SPOKEN: THE MOST INTERESTING THING ABOUT
KING CHARLES I IS THAT HE WAS 5'6"
TALL AT THE START OF HIS REIGN,
BUT ONLY 4'8" AT THE END OF IT...
BECAUSE OF...
Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protecteur of England
PURITAN
Born in 1599 and died in 1658
SEPTEM
Was at first
ONLY
MP for Huntingdon
BUT THEN
He led the Ironside Cavalry at Marston Moor
in 1644 and won.
Then he founded the new model model army
And praise be, beat the Cavaliers at Naisby
And the King fled up North like a bat to the
Scot
SPOKEN: BUT UNDER THE TERMS OF JOHN PIMM'S SOLEMN
LEAGUE AND COVENANT, THE SCOTS HANDED KING
CHARLES I OVER TO...
Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protecteur of England
AND HIS WARTS
Born in 1599 and died in 1658
SEPTEMBER
But alas
OY VAY!
Disagreeme
nt then broke out
BETWEEN
The Presbyterian Parliament and the Military
who meant
To have an independent bent.
And so...
The 2nd Civil War broke out
And the Roundhead ranks
Faced the Cavaliers at Preston Banks
And the King lost again, silly thing
STUPID GIT
SPOKEN: AND CROMWELL SEND COLONEL PRIDE TO PURGE THE
HOUSE OF COMMONS OF THE PRESBYTERIAN ROYALISTS
LEAVING BEHIND ONLY THE RUMP PARLIAMENT...
Which appointed a High Court at Westminster
Hall
To indict Charles I for...tyranny
OOOOHH
Charles was sentenced to death
Even though he refused to accept that the court
had...jurisdiction
SAY GOODBYE TO HIS HEAD
Poor King Charles laid his head on the block
JANUARY 1649
Down came the axe, and...
SPOKEN: IN THE SILENCE THAT FOLLOWED, THE ONLY SOUND
THAT COULD BE HEARD WAS A SOLITARY GIGGLE,
FROM...
Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protecteur of England
Born in 1599 and died in 1658
SEPTEMBER
Then he smashed
IRELAND
Set up the Commonwealth
AND MORE
He crushed the Scots at Worce
ster
And beat the Dutch at sea
In 1653 and then
He dissolved the Rump Parliament
And with Lambert's consent
Wrote the instrument of Government
Under which Oliver was Proctector at last
PRESENTER:
I've got ninety thousand pounds in my pyjamas.
I've got forty thousand French francs in my fridge.
I've got lots of lovely lire.
Now the Deutschmark's getting dearer,
And my dollar bills would buy the Brooklyn Bridge.
PRESENTER and CHORUS:
There is nothing quite as wonderful as money.
There is nothing quite as beautiful as cash.
Some people say it's folly,
But I'd rather have the lolly.
With money you can make a splash.
PRESENTER:
There is nothing quite as wonderful as money.
CHORUS:
...Money, money, money, money.
PRESENTER:
There is nothing like a newly minted pound.
CHORUS:
...Money, money, money, money.
PRESENTER and CHORUS:
Everyone must hanker
For the butchness of a banker.
It's accountancy that makes the world go 'round.
CHORUS:
'Round, 'round, 'round.
PRESENTER:
You can keep your Marxist ways,
For it's only just a phase,
For it's money, money, money makes the world go 'round.
CHORUS:
...Money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money, moneeeeey!
PROF. JONES: Good evening. One of the main elements in any assessment of the medieval open-field farming system is the availability of plough teams for the winter plowing. Professor Tofts of the University of Manchester puts it like this:
(A rocking beat starts and a 60s-style folk rock song with some heavy caribbean influence begins.)
To plough once in the winter Sowing, and again in Lent,
Sowing with as many oxen
Sowing with as many oxen
As he shall have yoked in the plough
Oh yes
Oh yes
As he shall have yoked in the plough.
Oh yes
Oh yes
PROF. JONES: But of course there is considerable evidence of open-field villages as far back as the tenth century. Professor Moorhead: (Dramatic metal chords, reminiscent of British punk or perhaps groups like Black Sabbath.)
Theeeeeere's ev-i-de-ence
Theeeeeere's ev-i-de-ence
There's evidence (evidence)
Evidence (evidence)
Evidence (evidence?)
There's evidence (evidence!)
Evidence of settlements with one long village street,
Farmsteads, hamlets, little towns - the framework was complete
By the tiiiiime ... (OF THE NORMAN CONQUEST!) The rural framework was complete
Rur-al
frame-work
wa-as
com-plete.
PROF. JONES: This is not to say, of course, that the system was as sophisticated as it later came to be. I asked the Professor of Medieval studies at Cambridge why this was.
PROF. HEGERMAN: (stuttering) Well, i-it may not have been a - a statutory obligation, but, uh, I mean, uh, a guy who was a freeman whuh - was obliged in the medieval system to...
PROF. JONES: To do boonwork?
PROF. HEGERMANN: That's right. There's an example, ah, from the village rolls, ah, in 1313.
PROF. JONES: And I believe you're going to do it for us.
PROF. HEGERMAN: That's right, yeah...
(Pop beat sets in, reminiscent of the Beatles in their later period but with some of the spastic quality of a Joe Cocker.)
Oh it's written in the village rolls
That if one plough-team wants an oxen
And that oxen is lent
Then the villeins and the ploughmen got to have the loooord's consent.
Yeah, yeah,
Then the villeins and the ploughmen got to have the lord's consent
Then the villeins and the ploughmen got to have the lord's consent
Then the villeins and the ploughmen got to have the lord's consent
Then the villeins and the ploughmen got to have the lord's consent
Then the villeins and the ploughmen got to have the lord's consent
(na na na na)
Then the villeins and the ploughmen got to have the lord's consent
(na na na na)
Then the villeins and the ploughmen got to have the lord's consent
(na na na na)
Then the villeins and the ploughmen got to have the lord's consent
Then the villeins and the ploughmen got to have the lord's consent.
That was a talk on the open-field farming system by Professor Angus Jones. Some of the main points covered in this talk are now available on a long-playing record entitled "The Ronettes Sing Medieval Agrarian History."
How sweet to be an Idiot,
As harmless as a cloud,
Too small to hide the sun,
Almost poking fun
At the warm but insecure, untidy crowd.
How sweet to be an idiot,
And dip my brain in joy,
Children laughing at my back,
With no fear of attack,
As much retaliation as a toy.
How sweet to be an idiot. How sweet.
I tiptoed down the street,
Smiled at everyone I meet,
But suddently a scream
Smashes through my dream.
Fee fie foe fum.
I smell the blood of an asylum.
(Blood of an asylum. But mother, I play so beautifully. Listen. Ha ha.)
Fie fye foe fum.
I smell the blood of the asylum.
Hey you. You're such a pennant.
You got as much brain as a dead ant,
As much imagination as a carvan sign,
But I still love you. Still love you.
Oooh, how sweet to be an idiot.
How sweet. How sweet. How sweet.
Oh I got two legs from my waist to the ground and
When I move 'em they walk around and
When I lift 'em they climb the stairs and
When I shave 'em they ain't got hairs!
(BANG!)
Immanuel Kant was a real pissant
Who was very rarely stable.
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar
Who could think you under the table.
David Hume could out-consume
Schopenhauer and Hegel,
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine
Who was just as schloshed as Schlegel.
There's nothing Nietzche couldn't teach ya
'Bout the raising of the wrist.
Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed.
John Stuart Mill, of his own free will,
On half a pint of shandy was particularly ill.
Plato, they say, could stick it away--
Half a crate of whiskey every day.
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle.
Hobbes was fond of his dram,
And Ren Descartes was a drunken fart.
'I drink, therefore I am.'
Yes, Socrates, himself, is particularly missed,
A lovely little thinker,
But a bugger when he's pissed.
Brian...the babe they called Brian,
Grew...grew, grew and grew,
Grew up to be,
Grew up to be,
A boy called Brian,
A boy called Brian.
He had arms, and legs, and hands, and feet
This boy whose name was Brian,
And he grew, grew, grew and grew,
Grew up to be,
Yes he grew up to be,
A teenager called Brian,
A teenager called Brian.
And his face became spotty
Yes his face became spotty,
And his voice dropped down low,
And things started to grow,
On young Brian and so,
He was certainly no,
No girl named Brian,
Not a girl named Brian.
And he started to shave,
And have one off the wrist,
And want to see girls,
And go out and get pissed
A man called Brian.
This man called Brian.
The man they called Brian.
Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis
Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong
It's swell to have a stiffy
It's divine to own a dick
From the tiniest little tadger
To the world's biggest prick
So, three cheers for your Willy or John Thomas
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake
Your piece of pork, your wife's best friend
Your Percy, or your cock
You can wrap it up in ribbons
You can slip it in your sock
But don't take it out in public
Or they will stick you in the dock
And you won't come about
Why are we here? What's life all about?
Is God really real, or is there some doubt?
Well, tonight, we're going to sort it all out,
For, tonight, it's 'The Meaning of Life'.
What's the point of all this hoax?
Is it the chicken and the egg time? Are we just yolks?
Or, perhaps, we're just one of God's little jokes.
Well, ça c'est 'The Meaning of Life'.
Is life just a game where we make up the rules
While we're searching for something to say,
Or are we just simply spiralling coils
Of self-replicating DN-- nay, nay, nay, nay, nay, nay, nay.
What is life? What is our fate?
Is there a Heaven and Hell? Do we reincarnate?
Is mankind evolving, or is it too late?
Well, tonight, here's 'The Meaning of Life'.
For millions, this 'life' is a sad vale of tears,
Sitting 'round with really nothing to say
While the scientists say we're just simply spiralling coils
Of self-replicating DN-- nay, nay, nay, nay, nay, nay, nay.
So, just why-- why are we here,
And just what-- what-- what-- what do we fear?
Well, ce soir, for a change, it will all be made clear,
For this is 'The Meaning of Life'. C'est le sens de la vie.
This is 'The Meaning of Life'.
BARBER:
I wanted to be... a lumberjack!
Leaping from tree to tree, as they float down the mighty rivers of British Columbia. The Giant Redwood. The Larch. The Fir! The mighty Scots Pine! The lofty flowering Cherry! The plucky little Apsen! The limping Roo tree of Nigeria. The towering Wattle of Aldershot! The Maidenhead Weeping Water Plant! The naughty Leicestershire Flashing Oak! The flatulent Elm of West Ruislip! The Quercus Maximus Bamber Gascoigni! The Epigillus! The Barter Hughius Greenus!
With my best buddy by my side, we'd sing! Sing! Sing!
[singing]
I'm a lumberjack, and I'm okay.
I sleep all night and I work all day.
MOUNTIES:
He's a lumberjack, and he's okay.
He sleeps all night and he works all day.
BARBER:
I cut down trees. I eat my lunch.
I go to the lavatory.
On Wednesdays I go shoppin'
And have buttered scones for tea.
MOUNTIES:
He cuts down trees. He eats his lunch.
He goes to the lavatory.
On Wednesdays he goes shopping
And has buttered scones for tea.
He's a lumberjack, and he's okay.
He sleeps all night and he works all day.
BARBER:
I cut down trees. I skip and jump.
I like to press wild flowers.
I put on women's clothing
And hang around in bars.
MOUNTIES:
He cuts down trees. He skips and jumps.
He likes to press wild flowers.
He puts on women's clothing
And hangs around in bars?!
He's a lumberjack, and he's okay.
He sleeps all night and he works all day.
BARBER:
I cut down trees. I wear high heels,
Suspendies, and a bra.
I wish I'd been a girlie,
Just like my dear Papa.
MOUNTIES:
He cuts down trees. He wears high heels,
Suspendies, and a bra?!
[talking]
What's this? Wants to be a girlie?! Oh, My!
And I thought you were so rugged! Poofter!...
[singing]
He's a lumberjack, and he's okay.
He sleeps all night and he works all day.
He's a lumberjack, and he's okaaaaay.
He sleeps all night and he works all day.
We're Knights of the Round Table.
We dance whene'er we're able.
We do routines and chorus scenes
With footwork impeccable.
We dine well here in Camelot.
We eat ham and jam and spam a lot.
We're Knights of the Round Table.
Our shows are formidable,
But many times we're given rhymes
That are quite unsingable.
We're opera mad in Camelot.
We sing from the diaphragm a lot.
In war we're tough and able,
Quite indefatigable.
Between our quests we sequin vests and impersonate Clark Gable.
It's a busy life in Camelot.
I have to push the pram a lot.
Henry Kissinger How I'm missing yer
You're the Doctor of my dreams
With your crinkly hair and your glassy stare
And your Machiavellian schemes
I know they say that you are very vain
And short and fat and pushy
But at least you're not insane
Henry Kissinger How I'm missing yer
And wishing you were here
Henry Kissinger how I'm missing yer
You're so chubby and so neat
With your funny clothes and your squishy nose
You're like a German par-a-keet
Alright so people say that you don't care
But you've got nicer legs than Hitler
and bigger tits than Cher
Henry Kissinger
How I'm missing yer and wishing you were here
Chorus: Finland, Finland, Finland.
The country where I want to be,
Pony trekking or camping,
Or just watching TV.
Finland, Finland, Finland,
It's the country for me.
Verse: You're so near to Russia,
So far from Japan.
Quite a long way from Ca
iro,
Lots of miles from Vietnam.
Chorus: Finland, Finland, Finland.
The country where I want to be,
Eating breakfast or dinner,
Or snack lunch in the hall.
Finland, Finland, Finland,
Finland has it all.
Verse: You're so sadly neglected,
And o
ften ignored,
A poor second to Belgium,
When going abroad.
Chorus: Finland, Finland, Finland.
The country where I quite want to be,
Your mountains so lofty,
Your treetops so tall.
Finland, Finland, Finland,
Finland has it all.
Repeat: Finland, Finland, Finland.
The country where I quite want to be,
Your mountains so lofty,
Your treetops so tall.
Finland, Finland, Finland,
Finland has it all.
We're Knights of the Round Table.
We dance whene'er we're able.
We do routines and chorus scenes
With footwork impeccable.
We dine well here in Camelot.
We eat ham and jam and spam a lot.
We're Knights of the Round Table.
Our shows are formidable,
But many times we're given rhymes
That are quite unsingable.
We're opera mad in Camelot.
We sing from the diaphragm a lot.
In war we're tough and able,
Quite indefatigable.
Between our quests we sequin vests and impersonate Clark
Gable.
It's a busy life in Camelot.
It's fun to charter an accountant
And sail the wide accountancy
To find, explore the funds offshore
And skirt the shoals of bankruptcy
It can be manly in insurance
We'll up your premium semi-annually
It's all tax-deductible
We're fairly incorruptible
We're sailing on the wide accountancy
It's fun to charter an accountant,
And sail the wide accountan-cy.
To find, explore the funds offshore,
And skirt the shoals of bankruptcy.
It can be manly in insurance.
We'll up your premium semi-anually.
It's all tax-deductible,
We're fairly incorruptible.
Brian
The babe they called 'Brian'
He grew grew grew and grew
Grew up to be-- grew up to be
A boy called 'Brian'
A boy called 'Brian'
He had arms and legs and hands and feet
This boy whose name was 'Brian'
And he grew grew grew and grew
Grew up to be
Yes, he grew up to be
A teenager called 'Brian'
A teenager called 'Brian'
And his face became spotty
Yes, his face became spotty
And his voice dropped down low
And things started to grow
On young Brian and show
He was certainly no
No girl named 'Brian',
Not a girl named 'Brian'
And he started to shave
And have one off the wrist
And want to see girls
And go out and get pissed
A man called 'Brian'
This man called 'Brian'
The man they called 'Brian'
This man called 'Brian'!
How sweet to be an Idiot
As harmless as a cloud
Too small to hide the sun
Almost poking fun
At the warm but insecure untidy crowd.
How sweet to be an idiot
And dip my brain in joy
Children laughing at my back
With no fear of attack
As much retaliation as a toy
How sweet to be an idiot how sweet
I tiptoed down the street
Smiled at everyone I meet
But suddenly a scream
Smashes through my dream
Fee fie foe fum
I smell the blood of an asylum
Hey you, you're such a pedant
You got as much brain as a dead ant
As much imagination as a caravan sign
But I still love you still love you
Oooh how sweet to be an idiot
How sweet how sweet how sweet
Why are we here? What's life all about?
Is God really real or is there some doubt?
Well tonight we're going to sort it all out
For tonight it's 'The Meaning of Life'
What's the point of all this hoax?
Is it the chicken and the egg time?
Are we just yolks?
Or perhaps we're just one of God's little jokes
Well ça c'est 'The Meaning of Life'
Is life just a game where we make up the rules
While we're searching for something to say
Or are we just simply spiralling coils
Of self-replicating DN nay nay nay nay nay nay nay
What is life? What is our fate?
Is there a Heaven and Hell?
Do we reincarnate?
Is mankind evolving or is it too late?
