Market/Transcript

[Screen zooms in slowly to Salad fingers out in the Barren Wasteland, inside a market stall containing different items and stock. Outside the table is an empty cardboard box and a large empty jar.]

Salad Fingers: (Singing) ♪ Ooh-rye-be-doo-rye! ♪ Shuffle up, slugs and sliders, heh. Come and get a taste of my silky wares.

[Flies are heard buzzing in the background, as Salad Fingers points to all the different "food" sitting in the display spaces.]

Salad Fingers: We've got Bentley Bars, pickled cheeks, burnt peas, heh. And for the older gents... enquire about our dirty images.

[Salad Fingers pulls out an old photo of a worn-out boot, breathing heavily. He whistles, impressed.]

Salad Fingers: This was my mother.

[Salad Fingers gently strokes the image, moaning softly.]

[The scene cuts to the outside of his market stall. A murder of crows are seen congregating and making sounds.]

[Scene cuts back to Salad Fingers.]

Salad Fingers: We'd best prepare for the incoming horde of customers, Hubert Cumberdale. (Salad Fingers reveals finger puppet Hubert Cumberdale on his finger.) So, I'm placing you on the meet and greet desk.

[Salad Fingers pulls the finger puppet off, and tosses him into the dirt a few feet away from the stall, as it slightly sinks into the ground.]

Salad Fingers: I believe I can hear the punters rushing in.

[The ground shakes and rumbles, as a tall head of a creature that resembles a human pokes through the ground. Long eyes slide out of the sockets and wiggle around, admiring what's in front of it.]

Salad Fingers: (Unamused) Mark Dimaline! Augh. Can I assume h-you will actually be making a purchase this week?

["Mark Dimaline" growls and gurgles.]

Mark Dimaline: (In a high-pitched, demonic voice) I'd just like a glass of water, please.

Salad Fingers: Augh. You're taking advantage of my good nature again.

[Hubert Cumberdale walks on his own up to Mark Dimaline with an old glass full of a brown substance, places it in front of him, then walks back. Mark Dimaline takes a second, before grabbing the glass with his long black tongue, and eats it whole. His eyes retreat back inside his head, before going back into the ground.]

[The scene cuts to a crow flying down to a tray of pieces of skin, and takes a few pieces before flying away in a panic. Salad Fingers swiftly walks up to the scene, surprised.]

Salad Fingers: (Gasps) Thief! Common thief! There-there he goes, officer. Arrest that thief.

[The scene cuts to the crow with the skin pieces, flying away with the others and making sounds. Salad Fingers frowns at the crows, pointing at them.]

Salad Fingers: I-I shouldn't wish your mothers would approve of such pilfering!

[The scene cuts to the crows a few meters away, eating the pieces of skin.]

Salad Fingers: Luckily, I have some reserved stock.

[Salad Fingers lifts up his shirt to reveal his stomach, covered in a few marks. He proceeds to peel pieces of his skin off and place them on the tray.]

[The scene cuts to the outside of Salad Fingers market stall, as he starts singing again.]

Salad Fingers: (Singing) ♪ Ooh-rye-be-doo-rye! Air-be-clenkins, fair-be-clenkins! ♪ Crunchy moths and hovercloths. Don't-Do-Don't miss out on these dirty deals! (Sighs)

[END]