Soup/Suit

In a restaurant.

CUSTOMER. (Tastes his soup and finds it funny) Waiter!

WAITER. (Comes to his table) Sir?

CUSTOMER. There's something wrong with my soup.

WAITER. Oh, I wouldn't say that, sir. It looks very smart to me.

CUSTOMER. What?

WAITER. Nice pinstripe.

CUSTOMER. No, no, no. My soup. There's something wrong with my soup.

WAITER. Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I thought you said suit.

CUSTOMER. It tastes odd somehow.

WAITER. What does?

CUSTOMER. My soup.

WAITER. Does it?

CUSTOMER. (Makes an affirmative noise)

WAITER. May I, sir?

CUSTOMER. Please, do.

WAITER. (Tastes the customer's suit) Seems all right to me.

CUSTOMER. No, no. My soup, my soup tastes odd.

WAITER. Oh, your soup!

CUSTOMER. Yes.

WAITER. Oh, dear!

CUSTOMER. Taste it.

WAITER. I just have, sir.

CUSTOMER. Not my suit. I want you to try my soup.

WAITER. Oh, I'd rather not, if you don't mind, sir.

CUSTOMER. Why not?

WAITER. Probably too long in the arms, sir.

CUSTOMER. No, no. What's the matter with you? I'm talking about my soup, S-O-U-P.

WAITER. Oh, your soup!

CUSTOMER. Yes.

WAITER. Is there something wrong with it, sir?

CUSTOMER. I've told you, it tastes odd.

WAITER. Oh, may I, sir?

CUSTOMER. Please.

WAITER. Thank you, sir. (Tastes the customer's soup) Ah, yes.

CUSTOMER. Ah, yes, what?

WAITER. It's the cyanide, sir.

CUSTOMER. I beg your pardon?

WAITER. The chef does occasionally, in my opinion, tend to overstress the cyanide in his potage.

CUSTOMER. Are you telling me the chef has put cyanide in the soup?

WAITER. No, sir. He's put cyanide in the soup.

CUSTOMER. That's what I said.

WAITER. Oh, I'm sorry, sir! I thought you said suit.

CUSTOMER. This is outrageous!

WAITER. Would you like me to bring you some soup without cyanide in it, sir?

CUSTOMER. Ye-, no! I mean, I mean—

WAITER. Perhaps something else on the menu?

CUSTOMER. Wh-why? Why has the chef put cyanide in the soup?

WAITER. He has a club foot, sir.

CUSTOMER. What?!

WAITER. The chef has a club foot.

CUSTOMER. Well, I've got a bent nose, but I don't go around massacring perfectly innocent diners.

WAITER. Hmm. There's no cyanide in the mozzarella salad, sir.

CUSTOMER. Oh, yippee.

WAITER. Just a hint of strychnine, but not so as you'd notice.

CUSTOMER. Oh, this is absurd!

WAITER. You're right. It is completely ridiculous.

Both the customer and waiter go out of character.

CUSTOMER. (to audience) Well, would you like to be a comedy writer? What's happened is that we've deliberately left this sketch without a tagging punchline.

WAITER. (to audience) Or ending, as we call it in the trade.

CUSTOMER. Now, that's where you come in. The lines are now open for you to phone in your payoff to this hilarious skitlet.

WAITER. But just as an added difficulty, we’re not actually going to give you the telephone number to ring.
CUSTOMER. No, that’s right. You have to use your skill and judgment to think up a witty, apt and amusing telephone number of your own.
WAITER. And if British Telecom think it’s funny enough, they’ll put you through to our switchboard here.

(Phone rings.)

WAITER. Hullo? (Laughs uproariously.) And we have a clear winner straightaway. Mr. J. D. Ward of Basildon. Well, well done, J. D. Ward. If you’ll be so kind as to let us know your chest size, we’ll send you a A Bit of Fry and Laurie chequebook and pen straightaway.
CUSTOMER. Well, let’s go back to where we were, then.
WAITER. Right.

The customer and waiter go back in character.

CUSTOMER. Oh, this is absurd.
WAITER. You’re right. It is completely ridiculous. Uh, the brown soup has no cyanide in it whatsoever, sir.
CUSTOMER. The brown soup, eh?
WAITER. That’s right, sir.
CUSTOMER. No toxics, radioactive particles or microbes of any description?
WAITER. Not a drop, sir.
CUSTOMER. Well, I’ll have some of that, then.
WAITER. Right you are, sir. (Exits)
CUSTOMER. (To audience) Honestly.

Waiter returns with a brown suit.

CUSTOMER. (To audience) Nice one, J. D.