PANEL TWO
BOOGA puts his phone in his pocket, smiling smugly. TANK GIRL turns to walk away.
TANK GIRL - HUH, ONE POXY LITTLE ORDER PROVES NOTHING TO ME. I STILL MAINTAIN THAT YOU ARE FLUSHING GOOD MONEY DOWN THE TOILET.
BOOGA - THINK WHAT YOU WILL, BUT I AM CONVINCED OF MY BUSINESS ACUMEN. BROWN IS THE NEW HOT PINK.
PANEL THREE
Back to the scene on Page One. TANK GIRL is at her little table, working away on her typewriter. BOOGA stands behind her, wearing his apron and drying a bowl with a towel.
CAPTION - “...SO THERE YOU HAVE IT. THAT’S WHAT I’M ALL ABOUT. IT MAY NOT BE A DETAILED CHARACTER ANALYSIS, BUT MY VERY BEING IS DEEP WITHIN THE HEART OF THE TALE I HAVE JUST LAID DOWN.”
BOOGA - WHO’S THAT FUCKER OVER THERE, DRIVING UP TO OUR CAMP WITHOUT A WRITTEN INVITE?
PANEL FOUR
HARRY KUNT is getting out of a crappy looking car. He looks older and more bashed up, and he has a bullet-shaped scar in his forehead. BOOGA approaches him, continuing his drying-up.
BOOGA - HEY! AREN’T YOU HARRY KUNT? I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD.
HARRY - THAT’S MR. KUNT TO YOU, SUNNY JIM. AND I’VE GOT A FEW COMPLAINTS TO MAKE ABOUT THE ATTITUDE OF YOUR CUSTOMER SERVICE AND THE GENERAL QUALITY OF YOUR PRODUCT RANGE.
PANEL FIVE
Close on HARRY, blahblahblah-ing.
HARRY - FIRSTLY, YOU SHOT ME IN THE HEAD AND THEN TRIED TO DROWN ME. I HAD A VERY NARROW ESCAPE, THANKS ONLY TO THE MODEST, HARD-TO-HIT SIZE OF MY BRAIN AND MY TRUSTY SET OF DONALD DUCK WATER-WINGS.
HARRY
(linked) - SECONDLY, YOU SOLD ME A BATCH OF DECIDEDLY DODGY SHIT-BROWN TOILET SEATS, ONE OF WHICH I GAVE AS A BIRTHDAY GIFT TO MY BROTHER FOR USE IN THE RESTROOM OF HIS HIGH-CLASS EATERY. BECAUSE OF ITS COLOUR, HE DIDN’T BOTHER TO CLEAN IT, AND WHEN IT WAS SCANNED BY THE HEALTH AND SAFTEY AUTHORITIES, IT REGISTERED AN UNLAWFUL LEVEL OF POO. HIS RESTAURANT WAS IMMEDIATELY SHUT DOWN, SO MY SISTER-IN-LAW AND THE KIDS LEFT HIM AND NOW HE’S A TROLLEYPUSHER AT TESCO’S.
PAGE SEVEN
PANEL ONE
Two shot, HARRY looking very angry, BOOGA looking innocent.
HARRY - AND FINALLY, YOU OWE ME TWO-DOZEN GERMANSTYLE SAUSAGES FROM WHEN YOU DID OVER MY DELI LAST YEAR. I RECOGNIZED YOU IN THE HOLD-UP AND I’VE BEEN ON YOUR TRAIL EVER SINCE.
BOOGA - CRAFTY.
HARRY - YOU PEOPLE HAVE MADE MY ENTIRE EXISTENCE AN ABSOLUTE MISERY. I’VE VERY NEARLY LOST BOTH MY LIFE AND MY MARBLES BECAUSE OF YOUR BLUNDERING STUPIDITY AND LAWLESS IDIOCY. SO I’D LIKE TO KNOW, RIGHT NOW, WHAT EXACTLY ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?
PANEL TWO
BOOGA gesturing with open palms. HARRY looking a little less disgruntled.
BOOGA - AH, WELL HARRY, ALONG WITH OUR MOST SINCERE AND HEART-FELT APOLOGIES, I CAN OFFER YOU A FULL REFUND OR AN ALL EXPENSES PAID HOLIDAY TO OUR SPECIAL “VILLA” ON THE COAST.