Well tonight here's 'The Meaning of Life'
For millions this 'life' is a sad vale of tears
Sitting 'round with really nothing to say
While the scientists say we're just simply spiralling coils
Of self-replicating DN nay nay nay nay nay, nay nay
So just why why are we here
And just what what what what do we fear?
Well ce soir for a change it will all be made clear
For this is 'The Meaning of Life'
C'est le sens de la vie
This is 'The Meaning of Life'
Anything goes in
Anything goes out!
Fish bananas old pyjamas
Mutton! Beef! and Trout!
Anything goes in...
I bet they won't play this song on the radio
I bet you they won't play this new (bleep) song
It's not that it's (bleep) or (bleep) controversial
Just that the (bleep)ing words are`awfully strong
You can't say (bleep) on the radio
Or (bleep) or (bleep) or (bleep)
You can't even say I'd like to (bleep) you one day
Unless your're a doctor with a very large (bleep)
So I bet you they won't play this song on the radio
I bet you they daren't (bleep) well programme it
I bet you their (bleep)ing old Programme Directors
Will think it's a load of horse (bleep)
We love the Yangtse Yangtse Kiang
Flowing from Yushu down Ching Kiang
Passing through Chung King Wuhan and Hoo Kow
Three thousand miles but it gets there somehow
Oh! Szechuan's the province and Shanghai is the port
And the Yangtse is the river that we all support
We love the Yangtse Yangtse Kiang
Flowing from Yushu down Ching Kiang
Passing through Chung King Wuhan and Hoo Kow
Three thousand miles but it gets there somehow
Oh! Szechuan's the province and Shanghai is the port
And the Yangtse is the river that we all support
Yangtse!
Yangtse!
When does a dream begin?
Does it start with a goodnight kiss?
Is it conceived or simply achieved
When does a dream begin?
Is it born in a moment of bliss?
Or is it begun when two hearts are one
When does a dream exist?
The vision of you appears somehow
Impossible to resist
But I'm not imagining seeing you
For who could have dreamed of this?
When does a dream begin?
When reality is dismissed?
Or does it commence when we lose all pretence
When does a dream begin?
I'm the urban spaceman baby
I've got speed I've got everything I need
I'm the urban spaceman baby
I couldn't fly I'm a supersonic guy
I don't need pleasure I don't feel pain
If you were to knock me down I'd just get up again
I'm the urban spaceman baby I'm making out I'm all about
I wake up every morning with a smile upon my face
My natural exuberance spills out all over the place
I'm the urban spaceman I'm intelligent and clean, know what I mean
I'm the urban spaceman as a lover second to none it's a lot of fun
I never let my friends down I've made a boop
I'm a glossy magazine an advert on the tube
I'm the urban spaceman baby here comes the twist
I don't exist
There's a place you are always welcome
Where it's as nice as it can be
And every one can get in
'cause it's absolutely free
That's death
No need to take a breath
Just lay around all day
Not a single bill to pay
Hooray!
That's death
No one's sakedness is of use
If you lived beyond your knees
You can die beyond them, too
Hoohoo
All the greatest and the finest
Have already died
Why not simply join them
On the other side?
That's death
Say fare well to all your bills
Write down all your wills
And pop your final bills
Hey man!
That's death
And if you're not feeling great
It's the best way to loose weight
Hey mate!
Nothing here to hurt you
No one is here to neck
Come die with me
If your life's a treat
That's death (That's death)
All of them here
And they are all completely dead (so dead)
That's death (That's death)
No more suffers no more pain
Think of all teh millions who've died
No one came back to complain (oh yeah)
You can't take it with you
You can't keep what you got
Why not just lay down here?
Why not simply rot?
That's death!
Spam! Spam! Spam! Spam!
Lovely Spaaam! Wonderful Spaaam!
Lovely Spaaam! Wonderful Spam
Spa-a-a-a-a-a-a-am
Spa-a-a-a-a-a-a-am
Spa-a-a-a-a-a-a-am
Spa-a-a-a-a-a-a-am
Lovely Spaaam! (Lovely Spam!)
Lovely Spaaam! (Lovely Spam!)
Lovely Spaaam!
Spaaam Spaaam Spaaam Spaaaaaam!
Minstrel's song #1
Bravely bold Sir Robin rode forth from Camelot
He was not afraid to die O brave Sir Robin
He was not at all afraid to be killed in nasty ways
Brave brave brave brave Sir Robin!
He was not in the least bit scared to be mashed into a pulp
Or to have his eyes gouged out and his elbows broken
To have his kneecaps split and his body burned away
And his limbs all hacked and mangled, brave Sir Robin!
His head smashed in and his heart cut out
And his liver removed and his bowels unplugged
And his nostrils raped and his bottom burned off
And his pen
Minstrel's song #2
Brave Sir Robin ran away
Bravely ran away away
When danger reared its ugly head
He bravely turned his tail and fled
Yes brave Sir Robin turned about
And gallantly he chickened out
Bravely taking to his feet
He beat a very brave retreat
Bravest of the brave Sir Robin
Minstrel's song #3
He is packing it in and packing it up
And sneaking away and buggering up
And chickening out and pissing off home
Yes, bravely he is throwing in the sponge
All the prophets of doom
Can always find room
In a world full of worry and fear
Tips, cigarettes,
And chemistry sets
And Rudolph, The Red-Nosed Reindeer
So I'm goin' back
To my little ol' shack
And drink me a bottle of wine
That was mis en bouteille
Before my birthday
And have me a fuckin' good time!
Rain on a tin roof sounds like a drum
We're marchin' for freedom today ... hey!
Turn on your headlights and sound your horn
If people get in the way
Let me turn you on
To the Cromium Swan
On the the nose of a long limousine
Even hide for the day
It is somethin' to say
But what the hell does it mean?
I may be accused
Of bein' confused
But I'm average weight for my height
My phil-o-so-phy
Like color TV
Is all there in black and white
Rain on a tin roof sounds like a drum
We're marchin' for freedom today ... hey!
Turn on your headlights and sound your horn(honk honk)
If people get in the way
Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis?
Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong?
It's swell to have a stiffy
It's divine to own a dick
From the tiniest little tadge
To the world's biggest prick
So three cheers for your Willy or John Thomas
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake
Your piece of pork, your wife's best friend
Your Percy,or your cock.
You can wrap it up in ribbons
You can slip it in your sock
But don't take it out in public
Or they will stick you in the dock
And you won't come back
Oh Lord please don't burn us
Don't grill or toast Your flock
Don't put us on the barbecue
Or simmer us in stock
Don't braise or bake or boil us
Or stir-fry us in a wok
Oh, please don't lightly poach us
Or baste us with hot fat
Don't fricassee or roast us
Or boil us in a vat
And please don't stick Thy servants Lord
In a Rotissomat
Never be rude to an Arab,
An Israeli, or Saudi, or Jew,
Never be rude to an Irishman,
No matter what you do.
Never poke fun at a Nigger,
A Spik, or a Wop, or a Kraut,
And never put down...
Muddy knees have got me all a-quiver,
Muddy knees have got me all aglow,
Muddy knees have sent me for a paper,
Oooh get her! Whoops!
I've got your number ducky
You couldn't afford me dear
Two three
I'd scratch your eyes out
Don't come the brigadier bit with us dear
We all know where you've been you military fairy!
Whoops don't look now girls
The major's just minced in
With that dolly colour sergeant
Two three ooh-ho!
We're Knights of the Round Table,
We dance when ere we're able,
We do routines and chorus scenes
With footwork impeccable.
We dine well here in Camelot,
We eat ham and jam and spam a lot.
We're Knights of the Round Table,
Our show are formidable,
But many times, we're given rhymes
That are quite unsingable.
We're Opera mad in Camelot,
We sing from the diaphragm
a looooooot.
In war we're tough and able,
Quite indefatigable,
Between our quests we sequin vests,
And impersonate Clark Gable.
It's a busy life in Camelot,
If I were not in the CID
Something else I'd like to be
If I were not in the CID
A window cleaner me!
With a rub-a-dub-dub and a scrub-a-dub-dub
And a rub-a-dub all day long
With a rub-a-dub-dub and a scrub-a-dub-dub
I'd sing this merry song!
If I were not in the CID
Something else I'd like to be
If I were not in the CID
A window cleaner me!
With a rub-a-dub-dub and a scrub-a-dub-dub
And a rub-a-dub all day long
With a rub-a-dub-dub and a scrub-a-dub-dub
I'd sing this merry song!
If I were not before the bar
Something else I'd like to be
If I were not a barr-is-ter
An engine driver me!
With a chuffchuffchuff
I like traffic lights,
I like traffic lights,
I like traffic lights,
No matter where they've been.
