Arthur Mown (Community Campaigner Complainer)!
Pilot Episode
Scene 1
Butterfly walk.
Late morning.
Arthur Mown is patrolling the street(s) - just beginning his daily "Watch Walk."
AM: (to himself, head facing pavement slabs) {tuts}. It's no good. No good at all just myself patrolling like this. In the olden days we'd have built a team. A team of regulars. Proud volunteers. A gang of true Watch Walkers. These days, no-one has the time...
Arthur bends to lift a post-blown crisp packet from the street corner.
AM: (studying it) Spicy chilli flavour. Extra hot, fiery bott, I bet! We desperately need a public bin installed here. You wait 'til I visit the next Town Council meeting. I'll let them have it - again. 'He's spouting rubbish' the councillor with the wobbly wart on his nose said last month. That was snout of order. Like the gents' middle cubicle in the lavs by the library.
A bus screeches past and pulls up at the stop, 50 yards ahead.
AM: (still to himself) Those noise polluting buses - are they fit for service? Awful sounds they create. Making my ears pop.
A young lady boards the bus - stubbing out her fag end on the pavement.
AM: (hurrying) Excuse me! I say, excuse me. The bin is -
Bus doors close and away it flows.
AM: Is... nowhere.
Arthur lifts the cigarette butt and clutches it with the crisp packet, sighing.
An older man walking his dog approaches. He nods to Arthur who in turn nods and then says -
AM: (showing litter to the man) Good morning. It's a pity there aren't sufficient public bins, isn't it? Look at this - a discarded cigarette end. Casually tossed onto the defenceless pavement. {Tuts). It's quite a drag clearing these up. Butt...
The man with the dog nods again, smiles respectfully and walks on.
AM: No time
No time,
Allow the crime.
Not even a fine.
Suddenly, a huge blob of pigeon poop splatters on Arthur's flat cap; but he notices not! As he plods on, he drifts into a daydream...
Arthur Mown's Daydream
He is making a speech in the House of Commons to a packed chamber.
AM: Mr Speaker, I think you will find that under my leadership, the nation's streets have been - not only transferred - but kept in the most immaculate state. Brighter than a star they sparkle. You could eat your dinner off them; and somebody else's too if you were extra hungry! (House chuckles). I am so glad that my 'Street Maintenance' bill was passed - and it has cost the taxpayer very little. What price can we put on spotless pavements... The total has been...
Arthur suddenly returns to reality!
AM: (to himself - in shock) DISGUSTING!
He hurries to the crime scene - tutting and grumbling words unknown.
A huge dog's turd, like a Mr Whippy machine product, greets his enraged eyes.
AM: These vultures deserve locking up. But phone the local constabulary and they don't give a damn. They won't lift a finger. Mention there's a gun involved though - they're round in a shot!
He studies the pile as if it were a monument: a work of "unwanted" art!
AM: (blurting randomly) TURD-inator! The Fluffyleaves TURDINATOR! That's what we require! That's what this town needs!
As he prepares to extract the poop, the scene fades out.
Scene 2
That afternoon, Arthur Mown is on his laptop at home.
AM: (to himself) Right. Profile picture... Hmmm...
He is setting up a Facebook account, slowly but surely.
AM: When I were a young boy, we communicated in person. All this technology is amaz... bugger!
The screen goes blank!
Arthur bashes keys.
AM: (annoyed, to computer screen) Hello. Excuse me. He-lllll-oooooooooo. Face. Book. Look! (points to his face, sarcastically). Face. Book. Look!
House telephone rings.
Arthur taps the laptop screen as if he was knocking on a front door, then trudges towards the phone.
AM: (answering) Hello, Arthur Mown speaking. (In conversation) Yes. Yes. I see. I see. The opticians! Really?! Yes, yes, I will, I will. Poor Iris. I hope she's going to be alright. Yes, yes, of course. Cheerio. Bye.
Arthur hangs up and returns to his laptop.
AM: (still to himself) Whoever would have thought that. Sweet Iris Mingfapp. Slipping on a saveloy. In the opticians. The world's turned crackers!
DING DONG
DING DONG.
DING DONG
DING DONG.
The door bell is being pressed, enthusiastically.
Arthur rises from the sofa.
