Bluebottle's Mum

Harry Secombe

Chief

Harry Secombe

Lieutenant Hern-Hern

Harry Secombe

Ned Seagoon.

Harry Secombe

Old Uncle Oscar

Harry Secombe

Fred Smith

Max Geldray

Bluebottle

Peter Sellers

Colonel Custer [Captain Slokum]

Peter Sellers

Dr Dennis Bloodnok

Peter Sellers

Grytpype-Thynne

Peter Sellers

Henry Crun

Peter Sellers

Hern Bum

Peter Sellers

Barman

Ray Ellington

Chief Sitting Bull

Ray Ellington

"Davey" Eccles

Spike Milligan

Coolie

Spike Milligan

Little Jim

Spike Milligan

Minnie Bannister

Spike Milligan

Moriarty

Spike Milligan

Sergeant F'doo [Fladoo]

Spike Milligan

GREENSLADE:

This is the BBC \Home Service\

SEAGOON:

Good! Now, [Walm] Wal, here is that same announcement by a midget.

GRAMS:

SPED UP VERSION OF SECOMBE SAYING "THIS IS THE BBC \HOME SERVICE\"

GREENSLADE:

Who's he?!

SEAGOON:

I'm a friend of Bert F'tang.

SELLERS:

F'tang?

SEAGOON:

F'ting!

SELLERS:

Findacoo!

SEAGOON:

F'too!

SELLERS:

Foulzow!

SEAGOON:

F'ting

MILLIGAN:

A friend of Bert F'tang!

GRAMS:

ETC F'TANGG, F'TING! F'TOO! F'TING SPED UP.

GREENSLADE:

Dear Spontellibons. You are listening to the sound track of this weeks wonder ear-film, presenting: Captain Stingo, or ....

SELLERS:

(Sellers: Hern voice) Goon Law, [or,] or anything {orwlhor} Hern.

ORCHESTRA:

[WESTERN GUN LAW THEME] WESTERN THEME, WITH MANY TRUMPETS, THEN TAKEN DOWN UNDER:

[FX:

ELECTRONIC GUN WITH ABOVE]

[ORCHESTRA:

TAKE THE THEME UNDER THE NARRATION AND KEEP IT GOING PPP WITH A SORT OF AMERICAN FRONTIER MARCH ... VERY PPP.]

SELLERS:

(Hern. over music) See, hear and smell hairless midget, Harry Seagoon as \Double\ Captain Rapture. Hard riding, hard shooting, hard up cowboy.

SEAGOON:

[(Kensington accent)]Hello, you ornery ['orny] critters!

SELLERS:

(Hern) This role calls for great audience imagination. See, feel and hit Spike Milligna as the dying actor.

FX:

GUNSHOT

MILLIGAN:

Ooowww!

SECOMBE:

Yes, for the first time on your radio screen, see the hand-operated, electric teeth, of Peter "Voices" Sellers, as Big Black Beauty, the mad wallpaper[ed] stallion.

FX:

GALLOPING [BOOTS] INTO DISTANCE, ACCOMPANIED BY DONKEY BRAYING [SPED UP]

SEAGOON:

Listen to the strains of Tex McLength, and his sons of the bicycle saddle...

GRAMS:

[CAST SINGING]"GIVE ME A HOME, WHERE THE BUFFALO ROAM" - SOUNDS OF FALLING METAL, ACCOMPANIED BY CRIES OF "OH!" AND "OH DEAR"

GREENSLADE:

This then is your entertainment for this evening.

GRAMS:

[AUDIENCE] BOO'S, SCREAMS, CRIES, FEET RUNNING AWAY

{SEAGOON:

Come back, come back!}

ORCHESTRA:

WESTERN THEME.

SELLERS:

(sailors cries and distant replies)

GREENSLADE:

It is 1867 and dead on time. The harbour of Boston is a hive of inactivity, as English immigrants bring their shattered bank accounts to the New World. Along side is the Good Ship Venus.(*1). The pling plang toof, nobitty nibbitty noo, pleta omnivorous plethora, pletty plom plom tartity to to tooee, fit plor tong tang tit putt putt.... I say, {I} I can't read this rubbish! I - oh!

GRAMS:

SPLASH

LITTLE JIM:

He's fallin' in da water!

