Don't Try This At Home...

[Dave looks up as Andrew and Nigel return, pouring two bottles of energy drink into one tankard.]

Dave: Oh no.

Andrew: Oh yes.

Dave: You are not serious.

Nigel: Only one way to find out.

Andrew: Two thirds Redbull, one third V. Sip it slowly, just in case it causes your heart to explode.

Dave: ...get the fuck out. Is that likely to happen?

Andrew: Of course! Not.

Dave: So. Why are you filming me on your mobile?

Andrew: I have to have a reason for everything nowadays?

Nigel: Come on, Dave. We haven't got you to eat fizzy rock stuff beforehand, have we?

Dave: "Fizzy rock stuff"? You mean pez?

Andrew: I like pez. Pezzes are cool.

Nigel: Go on Dave, drink up.

Dave: But I have so much to live for!

Nigel: Like what?

Dave: The Royal Wedding! The next series of Glee! I still haven't finished Deadly by Jennings and Glietzman - I kinda lost the flow after the amnesiac transvestite nudist ended up prodding his own shit in a bush in case he might have swallowed a diamond!

Andrew: Dave, this is perfectly safe.

Dave: Is it?

Andrew: How the hell would I know? Does it smell bad?

Dave: ...yes.

Nigel: Well. That's good, isn't it? Cyanide doesn't smell bad, but I sure as hell wouldn't drink that.

Dave: You drink it then, if it's so damn good for you!

Nigel: Ah, but I do not have the problem, David. YOU DO!

Andrew: Look, we'll ALL take a sip. Sorright?

Nigel: Sorright.

Dave: We are all going to die.

[They take a sip.]

Nigel: See? Nothing to it. [hacks] Gimme a tissue, too much saliva...

Dave: Oh my god, oh my god, my heart's racing! I'm gonna die!

Andrew: Nonsense.

[Andrew takes Dave's pulse.]

Andrew: MMmmm.

Dave: Well?

Andrew: ...out of your family, who would you ideally put as "next of kin"?

Dave: Well, Callisto, I suppose but [twigs] OH MY GOD!

Nigel: You're just panicking. Honestly. Look, I'll show you.

[Nigel takes a deep sip. And then belches. Twice.]

Nigel: See... oh, my eyes... nothing to it. [frowns] Odd. My fingers are tingling.

Dave: This is bad! This is so, so bad! We might have poisoned ourselves!

Nigel: Right! Where's the nearest brothel?!

Andrew: ...what?

Nigel: We're on a deadly sugar high. We need to expend our last energies doing SOMETHING worthwhile - and how would you rather die, Andrew? Breathlessly in the arms of a prostitute or staying at home with two morons? [burps] I sure as hell know what I'd choose.

Dave: I feel strangely alert. Is this the fear of death or have these stupid energy drinks finally worked?

Andrew: Six of one, half a dozen of the other.

Dave: Mmm. I wish I understood that.

[Absently, Dave takes another swig.]

Dave: So this is it. We're going to die.

Andrew: Unless you were immortal until five minutes ago, pretty much.

Nigel: I regret nothing.

[Long pause.]

Nigel: OK. I regret a few things. You know that time I screwed Phoebe in her third trimester?

Andrew: [blinks] WHAT?!

Dave: Don't tell me, that's one of the things you DON'T regret.

Nigel: Couldn't have put it better myself.

Andrew: ...you're kidding right? About Phoebe?

Dave: You didn't know about that?

Andrew: The last thing I remembered about Year 12 was ordering four pints of VB...

Nigel: Are you starting to feel the sugar buzz too, Andrew?

Andrew: Possibly. But it might be a placebo.

Nigel: A placebo? This is happening right here, right now.

Dave: As Fatboy Slim would say.

Andrew: Nonsense. This could all be a delusion on our part. We're expecting to go apeshit. It's self-hypnosis.

Nigel: This isn't a placebo, Andrew. It is the opposite of placebo! It is... actually, what IS the opposite of placebo?

Dave: [shrugs] I dunno. Obecalp?

Nigel: Yes! Yes, this this is an obecalp!

Dave: I just wish it didn't taste so awful. Perhaps we shouldn't drink any more. I feel sick.

Nigel: Yeah, but you don't feel tired any more, do you?

Dave: ...suppose not.

[Dave takes a very deep swig, then belches.]

Andrew: Stop doing that!

Dave: Hey, it was YOUR idea! Man, I've never felt this wired before...

Andrew: Define "wired"?

Dave: Well, all sort of hot and cold and trembly.

Andrew: Sounds like post-traumatic shock to me.

Dave: It's cleared up my sinuses, though.

