Peter and Brian in 'There's A Criminal In My House'

The Penguin Takes the Dog's Place

 “Yes, I’m a Penguin!” shouted the visitor. “Got a problem with that? 

    “N-n-n-no,” Gromit said. He was scared of the new comer already.

    “Just you make sure it stays that way,” warned the penguin, as he walked up the stairs.

    “I've never been this scared since the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man spread obesity in town,” whispered Gromit to himself.

A few years ago, in town, people were running away. They were running from the giant Stay Puff Marshmallow Man. The Ghostbusters – who were Wallace and Gromit, duh! – arrived and began firing their proton beams at the Marshmallow Fat Arse! It was destroyed, but marshmallow flew across town. The people ate the marshmallow on the ground. Then their tummies expanded.

     “Oh, great!” moaned a doctor, as he passed Wallace and Gromit. “Now we’ve got our work cut out, thanks to you!”

     Wallace and Gromit were stunned.

     “Could I have some marshmallow?” asked Wallace.

Wallace let the penguin to the spare room.

    “Well, just inspect, tell us your perfect room idea and me and Gromit will make your life heaven,” said Wallace proudly.

    The penguin took a look at the worst room he had ever seen in his life – no carpets, no wallpaper, an old worn bed, a rotten cupboard and loose nails!

    “Oh, you are joking!” shouted the penguin. “This is the worst room than the room I had at Fawlty Towers!”

Years ago, the penguin spent time at Fawlty Towers. Only ten minutes after he checked into his room, Basil Fawlty and his Spanish waiter Manuel came to see him.

   “Well, what's the matter?” Basil demanded to know.

   “This is the very worst hotel I stayed at in all my life!” answered the penguin. “Rats in the bathroom, moss in the window, your chef Terry gave a crappy cheese sandwich and your stupid waiter gave me the wrong luggage!”

   “Que?” asked Manuel.

   Basil grabbed him by the ear and dragged him out of the door. Then all the penguin could hear was a fall down the stairs and a big Spanish scream. 

   The penguin smiled. “I’m starting to enjoy my holiday more.”

“What do you suggest, then?” asked Wallace.

   Then the penguin heard music coming from Gromit’s room. He went over and had a peek in.

   “I’ll pay you double for this room,” said the penguin.

   Wallace started to think about it.

 Later, Wallace was later repainting the spare room, but not for the penguin. For Gromit!

   “Look, Wallace, I know we need the bloody money, but is it really worth it to move your best friend from his bedroom to the crappiest room in the house?” complained Gromit.

   “Gromit, we're going through a tough time,” said Wallace. “Besides, we keep him here for a couple of years, pay the bills and we'll be back to normal.”

   “A COUPLE OF YEARS?”

   “Oh, shut up yelling and try out your new present!” yelled Wallace.

   “Whatever,” sighed Gromit, as he went into his trousers. He put his straps on and pressed a button. The trousers did Gene Kelly movements. Gromit presses another one that made the trousers look like they were worn by Michael Jackson. Gromit then acted like Fred Astaire without Ginger Rogers.

   “Stop playing with them and get to work on the ceiling!” yelled Wallace.

   Gromit angrily bashed his controls and he flew up and crashed the ceiling like Wile E. Coyote! He was hanging like a loose bulb needing to be changed. Then he used the roller to paint the ceiling.

    “See, I told you these techno trousers were wonderful,” said Wallace proud of himself. “Oh, I'm sorry.” He just bumped into the penguin.

    As Wallace left, the penguin walked into the room and saw Gromit painting the ceiling.

    “What are you looking at?” asked an annoyed Gromit.

    “Wow, you're a smart dog, aren't you?” chuckled the penguin in a suspicious way.

As if his birthday wasn't already cocked up enough, Gromit had to sleep in that dismal bedroom on the same night. And he could hear Life on Mars by David Bowie in his ex-room that was now owned by the penguin.

    In the morning, the ‘bastard penguin’ beat him to the bathroom and putting the slippers onto Wallace's feet.

    “Thanks,” said Wallace. “But why are you doing that?”

    “I was a bit rude to you, so I want to make it up to you,” the penguin answered. 

    But Gromit knew he was up to something. And his mood didn't change as he moved down to the sofa the next night. Life on Mars could still be heard. He had enough. He went to his ex-room and knocked on the door.

    “Knock! Knock!” shouted Gromit.

    “Who's there?” asked a voice.

    Gromit turned around and saw the penguin behind him. “Just, um… checking that your door is secured.”

    The penguin walked to the door, bashed it with the hammer and the door fell down. “You're not doing a good job, dog!”

    But Gromit wasn't a fooled dog and he knew the penguin did that on purpose.

    Next morning, Gromit was beaten by the penguin to get the newspaper.

    “How about that, then, Gromit?” asked Wallace. “Some guest we got.”     

    “Yes, I want to be friends with all of you, instead of just money-making business, just like Bill Gates is,” boasted the penguin. Then everything was silent and nothing happened. “What? No clip? But this is a good clip!” But the clip never came.

The next night he was in the kennel, with only a blanket and ear-muffs. He saw Wallace and the penguin through the window. They were watching television.

    “Can you believe that Jonathon Ross, eh, penguin?” giggled Wallace.

    “Yeah, he’s taking the mickey mouse out of Mickey Mouse!” agreed the penguin as he turned around to face Gromit.

    Gromit hurtled himself into his kennel and started packing. He packed his bones, his Look! magazines and his supplies of condoms! He sadly looked at the picture of Wallace puking over Gromit at Chesington: World of Adventures one last time. Then, covered in his yellow coat and rain hat, Gromit ventured into the rain, looked at No. 62 one last time, shed a tear and finally moved out onto the street.

Outside, the penguin chuckled, satisfied that Gromit left. He turned around with a drill in his wing and started to work on the techno trousers. Then someone else was next to the trousers.

    “Tim Allen!” The penguin was surprised. “What the hell are you doing here?”

    “What with no more Home Improvement and not enough Toy Story to keep me busy,” said Allen, “I need to find work and I found your ad in the paper.”

    The penguin smiled. “Very well, then. You’re hired.” And thunder danced around those spooky eyes.