SEAGOON:

Yes, sonny, it's a tradition among{st } drowning men. {now,} come lets step ashore onto America, the land of plenty.

HERN BUM:

Hey bud, [ya] gotta nickel for a cup of coffee?

SEAGOON:

You poor man, you must be starving. Here, take that.

FX:

WWWWINGGG BLOT. BONK. JELLY SPOSH.

HERN BUM:

Oww, buddy, oww.

SEAGOON:

That'll teach him not to be poor in front of me again. {\|Now where's my slave, Uncle Toms Cabin?|\}

{\|SLAVE:

(Ellington) I'm here boss. Youse covered wagon is waiting for youse.\|}

SEAGOON:

{\|Good for youse.\|} Fill the horses up with three gallons of hay. hahaha. What a gallant figure I must have made, [with] {in} my tricorn hat, tricorn trousers, and an unexplodeded first edition of the Union Jack.

\GRYTPYPE:

Did you say covered wagon? [Look here,]\

\{SEAGOON:

Yes, here's a photo of me saying it.}\

\{GRYTPYPE:

And here is a statue of the word Thank You}\

\{SEAGOON:

Good! I'll unveil it tomorrow.}\

\{GRYTPYPE:

Fine, fine! Are you a millionaire?}\

\{SEAGOON:

No I'm seven'n'six short.}\

GRYTPYPE:

{\Blast!\ Look sir,} I too am heading west, with this retired wooden fish crate.

MORIARTY:

[(muffled)] OOOOwwwwww. Let me out of here, Grytpype, the fumes, [Oh the fumes] ... Oh the pong {the pong} [they make] {, Grytpype}

SEAGOON:

I say.

{MORIARTY:

Let me out of here}

SEAGOON:

What are those yellow things, champing at the knothole?

GRYTPYPE:

They are the teeth of a dear friend and confidante, the great French poet and lyric plumber, Count Jim "Flies" ...

FX:

BUZZING OF FLIES

{MORIARTY:

(over top of flies) oh!, oh!}

GRYTPYPE:

... Moriarty.

\SEAGOON:

[Oh] Why does he travel by fish crate\

GRYTPYPE:

[It's] \Something to do with the devaluation of the Franc, I'm not sure. \ However, apart from which he is inventing something.

ORCHESTRA:

COMICAL SAXOPHONE RIFF [SAX O PHUN, INSIDE A CRATE PLAYED BACK FASTER]

GRYTPYPE:

{Listen, he's working on it, my dear sir.} E'en now, he treads the keys of his adult saxophone. [Listen? ... He's working on it.] Could we hire, perchance a room on your covered wagon, so that the Count may continue undisturbed by disturb?

SEAGOON:

Well.... there's no bath.

GRYTPYPE:

No bath? Just what the Count likes at the end of a long day.

SEAGOON:

Right. Now, where's the rent?

GRYTPYPE:

In my trousers.

SEAGOON:

He bent down, and sure enough, he had a rent in his trousers!!

ORCHESTRA:

COMICAL TRUMPET RIFF, HEY! [TA RA CHORD]

SEAGOON:

[(sings)]California! \{Syrup of figs,} \ here we come! Gid up there.

FX:

WHIP CRACKS. HORSES TROTTING. UNDER:

INTERVAL:

WESTERN THEME. [WESTERN PLAINS MUSIC "I COME FROM ALABAMA WITH A BANJO ON MY KNEE" WITH MOUTH ORGAN LEAD INTO MAX GELDRAY'S NUMBER]

MUSIC:

(MAX GELDRAY) "SHE COMES FROM LOUISIANA..." SEGUED INTO "A NIGHTINGALE SANG IN BERKLEY SQUARE"

(applause)

\{GREENSLADE:

That night the wagon train rested in the plain of the plat plong tick tog nick nack paddy whack give the dog a goon. Splish Splish, |I do,| I, I, I, refuse to read them, I won't read them <Walks off muttering>}\

GRAMS:

CRICKETS. DISTANT HOWL (MORE LIKE THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES THAN PRAIRIE DOGS)

SEAGOON:

I say... will all those prairie dogs never stop howling?

GRYTPYPE:

They're always howling..... no trees on the prairie.

SEAGOON:

Listeners who recognise that gag please keep their traps shut .... Well, I'm going to bed. G'night.