AM: No rest for the wicked. Not that I'm wicked. I've never been wicked... have I? Perhaps when I ran the Flymo over that desert of daisies on Mr Buffalo's lawn. But I was instructed to, and -
Arthur opens the front door.
A man with a clipboard stands before him. A man with a huge head, bulging eyeballs and rotund belly.
AM: Yes...
MAN: Sorry to bother you, sir, but I'm standing for election In the District Council...
AM: (shaking head) I need hear no more. Please remove your presence from my gravel pathway.
MAN: (taken aback) I do hope...
AM: Thank you.
MAN: (offering a sheet of glossy election material) May I offer you a copy of my manifesto. It is detailed and...
AM: No thank you. You're all the same. In it only for self-gain.
MAN: I can assure you...
AM: Each election gives you guys an erection. Your excitement, though, I'm afraid is over here. Please leave stiffly. I mean, swiftly. Thank you.
He closes the door, abruptly, and returns to his blank screened Facebook creation!
We watch the clock pass three and a quarter hours and, wallah - his Facebook page: The Fluffyleaves Turdinator is born!
AM: (proudly to himself) I can't wait for the stickers to arrive. Hasta La Vista, Poop Dodgers! (Rubs hands in glee).
Scene 3
Several days later.
2 a.m.
The sky is lit with the brightest moon and the streets as silent as an empty library.
Arthur, wearing a balaclava and gloves, pounds the local pavements.
He pins his TURDINATOR leaflets to trees and TURDINATOR stickers to bus stops, street signs, public bins - promoting the "warning" (and his new Facebook page). "THE TURDINATOR IS WATCHING!" reads the headline!
Poster: (shown to camera).
"PAVEMENT AGGRAVATION"
WILL BE MET WITH "TURDINATION!"
THE TURDINATOR'S ON THE PROWL
DOG POOP IGNORERS - BEWARE!
HE'S WATCHING!
Facebook Page: Fluffyleaves Turdinator
Stickers: (camera views some).
"BEWARE OF THE TURDINATOR!"
"POOP DODGERS WATCH OUT.
TURDINATOR: HE'S ABOUT!"
AM: (to himself quietly as he pins and sticks)
Politicians do bugger all
They treat us like one big fool.
In this life to get things done
(And deliver bits of fun!)
One must, in their own hands take
Matters. And those changes - make!
He chuckles as the scene zooms out.
Scene 4
Later that morning, Arthur wakes in bed and scratches his head.
The bedside clock shows the time as 9:40.
AM: (singing to himself with accompaniment from the "Bird Chirping Band!")
What a wonderful day it is today
Let's bring our town great surprise,
Such a buzzy feeling in my tum
Tickles as from bed I rise!
(Getting out of bed he continues singing):
What a wonderful day it is today
In our town a new day's born;
Best behaviour on the streets we'll see. ..
All those lazy poop pests I here warn!
We see Arthur Mown dress, briefly gobble his toast (with peanut butter) then hurry out his front door - to the local boozer: The Constipated Clown, admiring his work on the way!
(Pub sign is shown).
Scene 5
In the pub:
BARMAID: Good morning, Mr Mown.
AM: Hello, Talullah. Beautiful day!
BARMAID: Usual eleven o'clock pint?
AM: You know me better than my wife! Not that I've had a wife... Well, one of my own, anyway...
The barmaid giggles as she pulls the pint.
AM: (glancing around) Little Joe with the big fat toe not in yet?
BARMAID: No, I've not seen him.
AM: He still has my copy of - hardback I might add - Victorian Jugs. Never judge a book by its title, Talullah!
The barmaid giggles again.
An old man with a limp struggles through the pub doors - up to the bar.
OLD MAN: Pint of Guinness please, when you're ready.
BARMAID: No problem, Mr Gitt.
OLD MAN: What a bleedin' hero! That's what I say, anyway!
BARMAID: (blushing) I'm only doing my job, Mr Gitt!
OLD MAN: Not you, Talullah. I mean, actually, sorry if that sounds cheeky, but I meant the, the, the local TURDINATOR!
Arthur's eyes illuminate as he sups away.
OLD MAN: Haven't you seen the posters?
AM: (interrupting excitedly) And, erm, stickers!
BARMAID: Can't say I have to be -
OLD MAN: TURDINATOR! What a great name!
AM: I hope he'll clean our streets up once more. And soon restore -
OLD MAN: (showing a poster he pulled to Talullah and Arthur simultaneously) He's online. (Points to Facebook link).