HARRY - HMMM... THAT’S SOME CHOICE... HMMM... OKAY THEN, YOU’VE GOT YOURSELVES A DEAL – I’LL TAKE THE HOLIDAY. I COULD DO WITH A BREAK.
PANEL THREE
TANK GIRL and BOOGA waving goodbye to HARRY, who is driving away from the tank in his shitty little car.
TANK GIRL &BOOGA
(small) - SO LONG HARRY KUNT... HAVE A LOVELY TIME AT THE VILLA!
BOOGA - DO YOU KNOW WHAT? AFTER ALL’S SAID AND DONE, I REALLY KINDA LIKED HIM. MAYBE HE’LL DROP BY AGAIN SOME TIME?
TANK GIRL - QUITE A NICE LITTLE MAN, ACTUALLY.
PANEL FOUR
HARRY is at Booga’s beachfront villa, standing on the porch watching the sun set across the tranquil sea. He is dressed in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. He is taking a bite out of a long, U-shaped German sausage.
CAPTION - LATER THAT DAY AT BOOGA’S BEAUTIFUL SEA FRONT HOLIDAY HOME...
HARRY
(thinks) - HA. LOOKS LIKE YOU LANDED ON YOUR FEET AGAIN, HARRY. TWO WEEKS AT THE BEACH, A BEAUTIFUL HOUSE TO STAY IN, EVERYTHING LAID-ON. THEY’VE EVEN STOCKED UP THE ICEBOX WITH SAUSAGES.
PANEL FIVE
Close on HARRY as he examines his sausage.
HARRY - HEY... WAIT A MINUTE...
HARRY
(linked) - THIS SAUSAGE TASTES FAMILIAR!
PAGE EIGHT
PANEL ONE
HARRY is looking into the front of the fridge; it is filled with German sausages. Harry looks totally devastated.
HARRY - I WAS RIGHT! IT’S THE SAUSAGES THAT THEY STOLE FROM MY DELI LAST YEAR! AND... OH... MY POOR GUTS... ALL OF THESE WIENERS ARE MONTHS PAST THEIR BEST-BEFORE DATES!
PANEL TWO
HARRY has collapsed to the floor and is crawling out of the kitchen.
HARRY - OH MY GOD! I FEEL LIKE I’M FIXIN’ TO DIE... AND I’LL PLACE BETS ON SOMETHING ELSE TOO...
PANEL THREE
HARRY on his hands and knees by the toilet bowl. He looks dangerously near to death. The toilet has a shit-brown seat.
HARRY - AS I THOUGHT! A SHIT-BROWN TOILET SEAT. AND I NEGLECTED TO WASH MY HANDS AFTER USING THE LAV!
HARRY
(linked) - I’VE EATEN OUT-OF-DATE SAUSAGES WITH POOEY HANDS. THERE’S NO CURE ON EARTH FOR SUCH A DOUBLE-WHAMMY OF GASTRIC CONTAMINATION.
PANEL FOUR
HARRY rolling over and dying. His eyes have turned white and his tongue is hanging out of the side of his mouth.
HARRY - I’M OUTTA HERE... ARGH...
PANEL FIVE
A gravestone in a tranquil churchyard. The stone reads –
HERE LIES
HARRY KUNT
BELOVED UNCLE OF
RANDY KUNT
HE LIVED AND DIED
BY THE SAUSAGE
PANEL SIX
A long panel running right along the bottom of the page. It is a cut-outand-keep replica of the number plate that Booga made for Tank Girl in the strip, with a dotted line all the way around and a little pair of scissors etc. It looks something like this –
CAPTION - BOOGA’S SPECIAL NUMBER PLATE FOR YOU TO CUTOUT-AND-KEEP. COLLECT ALL 523.
RESISTENCE IS FERTILE
I opened up the throttle and let her rip. A vintage Bentley, just like the one that John Steed used to drive in The Avengers, racing green and in perfect minty condition. Booga had on his old World War Two leather flying goggles and a stiffly starched white scarf. He was perfect. I was decked out in my “woman from a Hitchcock movie” gear: big, dark sunglasses, deep red lipstick, an expensive 1950s twin-set, and a blue headscarf that covered most of my hair, apart from a wisp at the front.
We hurtled around the Devon countryside for a whole afternoon. I caught our reflection in the almost still, glassy waters of a river as we passed over it on an old stone bridge: we had achieved our goal; we looked timeless. We could’ve been from any decade in the past seventy years.