I like traffic lights,
I like traffic lights,
I like traffic lights,
I like traffic lights,
I like traffic lights,
But only when they're green.
He likes traffic lights,
He likes traffic lights,
He likes traffic lights,
No matter where they've been.
He likes traffic lights,
He likes traffic lights,
He likes traffic lights,
But only when they're green.
I like traffic lights,
I like traffic lights,
I like traffic lights,
That is what I said.
I like traffic lights,
I like traffic lights,
I like traffic lights,
But not when they are red.
He likes traffic lights,
He likes traffic lights,
That is what he said.
He likes traffic lights,
He likes traffic lights,
He likes traffic lights,
He likes traffic lights,
He likes traffic lights,
But not when they are red.
I like traffic lights,
I like traffic lights,
I like traffic lights,
Although my name's not Bamber.
I like traffic lights,
I like traffic lights,
I like traffic lights,
If you want to leave a message after the tone
Then speak clearly and I'll call you when I'm home
Just say your words and say your name
Leave the time and date you called
And I'll get back to you
Unless you're completely a boring old fart
If you want to leave a message after the tone
And darling please forgive me I'm not home
I'm out shopping or trying to buy a dress
So please leave your message unless you're in distress
Please leave a message after the tone
I'm so sorry this is taking me so long
I hope you're not calling from Australia
Or far from Singapore
Or this whole thing is costing you a fortune
As well as being a bore
Leave a message please leave me a message after the tone
Because ... alright I am! I am home!
I am I am I am!
I'm locked up in the bathroom all alone
Please leave a-me a message after the tone
Ich bin ein Holzfäller und fühl mich stark
Ich schlaf des Nachts und hack am Tag
Er ist ein Holzfäller und fühlt sich stark
Er schlaft des Nachts und hackt am Tag
Ich fälle Bäume ich ess mein Brot
Ich geh auf das WC
Am Mittwoch geh ich shopping
Kau kekse zum kaffee
Er fällt die Bäume er isst sein Brot
Er geht auf das WC
Am Mittwoch geht er shopping
Kaut kekse zum kaffee
Er ist ein Holzfäller und fühlt sich stark
Er schlaft des Nachts und hackt am Tag
Ich fälle Bäume und hupf und spring
Steck Blumen in die Vas
Ich schlupf in Fraukenleider
Und lummel mich in Bars
Er fällt Bäume er hupft und springt
Steckt Blumen in die Vas
Er schlupft in Fraukenleider
Und lummelt sich in Bars...?
Er ist ein Holzfäller und fühlt sich stark
Er schlaft des Nachts und hackt am Tag
Ich fälle Bäume trag Stockelschuh
Und Strumpf und Bustenhalter
Wär gern ein kleines Mädchen
So wie mein Onkel Walter
Er fällt die Bäume tragt Stockelschuh
Und Strumpf und Bustenhalter...?
Here comes another one
Here it comes again
Here comes another one
When will it ever end?
I know whatever it is
I've not seen one before
But here comes another one
And here comes a bunch of 'em
Here comes another one
Can see a bare-bottomed mandril
Slyly eyeing his upper nostril
Ih he jumps inside there too
I really won't know what to do
I'll be a proud possessor of a kind of nasal zoo
A nasal zoo
I've got a ferret sticking up my nose
And what is worse it constantly explodes
Ferrest don't explode you say
But it happened nine times yesterday
And I should know 'cause each time
I was standing in the way
I've got a ferret sticking up my nose
I've got a ferret sticking up my nose
How it got there I can't tell
But now it's there it hurts like hell
And what is more it radically affects my sense of smell
Orchestra
Leader:A-one, two, a-one two three four
Leader: Half a bee, philisophically,
Must ipso facto half not be.
But half a bee has got to be
Vis a vis it's entity.
-d'you see?
But can a bee be said to be
Or not to be an entire bee,
When
half the bee is not a bee,
Due to some ancient injury.
-Singing!...
All sing: La di di, one two three,
Eric the Half a Bee.
A B C D E F G,
Eric the Half a Bee.
Leader: Is this wretched demi-bee,
Half asleep upon my knee,
Some freak from a mena
gerie?
All yell: No! It's Eric the Half a Bee.
All sing: Fiddle di dum, fiddle di dee,
Eric the Half a Bee.
Ho ho ho, tee hee hee,
Eric the Half a Bee.
Leader: I love this hive employ-ee-ee,
Bisected accidentally,
One summer's afternoon by me,
I love him carnally.
All sing: He loves him carnally...
Leader: Semi-carnally.
(speaks)
The End.
Voice: Cyril Connolly?
Leader: No, semi-carnally.
Voice: Oh.
All sing: (Quietly)
Cyril Connolly
Do what John? Do what John?
Come again do what?
Do what John? Do what John?
Do what? Do what? Do what?
Do where John? Do where John?
With what, with whom and when?
Terrific really terriffic
Pardon come again
Do what John? Do what John?
Come again do what?
Do what John? Do what John?
Do what? Do what? Do what?
Do where John? Do where John?
With what, with whom and when?
Terriffic realy terriffic
Pardon come again
Intro: Right ho, darling. Yeh, be home
(spoken) about 8:30. No, no I'll go on a
bike.
Verse: Beethoven's gone but his music lives on,
And Mozart don't go shoppin' no more,
You'll never meet Liszt or Brahms again,
And Elgar doesn't answer t
he door.
Schübert and Chopin used to chuckle and laugh,
Whilst composing a long symphony,
But one hundred and fifty years later,
There's very little of them left to see.
Chorus: They're decomposing composers,
There's nothing much anyone can do,
ou can still hear Beethoven,
But Beethoven cannot hear you.
Verse: Händel and Haydn and Rachmaninov,
Enjoyed a nice drink with their meal,
But nowadays no-one will serve them,
And their gravy is left to congeal.
Verdi and Wagner delighted the cro
wds,
With their highly original sound,
The pianos they played are still working,
But they're both six feet underground.
Chorus: They're decomposing composers,
There's less of them every year,
You can say what you like to Debussy,
But there's not m
uch of him left to hear.
Finish: Claude Achille Debussy, died 1918.
Christophe Willebaud Gluck, died 1787.
Carl Maria von Weber, not at all well
1825, died 1826. Giacomo Meyerbeer,
still alive 1863, not still alive 1864.
Modeste Mussorgsky, 1880 g
oing to parties,
no fun anymore 1881. Johan Nepomuck
Hummel, chatting away nineteen to the
dozen with his mates down the pub every
Immanuel Kant was a real pissant
Who was very rarely stable,
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy begger
Who could think you under the table,
David Hume could out-consume,
Wilhelm Freidrich Hegel.
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine
Who was just as schloshed as Schlegel.
There's nothing Nietzche couldn't teach ya
'Bout the raising of the wrist.
Socrates himself was permanently pissed.
John Stuart Mill, of his own free will
On half a pint of shandy was particularly ill.
Plato, they say could stick it away,
Half a crate of whiskey everyday.
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle,
Hobbes was fond of his dram,
And René DesCartes was a drunken fart
"I drink, therefore I am."
Yes, Socrates himself is particularly missed,
Bing tiddle tiddle BANG
Bung tiddle tiddle bang
Bung tiddle tiddle tiddle tiddle tiddle
Bung tiddle tiddle BONG
Bung tiddle tiddle bing
Bung tiddle tiddle bang
Bing (tiddle tiddle)
Bang (tiddle tiddle)
Bong (tiddle tiddle tiddle tiddle)
Bang bong bing (tiddle tiddle)
Bang (tiddle tiddle)
Bong bang (tiddle tiddle tiddle tiddle)
Bing tiddle tiddle BANG
Bung tiddle tiddle bang
Bung tiddle tiddle tiddle tiddle tiddle
Bung tiddle tiddle BONG
Bung tiddle tiddle bing
Bung tiddle tiddle bang
Bing (tiddle tiddle)
Bang (tiddle tiddle)
Bong (tiddle tiddle tiddle tiddle)
Bang bong bing (tiddle tiddle)
Bang (tiddle tiddle)
Bong bang (tiddle tiddle tiddle tiddle)
Bong bang (tiddle tiddle tiddle tiddle)
Bing tiddle tiddle biiiiiing...