AM: (in false ignorance) Online? That's a bit dangerous. I hope there aren't any trains due!
OLD MAN: On the internet - look! Social media!
AM: Facebook. Oh... I'm not really literate with all this modern chit chat. Are you on Facebook, Talullah?
OLD MAN: (cheekily with a wink) Or Only Fans?!!
BARMAID: (handing glass over to Mr Gitt) Cheeky sods!
AM: This Turdinator... So, errr, who exactly is he?
OLD MAN: (paying for pint) No idea!
AM: Ohhh... Pity. Like me when The Chase is on the telly.
OLD MAN: Their brains must be MASSIVE.
AM: Like their egos!
OLD MAN: Very clever people, to be fair.
AM: They know everyone about nothing.
OLD MAN: That big fat one, he knew how many moons Uranus had yesterday.
AM: Says it all.
BARMAID: (mobile phone in hand) Shall I go online and check this out for you both?
AM: On the phone?
BARMAID: Yeah. Got loadsa data, and, well, gonna use the Clown's wi-fi.
AM: (to Mr Gitt) We don't want music on, do we?
OLD MAN: Wi-fi! It's the internet!
AM: (confused) Oh...
BARMAID: (fiddling with phone) Right - hang on a mo...
AM: (smiling to himself in revelation) I've got that broadband. By the way, do you know dogs now use the internet?
OLD MAN: Dogs?
AM: Yes, all types. Poodles, Yorkshire Terriers, Sausage dogs, Alsations...
OLD MAN: Dogs use the internet?
AM: Yes! They use Woof-i!
Mr Gitt looks confused.
BARMAID: Here we are - (reveals Turdinator's Facebook page to the pair).
We view the page briefly.
BARMAID: Love the profile pic!
AM: Cheers. Err... Errr... (lifts pint glass to deflect) Cheers! Yes, very good!
BARMAID: I wonder who it is? I mean, if it's somebody we know...
OLD MAN: I hope he does the biz.
AM: I hope there's no more "biz" on our pavements!
OLD MAN: Time will tell...
Arthur raises his watch to his left ear.
BARMAID: Shall I post a comment... on the wall?
AM: Which wall?
OLD MAN: (swigging) Yeah, go on. Leave him one. Want revenge for that pair of crocs ruined by a lazy-arsed poop ignorer. Only had them a week.
AM: (grinning) Hope he snaps the bugger!
BARMAID: There ain't any others, I'd be the firs... Oh no - hang about... Look -
All six eyes poke their way to the screen.
We view the comments on the Turdinator's page as Talullah reads them aloud:
BARMAID: Janet Kennedy: Brill idea! Can't wait to see what happens...
Jackson Waddler: Go on Turdinator! Destroy the pavement poopers!! Ha ha ha 😂😂😂 Doctor Hugh Janus: Prat. Probably a sad spotty bloke from his mummy's basement.
Arthur and Mr Gitt return to their pints in thought.
BARMAID: That last one's a troll.
AM: (spluttering) A what?
BARMAID: Troll!
OLD MAN: Like in Billy Goat's Gruff?
AM: Waiting under the bridge?
BARMAID: No! Like, a, look at the poster's name for a start!
AM: (reading the screen, slowly) Doctor; oh, a doctor!
OLD MAN: Doctors can't be trolls. They'd be struck off!
AM: (slowly) Hugh. Jan-us.
OLD MAN: Anus?
BARMAID: Huge anus! (laughs).
AM: (cottons on) Oh yes... Doctor, my arse!
The trio burst into a laughter flurry.
A small man waddles through the door in the otherwise quiet pub. He's wearing Wellington boots.
AM: (noticing) Ah, here he waddles. How are ya, Joe.
JOE: Bleedin' toe. Extra sore today.
AM: Still fat?
JOE: Wider than the read end of a Ford KA. Hence the wellies. (Pointing).
BARMAID: Usual, Joe?
JOE: Please. Um, actually, no. I think I'll live dangerously. Pint of that ale please, Talullah. (Points to a "craft" pump label called: "AUNTY'S BLOOMERS"!
OLD MAN: (to Joe) Seen the signs?
JOE: In the gents?
OLD MAN: What?
JOE: Yesterday, warning about the slippy patch near the sinks.