FX:

STRETCHING BED SPRINGS, POPPING/TWANGING OF SOME SPRINGS

SEAGOON:

{Ah,} Eighteen stone three. Gad, I'm a heavy sleeper.

MORIARTY:

{quietly) Let me out {, buddy}.

GRYTPYPE:

Shhhhhh. Quiet in that crate.

MORIARTY:

Is it night or day?

GRYTPYPE:

Fool, that sort of thing is only for the rich.

MORIARTY:

Let me out {, oh, buddy}.

GRYTPYPE:

I'll let you out when you've made enough saxophones to sell to the Indians.

MORIARTY:

I've made [500 (raves)] {corud-serc-neef-nook-she} saxophones

GRAMS:

CHAINS RATTLING, DOOR OPEN

GRYTPYPE:

Have you?

{MORIARTY:

(sobs) Yes.}

GRYTPYPE:

Well, come out. (pause) Now,

{MORIARTY:

Oww.}

GRYTPYPE:

.. which of all these fish-bones is you?

MORIARTY:

I'm the one with hairs on.

\{GRYTPYPE:

My goodness, the sea trip has done you a power of good. You'll soon be strong enough to lie down Count.}\

GRAMS:

INDIANS WHOOPING UNDER:

SEAGOON:

{Quick} The Indians are attacking us on the new wide screen! {...Quick}

FX:

GUNSHOTS, CHICKEN CACKLES. SHOTS. RICOCHETS. BREAKING GLASS. WAR WHOOPS. [THUNDER OF HORSES HOOVES]

ECCLES:

(sings) Born on {born on} a mountain top in Tennessee {I dud a myarmya } [born in ...(mumble)]

SEAGOON:

What luck! It's Davy Eccles and his goon-shin cat!

ECCLES:

uraluckum eraluckumuluckaluckumurlum doishinook ow (re-gurgling Seagoons line)

SEAGOON:

[Do it good and you can clean it up later] {You do it and you can clean it up mate}.

{ECCLES:

They're all with me tonight...}

SEAGOON:

Now listen.

{ECCLES:

yeah}

SEAGOON:

We need help.

{ECCLES:

yeah.}

SEAGOON:

Those \{smelly old}\ Indians are overpowering us.

\{ECCLES:

Hold your nose then buddy, hold your nose.}\

SEAGOON:

\{Very good, yes.}\ Get through to Fort F'tang.

{ECCLES:

F'tang.}

SEAGOON:

... and fetch help.

{ECCLES:

Ok.}

SEAGOON:

Here's the fare.

ECCLES:

Ta! Giddup!

GRAMS:

BUS PULLING AWAY

SEAGOON:

Fortunately for us folks, a bare ten miles away, the US [ninth] {sixth} cavalry were in the area. And a bare ten miles in America is equal to three fully-clothed miles in France! Ha Ha Ha!

GRAMS:

CHARGING CAVALRY

COLONEL:

(Sellers: Hern voice) Whoa!

FX:

CAVALRY STOPS DEAD

COLONEL:

There's discipline for ya. (spits)

FX:

DANG! INTO BUCKET

COLONEL:

Lieutenant Hern-Hern?

FX:

FOOTSTEPS RUNNING CLOSER AND COME TO A STOP.

LT. HERN-HERN:

(Secombe: Hern voice) Yes sir?

COLONEL:

Where's your horse?

LT. HERN-HERN:

You only called me sir.

COLONEL:

Well, that's a good answer son. you must be mighty proud of it.

LT. HERN-HERN:

It belonged to my father Hern.

COLONEL:

It's a well-worn Hern, yeah. Here's a dollar Hern.

LT. HERN-HERN:

A dollar Hern? What for Hern?

COLONEL:

It's pay as you h-earn. (spits)

FX:

DANG!

COLONEL:

Sergeant F'doo? Where's the chuck-wagon Hern?

SERGEANT F'DOO:

's..hine, the worst hine, sir, a most.... hawf hine [hern hern hern (rubbish)].

COLONEL:

{Well,} if you say so. (spits)

FX:

JELLY SPLOSH, SPLAT!

COLONEL:

I'm sorry, Sarge. Here, catch this lifebelt!

FX:

SPLASH!

SERGEANT F'DOO:

Thank you!

LT. HERN-HERN:

We better get going, Colonel - they say that the Knobbly Knee Indians are in the vicinity.