Voice Over: And now a choice of viewing on BBC
Television. Just started on BBC2, the semi final of
Episode 3 of 'Kierkegaard's Journals', staring Richard
Chamberlain, Peggy Mount and Billy Bremer, and on BBC1,
'Ethel the Frog'
Introduction sort of music with Caption 'ETHEL THE
FROG' Cut to Presenter sitting behind desk)
Presenter: Good evening. On 'Ethel the Frog' tonight we
look at violence The violence of British Gangland. Last
Tuesday a reign of terror was ended when the notorious
Piranha brothers, Doug and Dinsdale, after one of the
most extraordinary trials in British legal history,
were sentenced to 400 years imprisonment for crimes of
violence. We examined the rise to power of the
Piranhas, the methods they used to subjugate rival
gangs and their subsequent tracking down and capture by
the brilliant Superintendent Harry 'Snapper' Organs of
Q Division. Doug and Dinsdale Piranha were born, on
probation, in a small house in Kipling Road, Southwark,
the eldest sons in a family of sixteen. Their father
Arthur Piranha, a scrap metal dealer and TV quizmaster,
was well known to the police, and a devout Catholic. In
1928 he had married Kitty Malone, an up-and-coming East
End boxer. Doug was born in February 1929 and Dinsdale
two weeks later; and again a week after that. Someone
who remembers them well was their next door neighbour,
Mrs April Simnel.
Mrs Simmel: Oh yes Kipling Road was a typical East End
Street, people were in and out of each other's houses
with each other's property all day. They were a cheery
lot.
Interviewer: Was it a terribly violent area
Mrs Simmel: Oh no......yes. Cheerful and violent. I
remember Doug was keen on boxing, but when he learned
to walk he took up putting the boot in the groin. He
was very interested in that. His mother had a terrible
job getting him to come in for tea. Putting his little
boot in he'd be, bless him. All the kids were like that
then, they didn't have their heads stuffed with all
this Cartesian dualism.
Presenter: At the age of fifteen Doug and Dinsdale
started attending the Ernest Pythagoras Primary School
in Clerkenwell. When the Piranhas left school they were
called up but were found by an Army Board to be too
unstable even for National Service. Denied the
opportunity to use their talents in the service of
their country, they began to operate what they called
'The Operation'... They would select a victim and then
threaten to beat him up if he paid the so-called
protection money. Four months later they started
another operation which the called 'The Other
Operation'. In this racket they selected another victim
and threatened not to beat him up if he didn't pay
them. One month later they hit upon 'The Other Other
Operation'. In this the victim was threatened that if
he didn't pay them, they would beat him up. This for
the Piranha brothers was the turning point.
(Cut to Superintendent Organs - Subtitle: Harry
"Snapper" Organs)
Organs: Doug and Dinsdale Piranha now formed a gang,
which the called 'The Gang' and used terror to take
over night clubs, billiard halls, gaming casinos and
race tracks. When they tried to take over the MCC they
were for the only time in their lives, slit up a treat.
As their empire spread however, Q Division were keeping
tabs on their every move by reading the colour
supplements.
Presenter: One small-time operator who fell foul of
Dinsdale Piranha was Vince Snetterton-Lewis.
Vince: "Well one day I was at home threatening the kids
when I looks out through the hole in the wall and sees
this tank pull up and out gets one of Dinsdale's boys,
so he comes in nice and friendly and says Dinsdale
wants to have a word with me, so he chains me to the
back of the tank and takes me for a scrape round to
Dinsdale's place and Dinsdale's there in the
conversation pit with Doug and Charles Paisley, the
baby crusher, and two film producers and a man they
called 'Kierkegaard', who just sat there biting the
heads of whippets and Dinsdale says 'I hear you've been
a naughty boy Clement' and he splits me nostrils open
and saws me leg off and pulls me liver out and I tell
him my name's not Clement and then... he loses his
temper and nails me head to the floor."
Interviewer: He nailed your head to the floor?
Vince: At first yeah
Presenter: Another man who had his head nailed to the
floor was Stig O' Tracy.
Interviewer: I've been told Dinsdale Piranha nailed
your head to the floor.
Stig: No. Never. He was a smashing bloke. He used to
buy his mother flowers and that. He was like a brother
to me.
Interviewer: But the police have film of Dinsdale
actually nailing your head to the floor.
Stig: (pause) Oh yeah, he did that.
Interviewer: Why?
Stig: Well he had to, didn't he? I mean there was
nothing else he could do, be fair. I had transgressed
the unwritten law.
Interviewer: What had you done?
Stig: Er... well he didn't tell me that, but he gave me
his word that it was the case, and that's good enough
for me with old Dinsy. I mean, he didn't *want* to nail
my head to the floor. I had to insist. He wanted to let
me off. He'd do anything for you, Dinsdale would.
Interviewer: And you don't bear him a grudge?
Stig: A grudge! Old Dinsy. He was a real darling.
Interviewer: I understand he also nailed your wife's
head to a coffee table. Isn't that true Mrs O' Tracy?
Mrs O' Tracy: No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
Stig: Well he did do that, yeah. He was a hard man.
Vicious but fair
(Cut back to vince)
Interviewer: Vince, after he nailed your head to the
floor, did you ever see him again
Vince: Yeah.....after that I used to go round his flat
every Sunday lunchtime to apologise and we'd shake
hands and then he'd nail my head to the floor
Interviewer: Every Sunday?
Vince: Yeah but he was very reasonable. Once, one
Sunday I told him my parents were coming round to tea
and would he mind very much not nailing my head that
week and he agreed and just screwed my pelvis to a cake
stand.
Presenter:Clearly Dinsdale inspired tremendous fear
among his business associates. But what was he really
like?
Gloria:I walked out with Dinsdale on many occasions and
found him a charming and erudite companion. He was wont
to introduce one to eminent celebrities, celebrated
American singers, members of the aristocracy and other
gang leaders,
Interviewer (off screen): How had he met them?
Gloria:Through his work for charities. He took a warm
interest in Boys' Clubs, Sailors' Homes, Choristers'
Associations and the Grenadier Guards.
Interviewer:Was there anything unusual about him?
Gloria:t him. I should say not. Except, that Dinsdale
was convinced that he was being watched by a giant
hedgehog whom he referred to as 'Spiny Norman'.
Interviewer: How big was Norman supposed to be?
Gloria:Normally Spiny Norman was wont to be about
twelve feet from snout to tail, but when Dinsdale was
depressed Norman could be anything up to eight hundred
yards long. When Norman was about Dinsdale would go
very quiet and start wobbling and his nose would swell
up and his teeth would move about and he'd get very
violent and claim that he'd laid Stanley Baldwin."
Interviewer: "Did it worry you that he, for example,
stitched people's legs together?"
Gloria: "Well it's better than bottling it up isn't it.
He was a gentleman, Dinsdale, and what's more he knew
how to treat a female impersonator."
Presenter:But what do the criminologists think? We
asked The Amazing Kargol and Janet:
Ciminologist:It is easy for us to judge Dinsdale
Piranha too harshly. After all he only did what many of
us simply dream of doing... I'm sorry. After all we
should remember that a murderer is only an extroverted
suicide. Dinsdale was a looney, but he was a happy
looney. Lucky bugger."
Presenter:Most of the strange tales concern Dinsdale,
but what about Doug? One man who met him was Luigi
Vercotti.
Vercotti: I had been running a successful escort agency
-- high class, no really, high class girls -- we didn't
have any of *that* -- that was right out. And I decided
(phone rings) Excuse me (he answers phone)
Hello......no, not
now......shtoom...shtoom....right......yes, we'll have
the watch ready for you at midnight.......the
watch.....the Chinese watch....yes, right-oh, bye-
bye.....mother (he hangs up phone) Anyway I decided to
open a high class night club for the gentry at
Biggleswade withInternational cuisine and cooking and
top line acts, and not a cheap clip joint for picking
up tarts -- that was right out, I deny that completely
--, and one evening in walks Dinsdale with a couple of
big lads, one of whom was carrying a tactical nuclear
missile. They said I had bought one of their fruit
machines and would I pay for it
2nd Interviewer: How much did they want?
Vercotti: They wanted three quarters of a million
pounds.
2nd Interviewer: Why didn't you call the police?
Vercotti: Well I had noticed that the lad with the
thermonuclear device was the chief constable for the
area. So a week later they called again and told me the
cheque had bounced and said... I had to see... Doug.
2nd Interviewer: Doug?
Vercotti: Doug (takes a drink) Well, I was terrified.
Everyone was terrified of Doug. I've seen grown men
pull their own heads off rather than see Doug. Even
Dinsdale was frightened of Doug.
2nd Interviewer: What did he do?
Vercotti: He used... sarcasm. He knew all the tricks,
dramatic irony, metaphor, bathos, puns, parody, litotes
and... satire. He was vicious.
Presenter:By a combination of violence and sarcasm, the
Piranha brothers by February 1966 controlled London and
the Southeast of England. It was in February, though,
that Dinsdale made a big mistake.
