Talk Like an Egyptian
by Brian Morrison
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: None.
Description: Another day in the life of your average Egyptian punter back in the old BC days.
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SCENE: On the banks of the Nile. The year is 1969 BC. ALEX CHEESECHEOPS is walking his dog. He meets HAMET (HARRY) RAMSDEN. They stop for a little chat.
HAMET: Well look who it is! Big Cheesiecheops! How ur things wi’ you oan this fine sunny day?
CHEESECHEOPS: Aye no’ bad, Harry. Ah’m jist oot walkin’ ma sacred dug. It hus been dain’ ma nut in a’ mornin’, greetin’ at the door!
HAMET: Yer sacred dug disnae look too happy. He looks petrified in fact.
CHEESECHEOPS: Ach he’s always like that! He is feart o’ everythin’, so he is. He’s feart o’ the sacred cat, two doors doon. He’s feart o’ the sacred coos in the field. He’s even feart o’ the postman!
HAMET: Maybe oor scribes made a wee spellin’ error when they wrote aboot veneratin’ dugs. Maybe they meant that a’ dugs ur jist plain “scared” and no’ sacred at all!
CHEESECHEOPS: Aye, ye could be right, Harry. That wid make mair sense. Anyway – whit huv you been up tae this mornin’?
HAMET: Ah wiz jist doon at the Bookies. It is the Thebes Gold Cup this week. Some punter gave me a tip fur the three o’clock chariot handicap.
CHEESECHEOPS: Did he? How much did ye put oan?
HAMET: Four slaves and a scabby goat. That wiz a’ Ah could afford. Times ur hard – ‘know whit Ah mean? Whit aboot yersel’? A heard that you hud a nice date the other night.
CHEESECHEOPS: Ye heard right, pal. Ah hud a dozen dates in fact . . . plus a handful o’ figs and a bunch o’ bananas.
HAMET: Sounds like a fine feast, ma man! Maybe the next time ye huv a nice tasty kerryoot like that ye could ring ma doorbell as ye pass the hoose.
CHEESECHEOPS: Ah might jist dae that.
HAMET: Aye – jist toot an’ come in.
CHEESECHEOPS: Haud oan, Harry – that is an auld auld joke! Ah’m no’ usin’ crap gags like that in this sketch!
HAMET: Okay then – fair comment. . . . So how are you an’ yer wife getting’ oan?
CHEESECHEOPS: Which wan?
HAMET: The good lookin’ wan . . . number eight, Ah think.
CHEESECHEOPS: Oh her! Don’t start me oan aboot that bint!!!
HAMET: Yer no’ thinkin’ o’ bumpin’ her aff, ur ye? That wid be a hell o’ a waste!
CHEESECHEOPS: Ah know whit ye mean, Harry, but she hus got this sort o’ famous brother, an’ she bums aboot him a’ day – an’ Ah mean ALL day!!!
HAMET: Dae ye mean Ptolemy?
CHEESECHEOPS: Aye – all Ah ever hear fae her is “Ptolemy, Ptolemy, Ptolemy!” “Ptolemy is the Pharo’s right hand man.” “Ptolemy has got 4000 slaves.” “Ptolemy can do this!” “Ptolemy can do that!” “Ptolemy can do the next thing!”
HAMET: Ah can see how that wid wear ye doon, big chap.
CHEESECHEOPS: Ah know! . . . All day long it is “Ptolemy, Ptolemy, Ptolemy!” And the really annoyin’ thing is – every time she says his name, there is a wee bit o’ spit launches oot her mooth. More times than no’, the afore-mentioned wee bit o’ spit lands oan ma coupon!
HAMET: That’s disgustin’!
CHEESECHEOPS: Tell me aboot it!!! – The other day she wiz doin’ her usual bummin’ – “Ptolemy, Ptolemy, Ptolemy”, and a gob o’ her spittle landed right smack oan ma eyeball! It made ma mascara run a’ oor the place! And Ah hud spent ages getting’ that jist right as well!!!
HAMET: Ach it must be rank rotten hearin’ aboot that Ptolemy a’ day! Even jist listenin’ tae ye right now – it’s startin’ tae get oan ma Ptits!
Swearwords: None.
Description: Another day in the life of your average Egyptian punter back in the old BC days.