OLD MAN: No, I -
JOE: There were cones out and everything! More diversion than M25 roadworks!
OLD MAN: No Joe, I mean the signs in the street. (Pointing) Outside.
AM: The Turdinator!
JOE: (after a brief pause) That Arnie Schwat... Schwatz... Schwatzhisnipper feller?
BARMAID: (handing Joe his pint, giggling) £3.19 please, Joe.
The three early ale suppers huddle together in chit chat as the scene fades.
Scene 6
Early morning, two days later.
Arthur's at home. The paperboy has just delivered his daily newspaper along with the bi-weekly local.
AM: (picking them off the doormat and reading headlines) Well, well, well!
Front page of Fluffyleaves and District Echo: (we see it)
"TURDINATOR LURKS!
TURDINATION THREATS IN FLUFFYLEAVES!"
He reads some of the front page aloud -
AM: (reading aloud) 'A Turdinator has been advertising services in the quaint town of Fluffyleaves.' (Proudly with eyes lifted) That's me! (Reading further) 'Posters have been pinned to trees and stickers plastered on bus stops. The self-proclaimed Turdinator says he's "disgusted at the piles of doggy poop deposited" and states "retribution is on its way..." The Fluffyleaves and District Echo has contacted the Turdinator via his Facebook page, which is' blah blah blah, 'and await a reply. (Quieter and distant) The Fluffyleaves and District Echo has contacted the Turdinator via his Facebook page, which is...'
Arthur, waving the paper like a flag, dances around his living room singing -
AM: (singing) My first patrol shall be tonight
I am the Turdinator,
I'll hunt down and make them pay
Each pavement aggravator!
Poop, if you leave, you will pay...
Payback, justice - on its way!
Suddenly, randomly, bizarrely there is a tap on the living room's window pane. When Arthur had steadied himself he noticed - what a sight to behold: a hairy wobbly backside is on show - shaking like a jelly!
And then - as randomly as it appeared - it disappeared. (It darts out of sight).
AM: (shell shocked) The dirty swine! I've a good mind to hire Rump-ole of the Bailey to find out who it belongs to. Probably another "bum" with no job and nothing better to do...
Arthur sits at his laptop - agitated.
AM: I must check to see what the Echo has messaged me to say... (Quieter and distant) I must check to see what the Echo has messaged me to say... (Fainter and more distant) I must check to see what the Echo has messaged me to say...
He taps away at the keyboard.
AM: A-ha! Here we go! Facebook private message. Now... Let's see... What they have... Oh...
Scene 7
Later that morning.
Arthur strolls up and down the pavements of Fluffyleaves, discreetly glancing at the slabs and tarmac - eagerly.
AM: (muttering to himself) If the paper want details of my "turdinations," they'll have to send a reporter out instead of lazy journalism. As if I'm going to tell them when and where and how in advance! {Tuts}. No wonder newspaper circulation is in decline.
The postman nods as Arthur passes and a delivery van - at break neck speed - rushes past.
AM: (quietly to himself) Reckless driving. And, and, noise pollution. That could well be my next campaign...
Picking up a fizzy pop can and discarded scratch-card, Arthur rambles on and... a halo above his head / golden light is seen - BINGO: a damp and steamy, pavement needs-medication turd is discovered. And it's fresh!
Arthur, realizing the culprit must be near - on his toes hurries along Blueberry Avenue faster and faster until he becomes breathless. At the crossroad/junction he glances both ways and in the distance spots a lady walking a dog. On he charges to catch her up.
As he gains ground, he slips on a blanket of leaves smothering another dog's deposit - and skates for twenty yards with an "ahhh-wheeeeeee!"
AM: (not far behind the dog walker) I say, I say; excuse me. Excuse me, Mrs...
The lady dog walker turns round in surprise, removing her earphones.
AM: have you been walking your (staring at) poodle long?
LADY: Three and a half years. Why?
AM: I mean today.
LADY: About ten minutes.
AM: Has it just emptied its bowel contents over ther... (pointing backwards).
LADY: (taken aback) I beg your pardon?
AM: Has it been yet?
LADY: I can't believe what you're asking...
AM: Do you have bags - for poop?
LADY: How dare you?!!!
AM: Or do you leave it to ferment?
LADY: I shall call the police!
AM: Lady, have you not seen the posters?
