Back in the Swinging Sixties, Michael Caine is holding a big Showbiz party in his s****y new house.
Everyone who's anyone is there - top stars from the worlds of movies and music, fashion and art.
There's a feast of pints, the best wines that money can buy, oysters, champagne.
Lennon and McCartney are helping themselves at the bar,
Jim Morrison and his band are sitting on the couch singing "Light My Fire"
and, over in the corner, George Peppard's getting very pally with Sophia Loren.
All's going really well, until Jim Morrison decides he's bored out of his skull, and wants to go home for an early night curled up with a good book.
"Oi, Jim," objects Michael Caine, "party's just got started.
How's about I get one of 'the ladies' to take you into the spare bedroom for a bit of the 'how's yer father'?"
"Fair play," nods Jim [well that's not his exact words, but you get the gist], "as long as she does the rest of the band, too."
"Not a problem, Jim," smiles Michael, as he pulls a young dolly bird in close and whispers some instructions in her ear.
Half an hour later, the young lass is just wiping her chin, when in walks Ringo Starr from the Beatles.
"Alright, luv?" he drones, "don't suppose you fancy extending that service to me, do you?".
The young woman thinks about this for a second, then says, "What the hell!" and proceeds to unzip Ringo's fly and get to work. Ringo's having a grand time, until, mere moments before the end, the door opens and Michael Caine bursts in.
He grabs the young one by the back of the hair and slaps her hard across the face!
"Wh-what was that for?" she whimpers.
"I told you," Caine snarls.
(You're gonna love this...)
(Wait for it...)
"You're only supposed to blow the bloody Doors off..."