We stopped for a cream tea at an old woman’s house. It wasn’t a real tearoom, just a little cottage that served tea in the garden when the weather was nice. I had a scone with homemade strawberry jam and a pot of Assam Kenya. Booga opted for the full cream tea experience, with Scotch pancakes, fruit scones, and fresh clotted cream, with plenty of Earl Grey to wash it all down. The old woman was funny, she kept dropping things and farted every time she bent over to pick them up again. We hid our laughter, but that just made it even funnier.
We left the cottage with Booga taking his turn behind the wheel and laughed solidly for ten minutes as we wound our way down into a valley. The road cut its way through an ancient woodland, and beautiful, crooked old trees lined our way, dappling the light from the waning midday sun across the bonnet and small windshield of the car.
Finally we reached an opening in the woodland, a stretch of grass that had been nibbled to a fine, soft carpet by wandering deer. We stopped and took the hamper and blanket out of the car. A stream trickled nearby and we took off our shoes and socks for a paddle.
Booga opened a bottle of champagne that had kept its cool in the hamper, wrapped in a damp tea towel.
We lay with our heads next to each other and let the sun dry
our wet legs. We sipped our champagne, and we looked up to the blue, cloudless sky.
IN THE WENDY ROOM
In the Wendy Room
There’s simply nothing there
Not unless you count Booga
Happily plaiting his own hair
He dresses in a summer frock
And a pair of ballet slippers
He makes perfume from crushed rose petals
To cover the smell of kippers
I’ve often wondered to myself
What he does in there all day
I spend hours knocking on the door
But he won’t come out to play
His lifestyle is any young girl’s dream
He has money and clothes and toys
At school he plays with the doctor’s niece
But he’s funny with the boys
If I had all his riches
I’d spend every day at the zoo
And if I knew his secrets
I’d live in the Wendy Room too
THE NEW FUCKERS
The New Fuckers is on TV. Loads better than The Old Fuckers. Better guitars, better guns, better hats, better Fuckermobile. Better all fuckin round. Booga doesn’t think so and we fight for the controls. But I win and The New Fuckers stays on. I like Fenny – the guy with the really bad teeth, and Brasty – the heavy-scene hippie chick with a laser camera and a big pair of wobblers. But my favourite, who has been in all the series (including The Original Fuckers, over seven years ago) is Fat Fucker. Man, he’s so cool. I get out my Fat Fucker action figure, he’s got the best accessories – flamethrower and mobile barbeque, working car jack, hooded cap-sleeved T-shirt, and a doughnut-making machine. Booga starts an all-out attack with his scale model of the Bismarck, but even the Nazis can’t get a punch in with Fat Fucker. He swings his fat little torso into action with his built-in gut-buster-spring-loadedattack-device, and a small plastic boulder comes crushing down on Booga’s flimsy model-kit boat. Booga goes spare and mounts a last ditch assault on my nipples. Fat Fucker comes between us, a kitchen fork held aloft, my champion, my knight in flabby armour. Booga backs off, terror in his eyes, he knows that he doesn’t stand a chance. On the TV, The New Fuckers are really fucking up some guy’s day, making life a misery for the poor cunt, as they get behind the scenes of his world and screw up every good thing that he tries to do. I fuckin love The New Fuckers.
DIG IT OUT WITH A PENKNIFE
Trapped in the jungle
In a tight spot
Arm ripped and bleeding
Face caked in snot
Gun out of ammo
Water all run out
No hope of rescue
Throat too dry to shout
Leg snapped and twisted
Poison snake bite in the knee
Dig it out with a penknife
And cook it for your tea
THIS IS A RAID
I bit the pin of the grenade between my teeth and pulled hard. It popped out smoothly and I spat it into the gutter. I kept a firm grip on the grenade trigger as I extended my arm to its full length and marched purposefully across the road.
Booga was right behind me, cocking his sawn-off shotgun and flicking down the safety catch on his AMT Hardballer automatic, his handknitted full-face balaclava barely covering his stupid kangaroo nose.
I had on my cardboard Planet of the Apes mask that I got free at the V.G. Store when I was a kid. I could feel the weight of the grenade starting to pull my arm down, but I held it out as straight as a die – a symbolic icon of my single-minded intention. In my other hand I had a can of black spray paint, which I squeezed the lid off of and started to shake about in a nervous, vigorous fashion.
