MARLON: I can’t believe we’re stuck in this lift
ROSCOE: I know, it’s such an inconvenience, isn’t it?
MARLON: Yes. Do you want to play Monopoly
ROSCOE: We don’t have the pieces
MARLON: I mean imagination Monopoly
ROSCOE: That would be bad for morale, Marlon my old party-member. Consider: playing imagination Monopoly would simply mean “to ruminate upon the mechanics of capitalism”.
MARLON: Good shout. Those sorts of ruminations are fatal to one’s wellbeing. Hmm…
ROSCOE: How about we reminisce about past adventures like those shit episodes of American sitcoms where they show clips from previous episodes
MARLON: Ooh and this is even better bc now it fits into the tradition of American sitcoms self-referencing the shitness of clip show episodes yet doing them anyway
ROSCOE: Har har
(screen does that thing where it goes wurururururuweeurur and a vibraphone plays or something, and the keen-eyed of us notice that the film stock looks somewhat more aged and ROSCOE and MARLON have a youth to them that has yet to be weathered by Brexit)
ROSCOE: Oh my shit Marlon, it’s LMFAO
MARLON: They’re my favourite contemporary entertainers
ROSCOE: And mine, proper lyrics with meaning instead of all this modern nonsense
MARLON: Let’s call them
ROSCOE: What ho!
LOMBARD MICHAELS: Is that fans, Frederick Anrold Oskwitch?
FREDERICK ANROLD OSKWITCH: I reckon, Lombard Michaels. Let us enter social intercourse. Hello, fans!
ROSCOE: Hello, me and Marlon is your biggest fan
(suddenly we cut back to the present)
ROSCOE: Eureka Marlon, I have figured it out this mystery
MARLON: ELABORATE PLEASE??
ROSCOE: This isn’t a lift at all! It’s a wardrobe!