Gloria:Latterly Dinsdale had become increasingly
worried about Spiny Norman. He had come to the
conclusion that Norman slept in an aeroplane hangar at
Luton Airport.
Presenter:And so on Feb 22nd 1966, Dinsdale blew up
Luton. (shot of a H-Bomb exploding) Even the police
began to sit up and take notice.
(Cut back to 'Harry Snapper' Organs)
Organs: The Piranhas realised they had gone too far and
that the hunt was on. They went into hiding. I decided
on a subtle approach, viz. some form of disguise, as
the old helmet and boots are a bit of a giveaway.
Luckily my years with Bristol Rep. stood me in good
stead, as I assumed a bewildering variety of disguises.
I tracked them to Cardiff, posing as the Reverend
Smiler Egret. Hearing they'd gone back to London, I
assumed the identity of a pork butcher, Brian Stoats.
On my arrival in London, I discovered they had returned
to Cardiff, I followed as Gloucester from _King Lear_.
Acting on a hunch I spent several months in Buenos
Aires as Blind Pew, returning through the Panama Canal
as Ratty, in _Toad of Toad Hall_. Back in Cardiff, I
relived my triumph as Sancho Panza in _Man of la
Mancha_ which the "Bristol Evening Post" described as
'a glittering performance of rare perception', although
the "Bath Chronicle" was less than enthusiastic. In
fact it gave me a right panning. I quote
Voice Over: As for the performance of Superintendent
Harry "Snapper" Organs as Sancho Panza, the audience
were bemused by his high-pitched Welsh accent and
intimidated by his abusive ad-libs.
Organs (off screen):The "Western Daily News" said......
Voice over (John Cleese): 'Sancho Panza (Mr Organs)
spoilt an otherwise impeccably choreographed rape scene
by his unscheduled appearance and persistent cries of
Presenter (Eric Idle): Good evening. Tonight is indeed
a unique occasion in the history of television. We are
very privileged, and deeply honoured to have with us in
the studio, Karl Marx, founder of modern socialism, and
author of the 'Communist Manifesto'. (Karl Marx is
sitting at a desk; he nods) Vladimir Ilich Ulyanov,
better known to the world as Lenin, leader of the
Russian Revolution, writer, statesman, and father of
modern communism. (shot of Lenin also at desk; he nods)
Che Guevara, the Cuban guerrilla leader. (shot of
Guevara) And Mao Tse-tung, leader of the Chinese
Communist Party since 1949. (shot of Mao; the presenter
picks up a card) And the first question is for you,
Karl Marx. The Hammers - the Hammers is the nickname of
what English football team? 'the Hammers? (shot of Karl
Marx furrowing his brow- obviously he hasn't a clue)
No? Well bad luck there, Karl. So we'll go onto you
Che. Che Guevara - Coventry City last won the FA Cup in
what year? (cut to Che looking equally dumbfounded) No?
I'll throw it open. Coventry City last won the FA Cup
in what year? (they all look blank) No? Well, I'm not
surprised you didn't get that. It was in fact a trick
question. Coventry City have never won the FA Cup. So
with the scores all equal now we go onto our second
round, and Lenin it's your starter for ten. Teddy
Johnson and Pearl Carr won the Eurovision Song Contest
in 1959. What was the name of the song? ... Teddy
Johnson and Pearl Carr's song in the 1959 Eurovision
Song Contest? Anybody? (buzzer goes as in 'University
Challenge'.' zoom in on Mao Tse-tung) Yes, Mao Tse-
tung?
Mao Tse-tung: 'Sing Little Birdie'?
Presenter: Yes it was indeed. Well challenged.
(applause) Well now we come on to our special gift
section. The contestant is Karl Marx and the prize this
week is a beautiful lounge suite. (curtains behind the
presenter sweep open to reveal a beautiful lounge
suite; ternfic audience applause; Karl comes out and
stands in front of this display) Now Karl has elected
to, answer questions on the workers' control of
factories so here we go with question number one. Are
you nervous? (Karl nods his head; the presenter reads
from a card) The development of the industrial
proletariat is conditioned by what other development?
Karl: The development of the industrial bourgeoisie.
(applause)
Presenter: Yes, yes, it is indeed. You're on your way
to the lounge suite, Karl. Question number two. The
struggle of class against class is a what struggle? A
what struggle?
Karl: A political struggle.
(Tumultuous applause.)
Presenter: Yes, yes! One final question Karl and the
beautiful lounge suite will be yours... Are you going
to have a go? (Karl nods) You're a brave man. Karl
Marx, your final question, who won the Cup Final in
1949?
Karl: The workers' control of the means of production?
The struggle of the urban proletariat?
Presenter: No. It was in fact, Wolverhampton Wanderers
who beat Leicester 3-1.
(Cut to stock film of goal bring scored in a big
football match. Roar from crowd. Stock footage of
football crowds cheering.)
Voice Over: and CAPTION: 'IN "WORLD FORUM" TODAY: KARL
MARX, CHE GUEVARA, LENIN AND MAO TSE-TUNG. NEXT WEEK,
FOUR LEADING HEADS OF STATE OF THE AFRO-ASIAN NATIONS
I've got ninety thousand pounds in my pajamas
I've got forty thousand French francs in my fridge
I've got lost of lovely lira, now the deutsche mark's getting dearer
And my dollar bills would buy the Brooklyn Bridge
There is nothing quite as wonderful as money
There is nothing quite as beautiful as cash
Some people say it's folly but I'd rather have the lolly
With money you can make a splash
There is nothing quite wonderful as money
There is nothing like a newly minted pound
Everyone must hanker for the butchness of a banker
It's accountancy that makes the world go round
You can keep your Marxist ways
For it's only just a phase
For it's money, money, money makes the world go round
Good Morning
Morning, sir
Welcome to the National Cheese Emporium
Ah, thank you, my good man
What can I do for you, sir?
Well, I was sitting in the public library
On Thurmon Street just now
Skimming through Rogue Herrys by Hugh Walpole
And I suddenly came over all peckish
Peckish, sir?
Esuriant
'Ee, ah wor 'ungry-loike
Ah, hungry
In a nutshell, and I thought
To myself, A little fermented curd will do the trick
So I curtailed my Walpoling activites
Sallied forth and infiltrated your place
Of purveyance to negotiate the vending
Of some cheesy comestibles
Come again
I want to buy some cheese
Oh, I thought you were complaining
About the bazouki player
Oh, heaven forbid, I am one who delights
In all manifestations of the Terpsichorean muse
Sorry?
'Ooo, ah lahk a nice tuune, 'yer forced too
So he can go on playing, can he
Most certainly, now then
Some cheese please, my good man
Certainly, sir, what would you like?
Well, eh, how about a little red Leicester?
I'm afraid we're fresh out of red Leicester, sir
Oh, never mind, how are you on Tilsit?
I'm afraid we never have that at the end of the week
Sir, we get it fresh on Monday
Tish tish, no matter, well stout yeoman
Four ounces of Caerphilly, if you please
Ah, it's been on order, sir, for two weeks
Was expecting it this morning
T's not my lucky day, is it, aah, Bel Paese?
Sorry, sir
Red Windsor?
Normally, sir, yes, today the van broke down
Ah, Stilton?
Sorry
Ementhal, Gruyere?
Any Norweigan Jarlsburg, per chance?
Lipta?
Lancashire?
White Stilton?
Danish Brew?
Double Goucester?
Cheshire?
Dorset Bluveny?
Brie, Roquefort, Pol le Veq
Port Salut, Savoy Aire
Saint Paulin, Carrier de lest
Bres Bleu, Bruson?
Camenbert, perhaps?
Ah, we have Camenbert, yes, sir
You do, excellent
Yes, sir, it's, ah, it's a bit runny
Oh, I like it runny
Well, it's very runny, actually, sir
No matter, fetch hither
The fromage de la Belle France, mwah
I think it's a bit runnier
Than you'll like it, sir
I don't care how fucking runny it is
Hand it over with all speed
What now?
The cat's eaten it
Has he?
She, sir
Gouda?
Edam?
Case Ness?
Smoked Austrian?
Japanese Sage Darby?
No, sir
You do have some cheese, do you?
Of course, sir, it's a cheese shop, sir, we've got
No, no, don't tell me, I'm keen to guess
Fair enough
Uh, Wensleydale?
Ah, well, I'll have some of that
Oh, I thought you were talking to me, sir
Mister Wensleydale, that's my name
Greek Feta?
Uh, not as such
Uuh, Gorgonzola?
Parmesan?
Mozarella?
Paper Cramer?
Danish Bimbo?
Czech sheep's milk?
Venezuelan Beaver Cheese?
Not today, sir, no
Aah, how about Cheddar?