Booga moved in front of me and kicked the door open with the force of a marauding stormtrooper. I swung in through the doorway, right on his shirt tails.
Inside, there were two middle-aged women behind the counter; the first one started screaming loudly. I hit her with a blast from my spray can and gave her a full Lone Ranger, right across the eyes. She fell to the floor, squealing and blubbering. The other woman dropped to her knees, peeking up over the counter top.
“This is a raid!” I shouted aggressively.
“This is a dry cleaners!” said the woman behind the counter.
TANK GIRL in
DICKYBACK MOUNTAIN
A script for a seven-page comic. By Alan C. Martin.
PAGE ONE
PANEL ONE
Long, panoramic panel. Outside of a portable workman’s hut, set amidst a beautiful mountain range. BOOGA, dressed in Roy Rogers-style cowboy gear, hat tipped down, is leaning against a tractor, coolly rolling himself a smoke. The sun is beating down on the dusty parking lot. A wooden sign on the side of the hut reads DICKYBACK MOUNTAIN PARK MANAGER – MR. GERBILS
CAPTION - “THAT WAS THE FIRST DAY I CLAPPED EYES ON HIM. STANDING ALONE IN THAT DUSTY LOT, AWAITING HIS INESCAPABLE, TRAGIC DESTINY LIKE A KID STANDING IN LINE FOR THE SCHOOL BUS...
PANEL TWO
TANK GIRL, dressed in identical clothes to Booga, pulls onto the lot on a tiny motorized tricycle with a big dusty skid. BOOGA doesn’t look up as he lights his cigarette.
CAPTION - ...AT FIRST I THOUGHT NOTHING OF HIM, HE LOOKED JUST LIKE ANY OTHER COWPOKE – ARROGANT, BORED AND UNFRIENDLY.
PANEL THREE
Viewed from behind TANK GIRL and BOOGA as they stand inside the hut office, facing a grumpy looking cowboy who is sitting behind a shitty little desk. This is the park manager MR. GERBILS.
CAPTION - IT TURNED OUT THAT WE HAD BOTH APPLIED FOR THE SAME POST.
MR. GERBILS- LISTEN YOU PUNKS, YOU GET ONE CRACK AT THIS JOB, IF YOU FOUL UP, THEN THAT’S IT, I’LL HAVE YOU SHOVELLING SHIT FOR THE REST OF THE SUMMER. IS THAT CLEAR?
BOOGA - YES SIR. AS CRYSTAL, SIR.
TANK GIRL - SURE THING MR. GERBILS.
PANEL FOUR
MR. GERBILS handing BOOGA and TANK GIRL a wad of tokens.
MR. GERBILS- NOW THESE ARE YOUR LUNCH TOKENS, OKAY? HAND THEM IN TO THE ICE CREAM MAN AND HE’LL GIVE YOU YOUR SANDWICHES, OKAY? I DON’T WANT TO CATCH YOU USING THEM FOR ANYTHING ELSE, RIGHT?
BOOGA - OKAY. RIGHT. OKAY. RIGHT.
TANK GIRL - RIGHTY RIGHTY.
PANEL FIVE
TANK GIRL looking slyly up at BOOGA as they exit the hut side by side.
CAPTION - I WONDERED IF MY NEW PARTNER WAS UP TO THE JOB, OR IF I WOULD HAVE TO CARRY HIM LIKE THE LAST HALF-WIT I WORKED WITH. ONLY TIME WOULD TELL.
PAGE TWO
PANEL ONE
On an exclusive-looking golf course. TANK GIRL is driving around on a sit-down lawn mower, making wobbly stripes up and down the grass. BOOGA is trimming around a sand trap with some edging shears. A GOLFER watches, bemused, in the background. A sign in the foreground reads DICKYBACK MOUNTAIN GOLF COURSE.
CAPTION - THE FIRST FEW DAYS PASSED UNEVENTFULLY. I’D DO THE MOWING WHILE BOOGA DID THE EDGES. AND THEN, JUST TO SPICE THINGS UP A BIT, I WOULD DO THE EDGES AND BOOGA WOULD DO THE MOWING.
PANEL TWO
TANK GIRL with an enormous submarine sandwich stuffed in her face. BOOGA is looking forlorn at a tiny, curled-up triangle of bread and limp lettuce.
