"Chav Air"

If that new "Ranger" unit ever comes into being, I'm afraid we'll face up to a new menace: The Hollywood version (bear with me, I haven't seen Con Air in ages):



Since the beginning of the Century, British Army Rangers have led the way in every conflict their country has ever fought in.

MONTAGE: Nightvision footage of Royal Marines fighting (the original Con Air montage had US Marine footage, for some reason).

Fighting on land, on land and on land, and striking from their hidden base somewhere North of London, but most definitely not in Colchester, these fearless men have become the backbone of the British war machine. And so, when their cannon fodder brethren in the infantry go out to fight, they will always know that, "Rangers Kick Fookin' Arrse, Yeah"!



A fat, ugly sixteen-year-old, TRICIA, is pouring drinks for a mostly over-60s clientele. A SIXTY-YEAR OLD POSH GIT is trying to chat her up.

POSH GIT: You come here, darling?

TRICIA: Very funny.

POSH GIT: How about the two of us go over to my castle for some hanky panky after closing time, darling?

TRICIA: No! I'm waitin' for me 'usband to come back from the Golf Course, or wherever 'e's gone for six months wearin' funny, patchy clothing.

POSH GIT: Oh, you mean the Gulf, darling? He won't be back from there for a long time...I voted Labour for once to make sure of that!

TRICIA: Really? Well, if someone who's more edudicated than me says that, it's got to be true-

Suddenly, LIGHT, as the front door swings open and we see the silhuette of a man standing in the doorway. He walks towards towards the counter, the light gradually fading to reveal a short man in British Army desert uniform with yellow teeth and several cuts and scars on his face, KEVIN

TRICIA: Kevin! My darlin' 'usband!

KEVIN: Alright luv'!?! Ah've returned from the greaht wah and a', and now I'm back foh good 'cause they said I'm a highly trained Renger who can do anythink he wants on civvie street or somefink.

TRICIA: You mean, you've left the Paras - I means Raengers?

KEVIN: Yup, at least until thos' basta'd redcaps find me...

POSH GIT: You! working class person! Mind if I take your wife back to the castle and give her a good seeing-to?

KEVIN: No way, mate! I've waited six bloody months for a shag and I'm not goin' to give her up tonight! Maybe anuther naht sometime if you give me a fiver for fags...

POSH GIT: You'll regret this! I know my human rights!



It's closing time. Tricia and Kevin exit the pub, Kevin wrapping a Kappa jacket around her shoulders.

TRICIA: I have a confeshishon to make luv'.

KEVIN: What's that, then? You pregnant again?


KEVIN: I was wunderin' why you'd got so fat and all...is it mine?

TRICIA: Oh, you know me, Kevin.

KEVIN: You mean, we're havin' our eighth kid and still not a single one's sprung from my loins?

TRICIA: Well, you agreed my pa' and bruther get first pick...

Out of the shadows, steps the Old Git, flanked by two menacing-looking OAPs ON ZIMMER FRAMES.

OLD GIT: I'm here to get myself some working-class totty, old chap!

KEVIN: You'll have to get past me first! I've spent all my money so I can't afford a prostitute tonight!

TRICIA: Watch out Kevin, that man's got a butter knife!

Continue at your own leisure...

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