_____________________________________________________________________
SCENE: On the banks of the Nile. The year is 1969 BC. ALEX CHEESECHEOPS is walking his dog. He meets HAMET (HARRY) RAMSDEN. They stop for a little chat.
HAMET: Well look who it is! Big Cheesiecheops! How ur things wi’ you oan this fine sunny day?
CHEESECHEOPS: Aye no’ bad, Harry. Ah’m jist oot walkin’ ma sacred dug. It hus been dain’ ma nut in a’ mornin’, greetin’ at the door!
HAMET: Yer sacred dug disnae look too happy. He looks petrified in fact.
CHEESECHEOPS: Ach he’s always like that! He is feart o’ everythin’, so he is. He’s feart o’ the sacred cat, two doors doon. He’s feart o’ the sacred coos in the field. He’s even feart o’ the postman!
HAMET: Maybe oor scribes made a wee spellin’ error when they wrote aboot veneratin’ dugs. Maybe they meant that a’ dugs ur jist plain “scared” and no’ sacred at all!
CHEESECHEOPS: Aye, ye could be right, Harry. That wid make mair sense. Anyway – whit huv you been up tae this mornin’?
HAMET: Ah wiz jist doon at the Bookies. It is the Thebes Gold Cup this week. Some punter gave me a tip fur the three o’clock chariot handicap.
CHEESECHEOPS: Did he? How much did ye put oan?
HAMET: Four slaves and a scabby goat. That wiz a’ Ah could afford. Times ur hard – ‘know whit Ah mean? Whit aboot yersel’? A heard that you hud a nice date the other night.
CHEESECHEOPS: Ye heard right, pal. Ah hud a dozen dates in fact . . . plus a handful o’ figs and a bunch o’ bananas.
HAMET: Sounds like a fine feast, ma man! Maybe the next time ye huv a nice tasty kerryoot like that ye could ring ma doorbell as ye pass the hoose.
CHEESECHEOPS: Ah might jist dae that.
HAMET: Aye – jist toot an’ come in.
CHEESECHEOPS: Haud oan, Harry – that is an auld auld joke! Ah’m no’ usin’ crap gags like that in this sketch!
HAMET: Okay then – fair comment. . . . So how are you an’ yer wife getting’ oan?
CHEESECHEOPS: Which wan?
HAMET: The good lookin’ wan . . . number eight, Ah think.
CHEESECHEOPS: Oh her! Don’t start me oan aboot that bint!!!
HAMET: Yer no’ thinkin’ o’ bumpin’ her aff, ur ye? That wid be a hell o’ a waste!
CHEESECHEOPS: Ah know whit ye mean, Harry, but she hus got this sort o’ famous brother, an’ she bums aboot him a’ day – an’ Ah mean ALL day!!!
HAMET: Dae ye mean Ptolemy?
CHEESECHEOPS: Aye – all Ah ever hear fae her is “Ptolemy, Ptolemy, Ptolemy!” “Ptolemy is the Pharo’s right hand man.” “Ptolemy has got 4000 slaves.” “Ptolemy can do this!” “Ptolemy can do that!” “Ptolemy can do the next thing!”
HAMET: Ah can see how that wid wear ye doon, big chap.
CHEESECHEOPS: Ah know! . . . All day long it is “Ptolemy, Ptolemy, Ptolemy!” And the really annoyin’ thing is – every time she says his name, there is a wee bit o’ spit launches oot her mooth. More times than no’, the afore-mentioned wee bit o’ spit lands oan ma coupon!
HAMET: That’s disgustin’!
CHEESECHEOPS: Tell me aboot it!!! – The other day she wiz doin’ her usual bummin’ – “Ptolemy, Ptolemy, Ptolemy”, and a gob o’ her spittle landed right smack oan ma eyeball! It made ma mascara run a’ oor the place! And Ah hud spent ages getting’ that jist right as well!!!
HAMET: Ach it must be rank rotten hearin’ aboot that Ptolemy a’ day! Even jist listenin’ tae ye right now – it’s startin’ tae get oan ma Ptits!
About the Author
Born in Saltcoats, Brian Morrison has a day job at the Hunterston Power Station. But in his other life he is well known as a caricaturist and comedy sketch writer. More recently, he has become a novelist and a writer of children's stories. His dark comedy, Blister, is available on Amazon.