\COLONEL:

Let's hope we don't get the wind up.\

ALL [MAX,WAL,RAY]:

(sing) When I'm calling you oooh ooh ooh

GREENSLADE:

(sing) ..and I'll answer true

ALL:

oo oo oooh

LT. HERN-HERN:

It's three lone Indians!

COLONEL:

Call 'em over, we could do with a loan Hern {, yeah!}

LT. HERN-HERN:

Great Jumping Fanacapants! It's the Knobbly Knee Tribe in full warpaint and wallpaper.

CHIEF SITTING BULL:

Ugggg! \How! Bugg! Toof Nuff Vim, Ooh Bugg \

\COLONEL:

I reckon there must be an easier way to make a living ya know! How, Hern, how.\

CHIEF SITTING BULL:

Me Chief investor in Wall Street. Chief Sitting Bull and Bear, this is my squaw.

GREENSLADE:

How do you do?

CHIEF SITTING BULL:

Ugggg!

COLONEL:

Yes, I thought that too.

CHIEF SITTING BULL:

And this nit here is my son, great warrior, Fred Smith, OBE.

FRED:

Hello boy, I had eggs for tea.

COLONEL:

Hey, he looks mighty tall in the saddle

CHIEF SITTING BULL:

That's cos he's on a horse mate!

ALL:

Tada!

COLONEL:

Chief, we wanna do business. We're willing to knock all your teeth out for nothin', and give you genuine false ones in exchange for {an old buffalo hide} [your old buffalo hides]

CHIEF SITTING BULL:

Mmmmm. Ug. All my braves have buffalo hides.

COLONEL:

[Well,] where's yours?

CHIEF SITTING BULL:

Where's my what, mate?

COLONEL:

Where's your buffalo hide?

CHIEF SITTING BULL:

He's hiding behind that tree mate.

ALL:

Tada!

\{SECOMBE:

Sounds like Monkhouse and Goodwin got here first!}\

CHIEF SITTING BULL:

{Look! Wait a minute!} Me no like what white man offer. You go, or my braves go on four-lane warpath. Now give you biff and conk! biff!

FRED [PETER](*3):

That's my dad, boys.

COLONEL:

Watch out Sitting Bull, [or] I'll get you, sure as my name's Custer. \{(Spits) }\

\{FX:

DANG! OWWW}\

FX:

HORSE GALLOPS UP

ECCLES:

Oh, here, here, here, here! Oh, here, here!

LT. HERN-HERN:

{Holy} Smoke! It's something going here, here, here, here!

ECCLES:

It's me going here, here, here, here!

COLONEL:

Steady there son {, steady}. \{You and me get a hold of your coconut shells!}\

\{ECCLES:

I've been through hell to get here.}\

\{COLONEL:

There must be a cooler route, son, I reckon!}\

ECCLES:

The wagon-train with your wife onboard is being attacked by the Indians!

COLONEL:

My wife! Is she safe?

ECCLES:

Yeah.

COLONEL:

I never did like them Indians {you know}.

LT. HERN-HERN:

Did any follow ya?

ECCLES:

Yeah, they're shootin' at me all the time, but I just stuck my tongue out at dem.

LT. HERN-HERN:

Get wounded?

ECCLES:

Yeah.

LT. HERN-HERN:

Where?

ECCLES:

In the tongue. ahaha.

LT. HERN-HERN:

Well, for no reason at all, forwardddd!

GRAMS:

THUNDER OF HOOVES. WESTERN TYPE MUSICAL SPED UP ["TEXAS RANGER SONG" FROM "RIO RITA" (*2) SPED UP]. FADE.

\CHIEF SITTING BULL:

Ah! White man gone and leave no tip, come we go on warpath! Take partners for next war dance\

\{GRAMS

BEATING OF DRUMS, NOISE OF CROWD IN BAR OVER:}\

\ORCHESTRA:

"TEA DANCE MUSIC"\

GREENSLADE:

That night the tribes \{of the Sioux confederacy}\ were assembled for war. A white man and his fish crate were the centre of attraction.

GRYTPYPE:

\{Redmen,}\ I come as a fellow equity member with all dues paid. \{In this fish crate are what Redmen need.}\

\{CHIEF:

(Secombe: Red Indian) Red women?}\

GRYTPYPE:

\{Hahahah Later Chief, later! But plenty of it, later.}\ First I knock on box, so ...