LADY: My 16 year old granddaughter has posters on her bedroom walls. I don't tend to invade her privacy, so, no, but...
AM: The posters!
LADY: I ber-beg your par... par...
AM: Parsnip? I have an allotment, I do. (Chuckles). No, I mean...
LADY: (walks away quickly with her dog) Let's get away from from this crazyman, Tristram. Good boy, good boy, let's go home. Faster boy, faster...
AM: (standing, watching - in thought, mumbles to himself) Home... Home... Well, well, well... The poodle's plopped, righty-ho. Home, poop-bag-free, off they go... Thank you very much for informing the undercover Turdinator of your recent activity!
The scene is phased out and restarts with Arthur sneaking behind the suspected doggy do perpetrator - hiding in bushes, behind vehicles, walls and in pathways.
He soon discovers the lady's home address: 101 CLOUDBERRY GARDENS. His eyes light up like candles and he rubs his hands in glee!
AM: So... Turdination Numero Uno (chuffed with his Spanish) arrives! Mrs Poop Dodger - I'll be back!
Scene 8
Almost midnight. The dead of night approaches as owl hoots penetrate the airwaves.
Arthur Mown is dressed in disguise again, and ready. His backpack is loaded and hungry for action.
Just before he leaves his front door, Arthur (in fun) sings to himself -
AM: (singing) Dog poop owners who ignore
And leave splatters on the floor,
May receive amid the night
One big naughty payback fright...
Off he dashes, dancing across each slab as he heads towards Cloudberry Gardens. The moon is bright and stars twinkle in delight. It's going to be a perfect night...
Scene fades and reappears -
We see Arthur approach 101 nervous, yet excited. He removes a torch light from his backpack and straps it to his forehead. The house lights are out and the coast is clear...
At the edge of the driveway, he whips from his backpack his "instrument." Then, up he creeps. His pre-loaded tool's nozzle is carefully and quietly poked through the letterbox and -
AM: (under his breath) BLAST! Hasta La Vista, Poopy! Poop Blaster - blast!
We watch the gunk flow and grow, like a Mr Whippy machine on speed! A brown pile of gunk builds on the carpet below as Arthur chuckles, proudly.
As the pile builds, so do his thrills. When the blaster is emptied, he posts an envelope through the letterbox and scarpers, wearing the grin of a rollover lottery winner!
AM: (singing as he walks briskly home)
I hope the poop puree smells grand,
I scooped it up with my own hand!
But you will get a shock when you
Come the morn - view something new!!!
Turdinator has struck back,
Poopy pavements - he will sack!!!
Scene 9
Following morning.
Arthur rises as a sunbeam penetrates his bedroom curtains.
AM: (stretching and yawning in bed) Off to the pub soon, I reckon, to celebrate my first turdination!
As he spins out of bed he sings in his pyjamas -
AM: (singing) The pavement pooper down Cloudberreeeeeeeeee
Shall awake with little glee! He he!
When she sees her carpet gunk
Smelly as an unwashed skunk,
She will grumble, she will groan
Shriek and scream and in rage moan!
Ha, ha! What an operation,
My first super turdination!
Hasta La Vista, Poopy!
Catching his breath -
AM: And, if she does it again... I'll be back!
All of a sudden - randomly - a rattle occurs at the front door. The letterbox has been put into service... The newspaper is snoozing on the mat already, so -
Arthur, skipping down the stairs, grinning - notices.
AM: (on snapping the delivery from the letterbox flap, loud and aghast) THIS IS...
We see an A4 photo of a hairy arse with the heading penned in red marker: BUMZ RULE!
AM: (bewildered) Who the hell is his from? This filth is...
We view the greatest gurn known to mankind on Arthur's face as he studies the photo, trance-like.
The scene fades.
Scene 10
In the pub: The Constipated Clown.
Later that morning. 11:30.
Arthur strolls through the doors casually. Talullah is standing behind the bar, glued to her mobile. An elderly couple are sitting in the corner by the slot machine but nobody else is present.
AM: My legs aren't what they used to be. {Ouch}. I seem to be getting more joint trouble than those smuggling weed from Holland...
Talullah noticed Arthur's approach.
BARMAID: Morning, Arthur. Usual? Seen the news?!
AM: Errrr... Yes please. What news is that?
BARMAID: On social media. It's kicking off!
AM: The local football team?
