EastEnders, the return

Posting this again, because I lost the original version. I've re-written this for added mankiness. It is now: utterly filthly.

ALBERT SQUARE EXT DAY.

"And now on BBC1, the last ever episode of EastEnders. Viewers are warned that tonight's programme contains scenes of an excessively manky nature."

A LARGE LORRY PULLS INTO THE SQUARE, THE CAMERA FOLLOWS IT AS IT PARKS OUTSIDE THE SLATER HOUSEHOLD. IT SAYS "CURRYS" ON THE SIDE.

CUT AWAY SHOTS OF PAULINE FOWLER LOOKING OUT OF HER WINDOW, HAVING A MILD PANIC ATTACK, AND DASHING OUT OF HER FRONT DOOR.

Delivery Man: Slater household?

Mo: That's us.

Delivery Man: Sign here then.

Pauline (muscling in on the conversation): What the fuck's going on here?

Mo: This, Pauline Fowler, is a fucking washing machine.

Pauline: A what? Where'd you get the money for that, you tart?

Mo: Interest free credit. They'll give it to anybody these days. Except the likes of you, filthy white trash.

Pauline: Just you wait until Mr Popodopulos finds out. He's going to break your fucking kneecaps.

DOT ARRIVES, GASPING, WEARING NOTHING BUT A PEEK-A-BOO BRA AND PANTY SET, CHAIN-SMOKING SIX CIGARETTES AT ONCE. SHE IS, HOWEVER, CARRYING HER HUGE HANDBAG OVER HER ARM

Dot: Eeeh, I came as quick as I could get away from the pole dancing club, Pauline. I...

DOT STOPS DEAD IN HER TRACKS

Dot: What the fuck is that?

Pauline: Fat cow Maureen here says it's a fucking washing machine.

Dot: Fuck off!

Mo: It is so, and I'll fight anyone who says it isn't.

Dot: Do you realise the danger you're putting us in, you fucking stupid cow? These things are deadly in the hands of untrained fools such as yourselves. One wrong push of a button and you could have us all killed! Fucking blood, flesh and knicker all over the Square. Look what happened to Ian Beale, God rest his fucking stupid puffed-up soul. Laundry should be left to trained professionals such as myself and my good friend Pauline here. Isn't that right, Pauline?

DOT LEANS ACROSS TO PAULINE AND KISSES HER. THERE IS THE MEREST TRACE OF A TONGUE.

Pauline: Mmm.... I'm wet.

Mo: Well, there's no way you're going to make us send it back. It's ours and we're keeping it.

PAULINE PULLS A BROWNING 9MM HANDGUN FROM HER HANDBAG, COCKS IT WITH DELIBERATE CARE AND PUSHES THE MUZZLE AGAINST MO'S FOREHEAD

Pauline: Yeah?

DOT REACHES INTO HER HANDBAG, AND PULLS OUT A LARGE, RIBBED VIBRATOR, WHICH SHE TOO POINTS AT MO'S HEAD

Dot: Make my day.

Mo: Now girls, let's not do anything hasty. D'you want to come upstairs and talk about this?

Pauline: Um... OK then.

Delivery Man: Can I come?

Dot: (gesturing towards his groin) It looks like you already have.

DUM-DUM-DUM-DIDDLY-DIDDLY-DUM

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