Well, we don't get much call for it around here, sir
Not much call, it's the single most
Popular cheese in the world
Not 'round here, sir
And what is the most
Popular cheese 'round here?
Illchester, sir
Is it?
Oh, yes, it's staggeringly
Popular in this manusquire
Is it?
It's our number one best seller, sir
I see, uh, Illchester, eh
Right, sir?
All right, okay, have you got any?
He asked expecting the answer 'No'
I'll have a look, sir, umh, no
It's not much of a cheese shop, is it?
Finest in the district
Explain the logic underlying that conclusion, please
Well, it's so clean, sir
It's certainly uncontaminated by cheese
You haven't asked me about Limburger, sir
Is it worth it?
Could be
Have you, shut that bloody bazouki up
Told you sir
Have you got any Limburger?
Figures, predictable, really I suppose
It was an act of purest optimism
To have posed the question in the first place
Tell me?
Yes, sir
Have you, in fact, got any cheese here at all?
Yes, sir
Really?
No, not really, sir
You haven't?
No, sir, not a scrap
I was deliberately
Wasting your time, sir
Well, I'm sorry, but I'm going
To have to shoot you
Right-o, sir
Announcer: And now, here is a magnificent recording
made in the Wide Valley, of an ordinary travel agents
office. Note the huge-breasted typist in the
background.
Smoketoomuch: Good morning.
Secretary: Oh, good morning. (sexily) Uhm, do you want
to come upstairs?
Smoketoomuch: Beg your pardon?
Secretary: (sexily) Do you want to come upstairs?
(brightly) Oh, or have you come to arrange a holiday?
Smoketoomuch: Uuh..to...to arrange a holiday.
Secretary: Oh, sorry.
Smoketoomuch: What's all this about coming upstairs?
Secretary: Oh, nothing, nothing. Now, where were you
thinking of going?
Smoketoomuch: India.
Secretary: Ah, one of our adventure holidays.
Smoketoomuch: Yes.
Secretary: Well, you'd better see Mr. Bounder about
that. Uh, Mr. Bounder, this gentleman is interested in
the "India Overland".
Bounder: Morning, I'm Bounder of Adventure.
Smoketoomuch: Hello, I'm Smoketoomuch.
Bounder: Well, you'd better cut down a little then.
Smoketoomuch: I'm sorry?
Bounder: You'd better cut down a little then.
Smoketoomuch: Oh, I see! Smoke too much so I'd better
cut down a little then!
Bounder: Yes, ha ha... I expect you get people making
jokes about your name all the time, eh?
Smoketoomuch: No, I never noticed it before.
Bounder: So, you are interested in one of our adventure
holidays, are you?
Smoketoomuch: Yes, I saw your advert in the bolour
supplement.
Bounder: The what?
Smoketoomuch: The bolour supplement.
Bounder: The colour supplement.
Smoketoomuch: Yes, I'm sorry, I can't say the letter
'B'.
Bounder: C?
Smoketoomuch: Yes, that's right. It's all due to a
trauma I suffered when I was a sboolboy. I was attacked
by a bat.
Bounder: A cat?
Smoketoomuch: No, a bat.
Bounder: Oh...can you say the letter 'K'?
Smoketoomuch: Oh, yes. Khaki, kind, kettle, Kipling,
kipper, Kuwait, Keble Bollege Oxford.
Bounder: Yes, yes but why don't you use the letter 'K'
instead of the letter 'C'?
Smoketoomuch: What, spell bolour with a 'K'?
Bounder: Yes!
Smoketoomuch: Kolour!
Oh, thank you! I never thought of that. What a silly
bunt.
Bounder: Anyway, about the holiday...
Smoketoomuch: Well, yes, I've been on package tours
many times, so your advert really bought my eye.
Bounder: Ah good.
Smoketoomuch: Yes, you're quite right, I'm fed up with
being treated like a sheep, I mean what's the point of
going abroad if you're just another tourist carted
round in buses, surrounded by sweaty, mindless oafs
from Kettering and Boventry...
Bounder: Absolutel..
Smoketoomuch: ...in their cloth caps and their
cardigans and their transistor radios and their 'Sunday
Mirrors', complaining about the tea, 'Oh they don't
make it properly here do they not like at home'
stopping at Majorcan bodegas, selling fish and chips
and Watney's Red Barrel and calamares and two veg...
Bounder: Yes.
Smoketoomuch: ...and sitting in their cotton sun frocks
squirting Timothy White's suncream all over their puffy
raw swollen purulent flesh...
Bounder: Yes.
Smoketoomuch: ...cos they 'overdid it on the first
day'! And being herded into endless Hotel Miramars and
Bellevueses and Bontinentals...
Bounder: Yes, yes...
Smoketoomuch: ...with their modern international luxury
roomettes and draft Red Barrel and swimmingpools...
Bounder: Yes.
Smoketoomuch: ...full of fat German businessmen
pretending they're acrobats, forming pyramids and
frightening the children and barging in the queues and
if you're not at your table spot on seven you miss the
bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup,...
Bounder: Shut up.
Smoketoomuch: ...the first item on the menu of
International Cuisine,...
Bounder: Shut up, please!
Smoketoomuch: ...and every Thursday night the hotel is
a bloody cabaret in the bar featuring a tiny emaciated
dago...
Bounder: Please, will you shut up.
Smoketoomuch: ...with nine-inch hips and some bloated
fat tart with her hair Brylcreemed down and a big arse
presenting Flamenco for Foreigners.
Bounder: Shut up!
Smoketoomuch: And adenoidal typists from Birmingham
with flabby white legs and diarrhoea trying to pick up
hairy...
Bounder: Please..
Smoketoomuch: ...bandy-legged wop waiters called
Manuel,...
Bounder: ..shut up!
Smoketoomuch: ...and once a week there's an excursion
to the local Roman ruins to buy cherryade and melted
ice cream...
Bounder: I can't bear it!
Smoketoomuch: ...and bleedin' Watney's Red Barrel, and
one evening you visit the so-called typical restaurant
with local colour...
Bounder: Shaddap!
Smoketoomuch: ...and atmosphere and you sit next to a
party of people from Rhyl who keeps singing
'Torremolinos, Torremolinos', and complaining about the
food, 'It's so greasy here isn't it!' and you get
cornered by some drunken greengrocer from Luton with an
Instamatic and Dr Scholl sandals and Tuesday's 'Daily
Express' and he drones on and on and on about how Mr
Smith should be running this country and how many...
Bounder: Stop it, please.
Smoketoomuch: ...languages Enoch Powell can speak and
then he throws up all over the Cuba Libres.
Bounder: Will you be quiet please.
Smoketoomuch: And sending tinted postcards of places
they don't realise they haven't even visited, 'to
all...
Bounder: Shut up
Smoketoomuch: ...at number 22, weather wonderful...
Bounder: PLEASE, SHUT UP!
Smoketoomuch: ...our room is marked with an "X". Food
very greasy but we found a charming...
Bounder: Take it off! TAKE IT OFF!
Smoketoomuch: ...little place hidden away in the back
streets, where they serve Watney's Red Barrel and
cheese and onion...
Bounder: For God's sake, take it off. TAKE IT OFF!!!
Smoketoomuch: ...crisps and the accordionist plays
"Maybe its because I'm a Londoner"'...
Tourist: Good morining
Secretary: Oh good morning, Do you want to come
upstairs?
Tourist: What?
Secretary: Do you want to come upstairs? Or have you
come to arrange a holiday?
Tourist: Er.......to arrange a holiday
Secretary: Oh sorry
Tourist: What's all this about going upstairs?
Secretary: Oh, nothing, nothing. Now where were you
thinking of going?
Tourist: India
Secretary: Ah one of our adventure holidays
Tourist: Yes
Secretary: Well you'd better see Mr Bounder about that.
(Calls out to Mr Bounder) Mr Bounder, this gentleman is
interested in the India Overland
(walks over to Mr Bounder's desk)
Bounder: Ah good morning. I'm Bounder of Adventure
Tourist: My name is Smoke-too-much
Bounder: Well you'd better cut down a little then
Tourist: What?
Bounder: You'd better cut down a little then
Tourist: Oh I see! Cut down a little then.....
Bounder: Yes...I expect you get people making jokes
about your name all the time?
Tourist: No, no actually it never struck me before.
Smoke...to...much....(laughs)
Bounder: Anyway you're interested in one of our
adventure holidays?
Tourist: Yes I saw your advert in the bolour supplement
Bounder: The what?
Tourist: The bolour supplement
Bounder: The colour supplement?
Tourist: Yes I'm sorry I can't say the letter 'B'
Bounder: C?