BARMAID: No! The comments section on the Fluffyleaves Community Page. On Facebook!
AM: What are folk typing?
BARMAID: What do you reckon...?!
AM: Erm...
BARMAID: (excited) The Turdinator!
AM: (pauses briefly) Wer- what about him?
BARMAID: He's got his first victim! Done his first turdination! (Laughs) But...
AM: But?
Mr Gitt limps into the pub - smiling.
BARMAID: Here comes Limpy Gitt! I wonder if he's seen it!
AM: (impatient) Seen what exactly?!
BARMAID: Ah, hello Gitty! What's your poison today?
OLD MAN: I think...
AM: What's the Turdinator done?!
OLD MAN: Lager shandy please, Talullah. Gotta keep it light; got a dentist appointment at two with Fishy Breath! Don't like turning up with booze oozing. Not that he probably cares - the purple-nosed sod!
BARMAID: (working on the shandy) The poor woman! Her teeth flew out in fright, apparently! I feel sorry for the carpet mostly...
AM: Carpet?
OLD MAN: Got yourself some new flooring, Arf'?
AM: No!
BARMAID: Cream coloured, too!
OLD MAN: Cream?
BARMAID: Even her top of the range hoover wouldn't sort it she says. Poor, poor Mrs Hamster.
OLD MAN: (trying to be funny) Is it furry?
BARMAID: Sorry?
OLD MAN: Mrs Hamster's carpet...
AM: What the heck is going on here? Cream carpets, hamsters, flying teeth... What is this, Arthur in Nuttyland?!
BARMAID: He chose the wrong one!
OLD MAN: Who did?
BARMAID: The Turdinator!
AM: (lost) How do you mean?
BARMAID: Look - (shows Arthur the phone screen). He loaded her carpet with thick poop through the letterbox, and left a rude note, but -
AM: Rude? Rude? Says who?
BARMAID: Well...
OLD MAN: I will have a proper pint after all, Talullah!
BARMAID: Imagine plastering the poor woman's new carpet with, what did she call it, (glances at phone), 'Poop Puree!' Yuck!
OLD MAN: So her carpet was splattered?
BARMAID: Pumped, apparently. Look - (she shows phone pic to both).
AM: Well, she shouldn't have been pavement aggravating. The Turdinator probably wanted to give her a taste of her own medicine.
BARMAID: She claims she never leaves her poodle's poo. (Reading from screen) 'My darling Tristram is regular as clockwork and my clearance procedure is first class. I even use extra thick bags incase he does a wet one. That way no liquid trickles through.'
OLD MAN: Large Scotch as well please Talullah.
AM: So why did he "pick" on her?
BARMAID: Dunno. But the letter was very strong winded too. She's gonna write to her M.P.
OLD MAN: So her house was pumped with this "poop puree" and she was innocent? Well, well, well... I don't know what to say...
AM: Large brandy, Talullah.
Scene 11
Later that day: mid-afternoon.
Arthur sits at home - on his laptop. (Not liberally!)
AM: (cringing, gurning, gasping) These comments are... are, just - VILE! (Reading one) 'Edna Pump: A little ole man asked me about my Tristram's bowel habits yesterday afternoon. He was most unpleasant. Terribly rude. I have written to the Right Honourable Mr Percy Powerbutt M.P. and the police have been informed. Unfortunately I don't possess CCTV. But rest assured, I'll be having it fitted.'
Arthur slams his laptop lid and plods over to his hallway mirror.
AM: (staring into mirror at himself) Hmmm. Perhaps I should lay low for a while. Low-ish... I'm short on milk though - and bread. And baked beans and, oh no... SPAM! Hmmm. What a pickle... (Pauses) I wasn't rude. Unpleasant? The cheek of it!
Back on his laptop, we see Arthur Googling 'online joke shops with fancy dress', and his basket building begins: twenty minutes later (clock handles jump) we view his shopping cart - checkout complete! It shows he's ordered: Clown's red nose
Clown's wig - lime green
Face-paint set
Jester's hat
Stilts!
AM: Now, until these goodies arrive...
In the search engine he types: 'SUPERMARKET HOME DELIVERY'.
Arthur Mown looks directly at the camera and rubs hands together mischievously.
AM: (into camera, grinning) Never stop campaigning. Life's about complaining! No point in abstaining!
Scene fades.
Pilot Ends.
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