June 18, 2005

More W.C.- stories (uusia käännöstehtäviä yo-koetta varten)

WC Fields: The Radio Years

A Brief History of W.C. Fields on the Radio
About Existing Recordings

Transcriptions: Radio Highlights

Transcriptions: Radio Highlights

The Pharmacist
The Snake Story
Promotions Unlimited
Father's Day
The Golf Game
The Skunk Trap

(In these excerpts, Fields is listed as "F" before his dialogue.)

The Snake Story (with numerous asides)
(Fields is telling his story to radio announcer and film star Don Ameche.)

F: Some of my best friends, Don, are snakes.

D: Your best friends are snakes?

F: Yeh, particularly rattlesnakes. I'll never forget the time I found a rattlesnake imprisoned under a rock. He was there begging for su-ccor. That means 'help.' So I freed him, and with a grateful look in his eyes he followed me home. Before I went to sleep that night I made him a bed of one of my old undershirts. Yes, it was the undershirt. I wear woolen underwear, you know?

D: Yeh, yeh, Bill, go on.

F: Summer and winter. . .

D: Now look. . .Look Bill, nobody is interested in what you wear.
What about the rattlesnake Bill?

F: Don't be impatient! And as I bade the little rattlesnake good night, I patted him. . .her. . .it, on the head.

D (laughing): Was it a him, her, or it?

F: To tell you the truth, Don, I don't know--I never looked.*

(*The audience in this recording clearly loves this joke--the closest thing to a genital reference that the censors of the day would allow.)

F: You know, Don, he actually licked my hand. And just before the little fellow curled up to sleep, he tried to kiss me.

D: Oh, this is very romantic Bill. You're really touching the strings of my heart.

F: Ah, it was a beautiful night. I went to bed.

D: You went to bed. . .

F: Yes, I remember that very distinctly. Suddenly, I woke. A ruffian had entered my budoir with a fouling piece. He said to me, 'Reach for the ceiling. He didn't know the roof had blown off. . .

D: But what happened to the ruffian, Bill?

F: Ah, he had his back to my beautiful little rattlesnake. There he lay, sweet little chap; writhing in pain, the tears running down his cheeks. . .

D: I didn't know snakes had cheeks.

F: Call them what you may, cheeks by any other name would still be cheeks to me. There he lay, as sick as a boiled owl.

D: How did you know he was sick.

F: I called a doctor. I forgot to tell you that. The little fellow sunk his fangs into the marauder's fetlock, held him tightly, whilst the marauder screamed with pain. My little friend the snake stuck his tail out the window and rattled for a constable.

D: Ah yes, Bill, that is indeed gratitude.

F: And may I say in conclusion, that I always smoke Chase and Sanborn . . .*

(*Here, a panicked Don Ameche interrupts Fields to cut off the show, as he was probably told to do so beforehand by the producers and sponsors--always nervous about Fields' numerous swipes at advertisers; a real no-no in those days.)

D: Thank you, Bill. Thank you very much, W.C. Fields.

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