Andrew: [shrugs] OK, it must be working. So... all we need is to mix up bottles of this to get you out of bed in the morning.

Dave: Out of bed? This is more likely to put me in an early grave! I've got to be running out of heartbeats by now!

Andrew: It might be a sugar rush, but you're brain's not really ticking over, is it?

Nigel: You know, I feel strangely sleepy.

Dave: Is this it? Is this death?

[Andrew belches.]

Andrew: I hope not. Still, I don't want to be the sole survivor.

[He drains the rest of the glass.]

Andrew: That really IS quite disgusting isn't it? I wonder what's worse? The bull's urine or the raw fish.

Nigel: ...what raw fish?

Andrew: I forget. In fact, it's rather hard to concentrate now you come to mention it.

Nigel: Hey, let's listen to this before we die!

[Nigel takes a CD from his pocket and shows it to the others.]

Andrew: "The Gilbert Gantry Union Breakfast"? Where did you get this from?

Nigel: The bottle-o. Local musicians selling their wares. I wanted to show my support for the arts.

Dave: They were free, weren't they?

Nigel: What makes you assume that?

Dave: Because it's a male-only band and there were no girls to impress.

Andrew: [reads CD cover] "Breaking hearts in song and mending them over with a six-string guitar"? Have these people no shame?

Dave: Let's just [burps] listen to it.

[Dave stumbles over to the CD player and repeatedly struggles to open it.]

Andrew: I don't want to die to some stupid garage band! I want something classical!

Dave: What, like the theme tune to The Banana Splitz?

Andrew: No! Something melodic?

Nigel: Ah. "My Bologna" by Weird Al Yankovic.

Andrew: No! No, no! Something passionate.

Dave: Sort of like "Up in Indiana" by what's his name?

Andrew: Yeah! That's much more like it.

[The CD player starts playing sad guitar music.]

CD: Every day takes you further away, every song reminds me that you're gone...

Andrew: Is that IT?

CD: Every breath takes you closer to death.

Dave: Sort of appropritate, when you think about it...

Andrew: I don't want Country and Western. Well, not shit County and Western like that!

Dave: I'll try the next track thing.

[Dave presses the button. Wierdly-flanged guitar continues.]

CD: Gold shafts of light piercing the sky shining too bright blinding my eyes all afternoon flowers consume...

Andrew: NEXT!

[Another button. R&B type music.]

Dave: That better?

Nigel: Well, it could hardly be any worse...

[A drunken, incoherent voice is heard.]

Nigel: What's up with him? Someone nail his jaw shut?

Dave: Maybe it's Bill Nighy.

Andrew: Heh. Good one. Next!

[Dave presses the button but falls over.]

Nigel: Right, we've had "Only your eyes survive", "Moonshine" and "Dying All the Same." So this should be "Goddamn Therese".

Andrew: 'Teh-reez-zuh' not 'Terr-ree-sea.'

Nigel: Oh, piss off, Sasquatch!

[Sad blues guitar plays.]

Nigel: Don't these tools have any other instruments?!

[A drum and hammond organ are heard.]

Nigel: I sit corrected. NEXT!

[Dave's arm rises into view as he presses the button. A guitar and whistles.]

Dave: That's not bad.

[Emo-singing begins.]

Andrew: No, no, no! I don't want this elevator music!

[Andrew stumbles over to the sound system and starts fiddling with the bass and trebble.]

CD: Up in Indiana where the tall corn grows, I do a little thinking about a girl named Rose...

Andrew: Much better!

CD: Hair blonde as hay and as long as a row...

Nigel: A moving tribute to Billie Piper!

Dave: Actually...

Nigel: DON'T SPOIL MY PRECONCEPTIONS, DAVE!

CD: Hell don't care but heaven knows...

All: I'M UP IN INDIANA WHERE THE TALL CORN GROWS!

[Andrew air-banjos.]

Nigel: How exactly did you turn that music into this music?

[The music stops abruptly.]

Andrew: You had to go and spoil the sugar-fueled illusion, didn't you?

[Andrew collapses across the table. Nigel sniggers and dozes off. Dave tries to get up.]

Dave: So... let me get this straight, we drank all that sugar-buzz crap, and all it's done is give me gut aches and put us to sleep?

[He falls over.]

Dave: Reality sucks...

[Pink's "So What?" starts to play.]

CD: Na-nah-na-nah-nah, na-nah-nanna-nah! I wanna start a fight!

[Eve enters, reading a book. She whacks the CD player and it falls silent. She walks off.]

Andrew: [muffled] Thanks, Eve.

[The rest is silence.]