FX:

KNOCKS ON CRATE

ORCHESTRA:

SAXOPHONE SNAKE CHARMING MUSIC [TOITS DE PAREE]

TRIBE:

oh! ah! oh!

GRYTPYPE:

Yes! We bring you saxophones!

\CAST:

(sing) From out of the sky, my brother and I.\

CHIEF:

(Secombe) Ug me like - me try play

ORCHESTRA:

SAXOPHONE MUSIC, SLIGHTLY OFF [DESPERATE ATTEMPT TO PLAY "RAMONA" OR "INDIAN LOVE CALL"]

MORIARTY:

You play lovely, Chief [loverly]

GRYTPYPE:

Yes, he plays lovely, doesn't he.

{MORIARTY:}

Yes

GRYTPYPE:

Could easily pass for music. [And] I'd pass it.

CHIEF:

(Secombe) Good! Tonight, me and braves attack white men with saxophones! Mooohaaaaa! Minnie! Moohaaaaa!

GRAMS:

SAXOPHONES, DRUMS, INDIAN WHOOOPS CACOPHANY. FADE UNDER:

COLONEL:

Gentlemen, somebodys supplying the Indians with saxophones. (spits)

LT. HERN-HERN:

I think I know who did it.

FX:

DANG!

COLONEL:

Bring that thing closer, will ya? You were saying Hern?

LT. HERN-HERN:

I know who they are. Moriarty and Thynne.

COLONEL:

Where's they hiding?

LT. HERN-HERN:

America

COLONEL:

Sargent, make a note of that {in the} address {, will ya}

ECCLES:

How, how do you spell it?

COLONEL:

Don't bother how to spell it, just write it down

ECCLES:

Ookay...

FX:

SCRIBBLING

COLONEL:

Now read it back {, will yah}

ECCLES:

umbalalarlackum

COLONEL:

[Yer] That sounds like the place to me {yer}. Alright men! Search America and look under the beds!

GRAMS:

THUNDER OF CAVALRY. WESTERN TYPE MUSICAL SPEEDED UP [TEXAS RANGER SONG FROM FILM "RIO RITA" (*2) SPED UP]

MORIARTY:

Grytpype, they've got wind of us! We've got to get away, I tell you!

FX:

SMACK!

MORIARTY:

ooooaaaaoaooaoaoaaa!

GRYTPYPE:

Don't panic {, Count}. Get into this woman's disguise kit, while Ray Ellington releases his power of song on an unsuspecting world.

INTERVAL:

(RAY ELLINGTON) "YOU'D BETTER KNOW IT"

(applause)

GREENSLADE:

Meantime, in Dodge City, television centre of the old west, a quack hawks his wares, and wears his hawks - whichever way is the better {, I wouldn't know}.

ORCHESTRA:

BLOODNOK THEME!

FX:

WHOOPS. BUBBLING, FIZZ-WHISTLE, EXPLOSIONS.

[GRAMS:

INDIAN CELEBRATIONS...]

BLOODNOK:

{Ohhhh!} Ohh, that's done me a power of good folks! And {thankyou, and} there's more where that came from! Citizens of Dodge City! Bloodnok's the name! Doctor Dennis Bloodnok, late of Harley Street, Twickenham. Now then, I've cured the aristocrats of the plin, {and} the farmers. {Now} Let me read this testimonial{, sir}. "Dear Sir. Since taking your course of Thunderpills, I feel like a new man. Signed, Mrs Ivy Chandler". Now then, who will be the first to try it, I say

GRAMS:

CROWD NOISES.

{BLOODNOK:

Who will be the first /\to try it, I say!\/}

{GRAMS:

CROWD NOISES.}

{COOLIE:

Wait, wait, wait just wait, I'll try some of that sir, I'll try some of that.}

BLOODNOK:

{You'll try some?} \A Hindu Raja,\ give him a big hand!

GRAMS:

THUNDEROUS APPLAUSE AND CHEERING, ABRUPT ENDING!

\COOLIE:

Thank you sir, but I'm only a coolie.\

\BLOODNOK:

Coolie? Give him a small hand would you?\

\GRAMS:

SPARSE APPLAUSE.\

{COOLIE:

Thank you sir, thank you.}

BLOODNOK:

Now then, Mystic Son of the East, sip this small sulphur and liquorice bomb

FX:

LIPS SMACKING.

