M: Er, excuse me, haven't we met?
W: I don't think so.
M: Do you come here often?
W: No. <pause>
M: You, here, with anyone?
W: No, I just popped in for a drink.
M: Oh, nice. <pause> Can I buy you one?
W: Alright then.
M: Barman! So what can I get you?
B: May I suggest truth lager, sir?
M: What's that?
B: A combination of belgian hops and sodium pentathol truth serum, sir.
M: That's new, isn't it?
B: It's been specially brewed for the purposes of this sketch, sir.
M: Well, two of those please. (They drnik, hallelujah chorus).
W: Thanks for buying me the drink, but I feel it's only fair to warn you
that underneath this beautiful exterior I am actually a very superficial
person.
M: I'm sure you're not.
W: Yes I am. I went out with someone last year just because I liked his
trousers.
M: I'm actually scared of women. You're only the third one I've spoken to
this year. On the rare occasions I do pull, I have to drink to steady my
nerves and end up hopelessly impotent. And they think it's their fault and
it gets really embarrassing.
W: That's pathetic. Anyway, I've got herpes and it's infectious. Besides
I'd only shag you if you reminded me of my father.
M: That's screwed up. But sometimes I feel the same.
W: I really don't give a shit. We've only known each other for 5 minutes
and I think you're a complete tosser.
M: Really? I've started to think you're just a vacuous tart. But you do
have great legs.
W: No, I've got cellulite.
M: How rough.
W: Yeah, I sit in the bath and play with it every evening.
M: Oh well. I'm going home to masturbate over your mental image. See you.
Bye!
W: Barman!
B: Yes, madam?
W: Nice trousers.