Paul: Say goodbye to the Beatles! Done yet George?
George: Bugger off, this fucking string�there. Okay, what next then?
Ringo: John! I have another idea! What if we-
John: Shut up shortcake! No one cares about your �ideas�, okay?
A.M: Play some Rammestein!
Paul: Wot? Who?
A.M: Rammestein! Rammestein!
(The Beatles finally realize that the man�s accent is German.)
George: Uh-oh, um, John? Please don�t go into �die you bloody fucking Nazi� mode, okay?! It�s not worth it!
John: Gerroffa me ya git! Lemme at �im! I wanna kill �im, lemme kill �im! Damn you Nazi!
Ringo: Hey, we better take him backstage for a while.
Paul: He�s foaming at the mouth, I think.
John: What?! No, must kill Nazis, make world better�
George: Gah! He bit me!
Ringo: Just get him back there, I�ll tell the audience there�s been a delay.
(Backstage, a few minutes later�)
Ringo: Ah, god, me fuckin� finger�
John: Did Hitler do that to yer? Fucking bloody fuckin� Nazis & their bloody concentration camps�
George: Calm down, you rabid beast. The war�s over & there�s no more Nazis.
John: There aren�t? Oh�
Paul: Why don�t we fix yer finger right here & now?
Ringo: Huh? How?
Paul: My shagadelic �do-it-yourself Cryogenic Laboratory Kit�. It�s second-hand too, so I only paid 15p for it!
George: Something inside my head tells me that it might not be so safe.
Ringo: I think that would be your non-existent sense of logic.
Paul: I�m grown up enough to do it! & we�ll probably be flipping burgers from now on instead of doing shows, so I don�t think Ringo�s going to need that hand anymore.
John: No, the Nazis are goose-stepping their khaki-colored asses back into our lives & they want to take over the world!
Ringo: Let�s get him into the dressing-room before this fit gets any worse.
Paul: You know they never do. The last one he had went up to about this point & stopped.
Ringo: Just precautions Paulie. To the dressing room!
(Da na na na na na na na, Batman!)
George: John, there�s no war, no Nazis, no Hitler, & definitely no khaki! Snap out of it please!
Paul: Take a seat John, just relax. As long as he waits he�ll get out of it all right. Okay Ringo�
John: No, bloody fucking Nazis must die�want to kill�
Ringo: You sure this is safe, Paul?
Paul: Yep. Dammit, where the hells the-never mind, we don�t need it. It�s only the longest word on the instruction sheet anyhow, so it�s no big deal.
Brian: What are you doing back here?! You�re not even half done with the show!
John: I�m gonna kill you, ya bloody Jewish queer Nazi!
(George yanks the mad John back into his seat rather casually.)
George: German guy outside. Cryogenics. Trying to escape jelly beans. Fucking fingers hurting.
Brian: Oh I see. Well you�ll be sure to sort him out all right then, yeah?
George: Sure, he should be coming out of it any time now.
Ringo: Ahh me bloody fucking fing-no, I�m not going to correct your assumption of my pain�
Paul: Oops. Oh well, now we�ll have no drummer, but I think we could manage an art show�& make our money in time!
Ringo: What�?
John: Don�t you get it?! We have to kill those-
All Except: Shut UP!
John: What? Wait, hold on, why aren�t we on stage?
Brian: All right, you�re back!
Paul: Okay, now we need to chuck Ringo into the freezer. Yeah, the finger too, George.
Ringo: Are you sure about this? Will it work? Am I going to fit inside this thing? Guys? Hey!
George: I have no doubt in my mind this will work. Now get in!
Ringo: You have nothing in your mind anyway, you-
(Ringo is fitted completely into the very small freezer & the door is slammed shut. The rest proceed to the stage, John having recovered.)
Paul: Oh, uh, I�ll be back, guys, I forgot to turn the thing on.
John: Run like hell!
Paul: �Kay!
(Two minutes later Paul returns, the crowd thoroughly angry with the Beatles for running off as they did, but also thoroughly drunk, so they are forgiving.)
Paul: I�m back, but I didn�t only freeze his hand.
George: Just play �Give me Money� & sharrup.
John: Play Goddammit!
Paul: Hold on, I�m not ready!
Groupie: Hey, uh, we felt all sorry for you after your story, so we�ll-
John: We don�t need your fucking pity-money.
Groupie: But we want to buy you drinks afterwards.
John: Oh, then that�s fine.
Groupie: Where�s Ringo?
Paul: Um, nowhere in particular�But we�re selling an ice sculpture after the show!
John: We are?
George: Of what?
Paul: Someone short & in pain.
John: Ah, that sculpture! It�s very realistic, you know. We�ll sing this last song & then get rid of it.
(They sing �Give me Money�, which requires no drummer, then retrieve the cryogenically frozen Ringo, which just looks like Ringo frozen in a huge block of ice, & set it onstage.)
George: We told ya we�re in financial trouble, so this will be our first item up for auction folks!
Paul: We�ll start the bidding at �10 million.
Guy (To himself): By my faith! It�s a perfect specimen which compliments exactly what I need for my experiment! With that cryogenically-frozen drummer I could-Dare I say it?-Rule the world� (Out loud): I�LL GIVE YOU �11 MILLION!! The expression is so, so