GIGGLES: (Grinning maniacally) Chip shop… Hee hee hee! Fish and… chips…
Bozo shrugs.
BOZO: Anyway, gotta go. Show's starting.
The clowns disappear.
Neil coughs, covered in dust and flour.
NEIL: I knew it! The vibrations were a sign! The universe is trying to tell us something!
Rick spits out a mouthful of plaster.
RICK: It's trying to tell us that clowns are psychotic bastards! And that Mike is a yellow-bellied coward!
MIKE: Hey! I was protecting our interests! Besides, you started it with the honking!
Vyvyan surveys the wreckage with glee.
VYVYAN: Awesome! We needed more ventilation anyway! Now, who wants to play Operation with a live grenade?
He pulls a live grenade out of his pocket. Neil screams. Rick starts ranting about the evils of capitalism. Mike tries to sell the grenade to a passing Jehovah's Witness.
FADE OUT.