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Wispy in the
brainsteam
I, MD Cribuffs, interview
the BBC bossaman, Greg Dykes. He is without doubt the most manky sod
johnny in the wuey.
Cribuffs v. Dyke take 1
Dyke: Hello, Cribuffs.
Cribuffs: Looky here pal, I do the intros around this place. Welcome
Greg "the Baker" Dyke to Crimbuffs' Tower Shower. It's Dyke Vs. Cribuffs.
See sonny that's the right way around now. Now sit up straight and answer
me this, You run the BBC but what mysterious force control your putney
life?
Dyke: I didn't expect this kinda shit! Questions, huh? It's been a long
time. Whelle, as you all know (yes, you as well, Pikachu), I started
my life in LWT, the telly they showed at weekends just to make you feel
bad about yourself. I was there with John Birt, he a psychopathic thinker.
One day he gaffer taped four cameramen together and scaled Big Kiddley
Kong clock tower, Houses of Parlyment! Danny Baker made jokes about
it on the news, they were top times. And Peter Mandelson was on the
top floor, trying out endless hats. So that's where the fuck I'm coming
from, yes. The drugs just flew by.
Cribuffs: As your name suggests you like hot girl-girl action, What
exactly was you plan to spice up the 5.45pm news?
Dyke: I redesigned that news set to look like some pimping whorehouse
in Texas shit. You know, some crazy fucked-up shit like Eurotrash Uncovered.
The lezzerers be relevant to the stories, "eegee" with a balaclava for
IRA news, a stetson for US financial news, beenie hat for ALF news.
And they be like shakin' their cookies on the desk, an' an' Dermot Morgan
or whoever the fuck reads the news these days sticks a tenner in their
pants after each story. Also we pump in the dope jams over the tannoy
- Brandy and Monica, Ooh To Be Ah, Some Mothers Do 'Ave 'Em, maybe an
old Karl Marx routine. General-type blether from the fanny service.
It won the Grammy for Telly award, beat that! The Kids are united in
their admiration.
Crimbuffs: Whither the Sandy Gall. So what kinda games did you play
with Michael Grade in that big sand pit?
Dyke: All the freakinest, deakinest, crazy fucking games you can think.
I used my waiter's imagination to cook up crazy shit. We allus got Grade
in a headlock, real ruff and tumble, he never could run from me, specially
when we played tag wrestling on Thursdays. There was me and my good
friend and sleeping partner Alastair Stewart, versus Grade and Toastface
Yentob, and we allus stitched those tiny mothers up. Oh, Grade, he a
sucker. Cute as me. Wouldn't say 'fuck all, y'all' to a goose.
Crimbuffs: Around the back of TV-am, when you was the bearded pongee,
you installed a man-sized fully function Roland Rat pleasure doll. Why?
Dyke: A morale booster, primarily. It was a handy way to get Gordon
Honeycombe pumped up for the news, and Mad Lizzie took it home every
night, for what I know not. They still use it today as Eamonn Holmes.
Everyone pisses my cheeks about Roland Rat, but it saved the economy.
Incidentally, the original Roland Rat was a man called Roland who had
the deformed face of a rat. We poked him with sticks to do what we wanted.
But they said if people found out about this abuse we'd be finished,
so it was replaced with an identical puppet. Looking back, maybe we
were a bit unkind to him, but I can't stand freaks, personally. I do
like that chap in The Elephant Man, though. How does it go? 'Speak easy.
At the link it's easy.' But I regret nothing, I'm rich like Henderson.
Crimbuffs: Rusty Lee?
Dyke: Wee! Oh sorry, I see what you mean. Yes she was very bitter about
the massive sackings, but I had to do something, and a one-way bitch
harvest seemed the way to go. She was always a complainer, though, miserable
cow. By contrast, I didn't hear a peep out of Wincey Willis. But I think
that... are you feeling my leg? This isn't about that Cribuffs Goes
Hawaiian special is it? I told you before, we can't do it. The money's
tied up in Belsen.
Crimbuffs: Cribuffs Goes Hawaiian was way ahead of it's time, cancelled
for Benson, for fats sake. You sir are a fool. That ill advised jaunt
to France with the 2-live Crew and Darth Vader pant model, Iffy Crabapple,
was the beginning of the end of TV-am and your lovely wife, Carol. What
on earth possess youse to use a ferrous wheel out of season?
Dyke: Smack fire out your fucking arse! I stand by my 'in for a penny'
period and all that happened in it. Like when I sacked the canteen staff
and replaced them with hell's wind staff. They won't forget that! Or
the 'Titty Danish' escapade. Or the highly successful experiment replacing
studio cameras with Bill Tidy and a big pile of paper. Or my public
defacing of Denise van Outen - sorry babes, but Kirsten O'Brien will
lick your butt any day. Ahhhhhhhh. You are beginning to make me tired,
my little friend. Now. if you'll excuse me, I have to roughly herd you
out of this office for ever. Thank you for coming. The BBC hopes you'll
accept this gift of beads and looking glass. Get out.
Cribuffs: Not so fast, what about the Rolf Harris transplant? Sit down
and put it away.
Dyke [visibly nervous]: Look, I really have to move on now. Busy busy.
Rolf Harris is a good friend, and a golfing 'pardner'. We have a joint
handicap of 8 and ricketts.
[gets up and hastily puts things from desk into
pocket - comb, pen, Post-It pad, miniature Kellogg's wine dildo, small
cardboard package labelled '36 Pieces - Enter The Blu-Tak', signed picture
of Littlest Hobo etc. Then runs for door.]
Dyke: Stop shoving, you great hairy oaf! I got a Chuckle Brothers summit
in ten minutes!
Cribuffs: Yeah right, you big frafe scum pikachu.
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