{BLOODNOK:

Look! Ooo! Before my eyes, before my military eyes, the colour is coming back to his pallid loincloth!}

GRAMS:

TRAIN NOISES, WHISTLES BLOWING, HEAVY TRAFFIC, SIRENS, EXPLOSIONS, PEOPLE YELLING, AND RUNNING FEET, ALL MIXED UP.

\COOLIE:

{Good, Good,} Oh Good Heavens {, Good Heavens!} Where are my trousers {and loin cloth gone}?\

BLOODNOK:

How do you feel, Prince of the East?

COOLIE:

I don't feel well {, I feel, I, I,} I feel very, very ill.

BLOODNOK:

Ill!? \{You ungrateful swine!}\

{COOLIE:

Ill.}

CROWD:

You're a quack, mister {, you're a quack!}

BLOODNOK:

Steady, Yankee doodles, or I'll have the red-coats on you! \I'm a personal friend of Billy Butlin you know!\

GRAMS:

ANGRY CROWD, RUNNING FEET

BLOODNOK:

Careful there! ooo! Careful there!

GRAMS:

ELECTRONIC GUNSHOTS, RUNNING FEET, BLOODNOK YELLING, MERGES INTO "SHE'LL BE COMING ROUND THE MOUNTAIN", ON AN OLD BAR PIANO, WESTERN STYLE, BAR CROWD NOISES

GRYTPYPE:

I say, barman? Drinks, for my lady.

MORIARTY:

{Yes,} I'll have a glass of fish and chips.

GRYTPYPE:

And see you put a good head on it!

BARMAN:

Man, we don't keep any drink called Fish and Chips.

{MORIARTY:

Ahharha.}

GRYTPYPE:

What! Come, Moriarty, we shall take our trade, and malnutrition elsewhere.

LT. HERN-HERN:

Hold everything!

\{GRYTPYPE:

Moriarty, you hold the Piano, and I'll feel the table.}\

LT. HERN-HERN:

I'm Lieutenant Hern-Hern of the United States Cavalry.

{GRYTPYPE:

Delighted.}

LT. HERN-HERN:

Reasonable charges to {ir-}regular customers, {(aside) delighted to meet you to sir.} Now we're lookin' for two men who have been selling contraband saxophones to the red Indians, thereby causing unemployment amongst white musicians.

MORIARTY:

gickaboohickgickkccasiooo.

FX:

THUD!

LT. HERN-HERN:

Pardon me, ma'am - {your ah,} your wig's fallen off.

GRYTPYPE:

Wig! How dare you sir? The unfortunate woman just happens to have gone bald suddenly. It's obviously a case of the new lightning French alopecia, from the song of the same name.

MORIARTY:

That's right, that's right, (sing) Alopecia, lightning alopecia, alopecia, happens everyday.

GRYTPYPE:

(sing) First you get it on your nut.

MORIARTY:

(sing) First you get it on your nut!

FX:

WOODEN BONK

MORIARTY:

(sing) On my nut!

GRYTPYPE:

(sing) On his nut!

MORIARTY:

(sing) On my nut!

CAST:

(sing)Ooooooooh! Alopecia, lightning alopecia, alopecia...

{LT. HERN-HERN:

(~~~ ~~~ "Go 'way" ???)}

CAST:

[Singing tails off ... Moriarty then Grytpype stop...]

LT. HERN-HERN:

Stop that alopecia! One moment, you two, {I,} I seem to recognise your face sir. Take off that false nose!

GRYTPYPE:

What!

LT. HERN-HERN:

Ahah. Now them false ears

GRYTPYPE:

I protest!

LT. HERN-HERN:

Now that false suit. And that false chest.

MORIARTY:

ooww.

LT. HERN-HERN:

Hahaha. Just as I thought - I don't know who you are. Who are ya?

GRYTPYPE:

Lord Nelson

LT. HERN-HERN:

He had one arm missin'.

GRYTPYPE:

I have - I used to have three

ECCLES:

Hello [Captain] {, fellas!} {ulaluckumberdoy}. Care to [join us for] {have} a hand of cards?

LT. HERN-HERN:

Poker, pontoon or rummy?