PUBISTAN OR BUST!

HOLMES: A most entertaining individual, our Mr Borat.

WATSON: What did he want?

HOLMES: To educate, to enquire, to postulate, to pontificate, to tease, to squeeze, to please, to release, to be.

WATSON: Good Lord, he sounds terribly invigorating.

HOLMES: Oh, he is. He is. Now tell me, Watson, where exactly is Pubistan situated?

WATSON: Pubistan? Er, um, well, it’s er… on the border of Kazakhstan, Kirghizstan and Outer Mongolia what what what. Isn't it?

HOLMES: I think you’ll find that’s China, old boy. No, you can guess as much as you like, but you won’t find it, I’ve looked.

WATSON: But that’s preposterous, Holmes. How can anyone visit it if they can’t find it?

HOLMES: Precisely my point, you burnt-out old Quack.

WATSON: But but but the rabbits’ scrotums, the tanks, the fan belts for washing machines...

HOLMES: All real, but all this time, in fact since this blog first began, no-one has managed to establish where this veritable republic of tranquillity actually is.

WATSON: I say, perhaps it’s… but that’s impossible.

HOLMES: Go on, Watson. I can feel an intellectual thrust at last.

WATSON: Well, perhaps it’s a state of mind what what what.

HOLMES: By jove, you veritable dunderhead, I think you’ve got it!

WATSON: I have? I mean, I HAVE, of course I have. Anything else you’d like me to sort out for you, old chap?

HOLMES: Just one thing: how we’re going to rescue that hapless artificial anus Arty.

WATSON: But Holmes, if it’s a state of mind, it’s impenetrable. Once you’re there, there’s no coming back.

HOLMES: Alas, Watson, you are once again right on the Sterling.

WATSON: So Arty’s done for, then?

HOLMES: As dead as a dodo.

WATSON: Crikey. Seems rather a harsh fate for a chap who was only trying to plug a gap in a bunghole.

HOLMES: It’s a cruel world out there, Watson. At least Arty won’t be making an arse of himself any longer.

WATSON: Oh, yes. Quite. Oh, very good, Holmes. I say, what about that Castrato fellow?

HOLMES: If the truth be told, with or without an anus he’s still a big arsehole.

WATSON: No, stop it, Holmes, I’ll soil my boxer shorts.

HOLMES: Never mind that, Watson. We’ve got to get to Pubistan before Professor Moriarty does.

WATSON: What’s that you say?

HOLMES: That fiendish troubladite is planning a coup in the last remaining state of the mind and it’s up to us to stop him.

WATSON: Good gracious! How exciting!

HOLMES: Ready that filthy blood hound, the journey shall be a long and arduous one, my friend, but mark my words, one day we shall look back on this and see it for the foolhardy adventure that it really is.

WATSON: Tally ho, Toby! Onwards and upwards to our glorious conclusion!

HOLMES: Steady with the smelling salts, old bean, I need you in one piece at the other end, if you get my meaning. Mrs Hudson!

MRS HUDSON: Yes, Mr Sherlock?

HOLMES: Pack our rucksacks with a round of cheese sandwiches and salami squares. We may be gone some time.

MRS HUDSON: Right you are, sir.

HOLMES: The game is afoot!

WATSON: Geronimo!

(TOBY BARKS ENTHUSIASTICALLY, DROPS PLOP, THEN WAGS TAIL PROFUSELY BEFORE HURLING HIMSELF THROUGH DOOR, WATSON IN TOW)