CAPTION - EVERY DAY WE WOULD QUEUE UP AT THE ICE CREAM VAN AND COLLECT OUR SANDWICHES...
TANK GIRL - MMMMFFF.
BOOGA
(small) - SHIT SANDWICH.
PANEL THREE
TANK GIRL and BOOGA are at the window of the ice cream van, looking longingly at the picture display of ices in the window.
CAPTION - ...UNTIL THAT FATEFUL DAY, WHEN THE COMBINED FORCES OF CHILDISH NOSTALGIA AND THE UNBEARABLE SUMMER HEAT FORCED US TO TAKE A WRONG TURN...
BOOGA - TWO SANDWICHES PLEASE. AND THIS TIME CAN YOU MAKE SURE THAT MINE ISN’T TOTALLY SHI...
BOOGA - ...OH MY. WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT... A DOUBLE CREAMY MR. WHIP ’N’ SOFTY KING-SIZE CONE WITH CHOC FLAVOURED FLAKE AND SUGAR-DUST SPRINKLES!
TANK GIRL - AND A MEGA CRISPY-CHOCKY CLAMSHELL,
FILLED WITH MARSHMALLOW PEARLS AND FLUFFY VANILLA ICE CREAM! UH! GASMIC.
PANEL FOUR
BOOGA turns to TANK GIRL, while she looks up at the ICE CREAM MAN.
BOOGA - I WAS THINKING... UM... YOU DON’T SUPPOSE, YOU KNOW, JUST THE ONCE, AS A SPECIAL TREAT, SEEING AS WE’VE BEEN WORKING SO HARD AND ALL, THAT MAYBE WE COULD, YOU KNOW, KINDA...
TANK GIRL - SAY MISTER, ARE WE RESTRICTED TO SAVOURY ITEMS ONLY HERE, OR CAN WE USE OUR FOOD TOKENS TO BUY ICE CREAMS AS WELL?
PANEL FIVE
From behind TANK GIRL and BOOGA as they look up to the ICE CREAM MAN.
ICE CREAM
MAN - THE OFFICAL ANSWER TO THAT QUESTION IS NO. BUT I CAN DO YOU A DEAL – IF YOU GIVE ME FIVE OF THEM THERE TOKENS, I’LL GIVE YOU ANY ICE CREAM IN THE TRUCK.
TANK GIRL - OH YEAH? DONE! OKAY... GIVE ME A DOUBLE MELBA MOUNTAIN WITH AN ALMOND ALP ON THE SIDE. AND DON’T SPARE THE SPRINKLES.
BOOGA - MMM... AND I’LL TAKE THE EIFFEL TRIFLE AND THE TREACLE STEEPLE, AND YOU’D BETTER PUT THEM BOTH ON TOP OF A RASPBERRY RAVINE, WITH EXTRA RIPPLE.
PANEL SIX
TANK GIRL and BOOGA walking a way from the van with their unfeasibly huge ice creams. They look happy with their purchases.
BOOGA - CHRIST ON A PUSH-BIKE! I COULD DIE EATING THIS BEAUTIFUL ICE CREAM.
TANK GIRL - ’KIN TASTY.
PAGE THREE
PANEL ONE
TANK GIRL and BOOGA lying side-by-side on a neatly trimmed grassy bank, their tummies bulging beneath their cowboy shirts.
CAPTION - NOT A BLADE OF GRASS WAS CUT THAT AFTERNOON. WE LAY DOWN ON THE SOFT LAWN AND BASKED IN THE GLORY OF OUR FULL MILKY CREAMINESS.
BOOGA - OH... FUCK A DUCK... I’VE COMPLETELY BUGGERED MYSELF... INTERNALLY SPEAKING, I MEAN.
TANK GIRL - UH... MMM... I HEAR YOU MAN, IT HURTS LIKE HELL... BUT IT IS GOOD.
PANEL TWO
TANK GIRL and BOOGA sitting on a bench, both tucking into some more ridiculously large ice cream cones.
CAPTION - AND THAT WAS IT... THE START OF THE OL’ SLIPPERY SLOPE. ONCE THE FLOOD GATES WERE OPEN, WE JUST COULDN’T STOP OURSELVES FROM GORGING OUR FACES ON THE LUSH DAIRY TREATS THAT LAY IN THAT SMALL, WELL-STOCKED TRUCK.
Tank Girl Page 17