Rik Mayall and Adrian Edmondson were sharing a dish of sick one morning, when Rik said: "Why don't we make the worst film in the world?" Ade said: "Why?" Rik said: "It would be reeeally annoying." Ade said: "You mean, worse than Mad Cows?" Rik said: "Worse than Final Cut." Ade said: "That bad?" Rik said: "Worse!"

And so they went down to Ealing Studios and shot the film. Dead. Ade directed. Rik stuck out his bum and minced. The jokes ranged from punching Fenella Fielding in the face, having Rik's testicles squeazed in a nut cracker, beating up Ade with an iron frying pan, feeding hotel guests radioactive fish, watching Rik run around in a spikey red rubber bikini and projecting vomit down a corridor with the force of a fire hose.

Rik said: "We'll run the grottiest hotel in the world." Ade said: "The kitchen's a battlefield and there's no food." Rik said: "The cook is fat and drunk and can't speak English." Ade said: "There'll be a honeymoon couple, whoooaa! And a runaway Italian sex goddess, whooo whoooaa!" Rik said: "I hide in the oven in my spikey rubbers." Ade said: "I bash you over the head with a fire extinguisher. Ha! Ha!" Rik said: "That's not funny." Ade said, "Don't you get it?" Rik thought for a moment. It was hard. Ade helped out. "What does post-lavatorial farce make you do?" Rik said: "Stampede to the bog?" Ade said: "To the exit." Rik smiled, slyly. "I like it!" No one else did.