Ringo: "Jukebox Jury" time!

John: Shh! Don't say that, Ringo! You could get us sued for plagiarizing— I mean, using that idea! *smiles sweetly.*

Paul: *pointedly.* We are not plagiarizing anybody, John. And Ringo, this is not "Jukebox Jury."

Ringo: But I thought we were going to listen to songs and judge them.

Paul: Yeah, we are, but don't say it's "Jukebox Jury," or, like John said, we'll get sued.

George: *bangs a gavel he bought especially for this occasion.* Everyone shut up! This is my courtroom!

Paul: *glares.* George, this isn't a courtroom, and even if it was, it wouldn't be yours.

John: Hey! Where'd you get that gavel? And why didn't I get one?

George: It's my gavel, so don't think of taking it.

Ringo: *smirks at John.* I bought a wig. *puts a judge wig on.*

Paul: *face-palm.* Oh, God.

John: Everyone bought court-y things except me! I feel left out!

Paul: John, you knew we were going to do this episode all week. You had plenty of time to go buy some rubbish you don't need.

John: *gasps dramatically.* I find it offensive that you think I don't need a gavel and a wig.

Paul: Well, you don't!

George: *bangs the gavel loudly.* Stop it! Wrap up, you two! Let's get on with this, shall we? Ringo, put the first song on!

Ringo: My pleasure. *sets a record player on the table and puts the needle down, which is followed by a hiss.*

Music: *playing.*

John: *wrinkles his nose.* What in Macca's name is this?!?

Paul: *peers at the name on the record.* "Try (Just a Little Bit Harder)" by Janis Joplin.

George: Ah, I love Janis.

Ringo: She wants someone to try something a little bit harder.

Paul: *suppressing laughter.* You think?

John: What does she want someone to try harder?

George: *defensively.* Stop slamming Janis!

Ringo: I didn't know you were a Janis Joplin fan, George.

George: I am, you know. She plays guitar. *stares dreamily at the record player.*

John: *whispers to Paul.* I think someone's got a crush.

Paul: *whispers back.* Now we can tease him.

Ringo: *to George.* They're talking about you, you know.

George: *bangs the gavel.* Stop whispering and listen to the bloody song!

Music: *ends.*

George: *holds up a score card.* Ten.

John: *holds up his score card and yawns.* Five and a half.

George: *glares.*

Paul: Seven.

George: *looks pointedly at Ringo.*

Ringo: *nervously.* Um, er, well . . . think it deserves an . . . eight?

George: You could have done better, Richie.

Paul: *clears his throat.* Okay, um, next song, Ringo?

John: What is it?

Ringo: You'll see. *smirks and puts it on.*

Music: *a rampage of distorted guitars claws its way out of the record player.*

George: *claps his hands over his ears.* Oh, my Krishna, what is that?!?

John: It sounds like AC/DC.

Paul: Yep.

Ringo: "Thunderstruck."

Paul: Ah.

John: So much better than what we listened to last time.

George: Well, I don't like it. Those guitars are just making noise.

Ringo: Um, George, that's what they're supposed to do.

George: You wouldn't understand.

Paul: It's creative.

John: I like the lead singer. That bloke has got some lungs on him.

Ringo: Those drums are gear.

George: *remains silent.*

John, Paul, and Ringo: *look at him.*

George: What? Am I supposed to say something?

Paul: Yes.

George: Okay. *takes a deep breath.* That guitarist needs to learn how to play some decent guitar chords, the screeching isn't my cup of tea, the drumming sounds like a little kid banging on pots and pans, I really want it to end now, I'm feel like killing someone, please make it stop before I tear my own hair out.

Paul:

John:

Ringo:

Paul: Uh . . . wow.

John: George Harrison, Scouse of run-on sentences.

Music: *ends.*

George: *sighs in relief.* Oh, thank Krishna.

Ringo: Um . . . I'll give it a seven.

John: Nine.

Paul: Eight.

John, Paul, and Ringo: *look at George expectantly.*

George: *bangs gavel.*

Paul: What's that supposed to mean?

George: It means I'm not rating it. It doesn't even deserve a zero.

Ringo: That's harsh.

John: You're telling me.

Paul: What would Angus Young say?

George: Who?

Paul: *face-palm.*

Ringo: *quickly.* Moving on! Last song.

Music: *starts playing.*

John: Good God, this is worse than Joplin!

George: Oh, man, what is this?

Paul: "Wrecking Ball" by Miley Cyrus.

John: The Disney chick?

Ringo: She's not "the Disney chick" anymore, John.

Paul: Eh, it's creative.

Ringo: You say that about everything, Paul.

Paul: Creativity is what counts!

John: Really? I think good lyrics count.

Ringo: Hey, where did George go?

George's chair: *empty.*

John: He must have had enough of this rubbish.

Paul: I don't think it's that bad.

John: Well, even though we're a minute in, I'm rating it right now. *holds up score card that has a big zero on it.*

Ringo: I don't want to be mean, so I'll give it a two.

Paul: Eight.

John: We all know what George would have ranked it.

Ringo: Yep. *bangs gavel.*

Paul: What's that mean?

Ringo: That's George Language for "doesn't even deserve a zero."