Tourist: Yes that's right. It's all due to a trauma I
suffered when I was a spoolboy. I was attacked by a bat
Bounder: A cat?
Tourist: No a bat
Bounder: Can you say the letter 'K'
Tourist: Oh yes, Khaki, king, kettle, Kuwait, Keble
Bollege Oxford
Bounder: Why don't you say the letter 'K' instead of
the letter 'C'
Tourist: what you mean.....spell bolour with a K
Bounder: Yes
Tourist: Kolour. Oh that's very good, I never thought
of that what a silly bunt
Bounder: Anyway about the holiday
Tourist: Well I saw your adverts in the paper and I've
been on package tours several times you see, and I
decided that this was for me
Bounder: Ah good
Tourist: Yes I quite agree I mean what's the point of
being treated like sheep. What's the pointof going
abroad if you're just another tourist carted around in
buses surrounded by sweaty mindless oafs from Kettering
and Coventry in their cloth caps and their cardigans
and their transistor radios and their Sunday Mirrors,
complaining about the tea - "Oh they don't make it
properly here, do they, not like at home" - and
stopping at Majorcan bodegas selling fish and chips and
Watney's Red Barrel and calamares and two veg and
sitting in their cotton frocks squirting Timothy
White's suncream all over their puffy raw swollen
purulent flesh 'cos they "overdid it on the first day."
Bounder: (agreeing patiently) Yes absolutely, yes I
quite agree...
Tourist: And being herded into endless Hotel Miramars
and Bellvueses and Continentales with their modern
international luxury roomettes and draught Red Barrel
and swimming pools full of fat German businessmen
pretending they're acrobats forming pyramids and
frightening the children and barging into queues and if
you're not at your table spot on seven you miss the
bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup, the first
item on the menu of International Cuisine, and every
Thursday night the hotel has a bloody cabaret in the
bar, featuring a tiny emaciated dago with nine-inch
hips and some bloated fat tart with her hair
brylcreemed down and a big arse presenting Flamenco for
Foreigners.
Bounder: (beggining to get fed up) Yes, yes now......
Tourist: And then some adenoidal typists from
Birmingham with flabby white legs and diarrhoea trying
to pick up hairy bandy-legged wop waiters called Manuel
and once a week there's an excursion to the local Roman
Remains to buy cherryade and melted ice cream and
bleeding Watney's Red Barrel and one evening you visit
the so called typical restaurant with local colour and
atmosphere and you sit next to a party from Rhyl who
keep singing "Torremolinos, torremolinos" and
complaining about the food - "It's so greasy isn't it?"
- and you get cornered by some drunken greengrocer from
Luton with an Instamatic camera and Dr. Scholl sandals
and last Tuesday's Daily Express and he drones on and
on about how Mr. Smith should be running this country
and how many languages Enoch Pow ell can speak and then
he throws up over the Cuba Libres.
Bounder: Will you be quiet please
Tourist: And sending tinted postcards of places they
don't realise they haven't even visited to "All at
number 22, weather wonderful, our room is marked with
an 'X'.
Bounder: Shut up
Tourist: Food very greasy but we've found a charming
little local place hidden away in the back streets
Bounder: Shut up!
Tourist: where they serve Watney's Red Barrel and
cheese and onion.......
Bounder: Shut up your bloody gob....
Tourist: crisps and the accordionist plays 'Maybe it's
because I'm a Londoner'." And spending four days on the
tarmac at Luton airport on a five-day package tour with
nothing to eat but dried BEA-type sandwiches and you
can't even get a drink of Watney's Red Barrel because
you're still in England and the bloody bar closes every
time you're thirsty and there's nowhere to sleep and
the kids are crying and vomiting and breaking the
plastic ash-trays and they keep telling you it'll only
be another hour although your plane is still in Iceland
and has to take some Swedes to Yugoslavia before it can
load you up at 3 a.m. in the bloody morning and you sit
on the tarmac till six because of "unforeseen
difficulties", i.e. the permanent strike of Air Traffic
Control in Paris - and nobody can go to the lavatory
until you take off at 8, and when you get to Malaga
airport everybody's swallowing "enterovioform" and
queuing for the toilets and queuing for the armed
customs officers, and queuing for the bloody bus that
isn't there to take you to the hotel that hasn't yet
been finished. And when you finally get to the half-
built Algerian ruin called the Hotel del Sol by paying
half your holiday money to a licensed bandit in a taxi
you find there's no water in the pool, there's no water
in the taps, there's no water in the bog and there's
only a bleeding lizard in the bidet. And half the rooms
are double booked and you can't sleep anyway because of
the permanent twenty-four-hour drilling of the
foundations of the hotel next door - and you're plagues
by appalling apprentice chemists from Ealing pretending
to be hippies, and middle-class stockbrokers' wives
busily buying identical holiday villas in suburban
development plots just like Esher, in case the Labour
government gets in again, and fat American matrons with
sloppy-buttocks and Hawaiian-patterned ski pants
looking for any mulatto male who can keep it up long
enough when they finally let it all flop out. And the
Spanish Tourist Board promises you that the raging
cholera epidemic is merely a case of mild Spanish
tummy, like the previous outbreak of Spanish tummy in
1660 which killed half London and decimated Europe -
and meanwhile the bloody Guardia are busy arresting
sixteen-year-olds for kissing in the streets and
shooting anyone under nineteen who doesn't like Franco.
And then on the last day in the airport lounge
everyone's comparing sunburns, drinking Nasty Spumante,
buying cartons of duty free "cigarillos" and using up
their last pesetas on horrid dolls in Spanish National
costume and awful straw donkeys and bullfight posters
with your name on "Ordoney, El Cordobes and Brian Pules
of Norwich" and 3-D pictures of the Pope and Kennedy
and Franco, and everybody's talking about coming again
next year and you swear you never will although there
you are tumbling bleary-eyed out of a tourist-tight
THE MEANING OF LIFE
-------------------
THE MIRACLE OF BIRTH
PART 2
THE THIRD WORLD
Yorkshire
[A northern street. Dad is marching home. We see his
house. A stork flies above it, and drops a baby down
the chimney.]
Oh bloody hell.
[Inside the house. A pregnant woman is at the sink.
With a cry a new-born baby, complete with umbilical
cord, drops from between her legs onto the floor.]
MOTHER
Get that would you, Deirdre...
GIRL
All right, Mum.
[The girl takes the baby. Mum carries on.]
[Dad comes up to the door and pushes it open sadly.
Inside there are at least forty children, of various
ages, packed into the living room.]
MOTHER
[with tray] Whose teatime is it?
SCORES OF VOICES
Me, mum...
MOTHER
Vincent, Tessa, Valerie, Janine, Martha, Andrew,
Thomas, Walter, Pat, Linda, Michael, Evadne, Alice,
Dominique, and Sasha... it's your bedtime!
CHILDREN
[all together] Oh, Mum!
MOTHER
Don't argue... Laura, Alfred, Nigel, Annie, Simon,
Amanda...
Wait...
[They all listen.]
I've got something to tell the whole family.
[All stop... A buzz of excitement.]
MOTHER
[to her nearest son] Quick... go and get the others in,
Gordon!
[Gordon goes out. Another twenty or so children enter
the room. They squash in at the back as best they can.]
The mill's closed. There's no more work, we're
destitute.
[Lots of cries of 'Oh no!'... 'Cripes'... 'Heck'...
from around the room.]
I've got no option but to sell you all for scientific
experiments. [The children protest with heart-rending
pleas.] No no, that's the way it is my loves... Blame
the Catholic church for not letting me wear one of
those little rubber things... Oh they've done some
wonderful things in their time, they preserved the
might and majesty, even the mystery of the Church of
Rome, the sanctity of the sacrament and the indivisible
oneness of the Trinity, but if they'd let me wear one
of the little rubber things on the end of my cock we
wouldn't be in the mess we are now.
LITTLE BOY
Couldn't Mummy have worn some sort of pessary?
Not if we're going to remain members of the fastest
growing religion in the world, my boy... You see, we
believe... well, let me put it like this...
[sings]
There are Jews in the world,
There are Buddhists,
There are Hindus and Mormons and then,
There are those that follow Mohammed,
But I've never been one of them...
I'm a Roman Catholic,
And have been since before I was born,
And the one thing they say about Catholics,
Is they'll take you as soon as you're warm...
You don't have to be a six-footer,
You don't have to have a great brain,
You don't have to have any clothes on -
You're a Catholic the minute Dad came...
Because...
Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is great,
If a sperm is wasted,
God gets quite irate.
CHILDREN
Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is great,
If a sperm is wasted,
God gets quite irate.
CHILD
[solo] Let the heathen spill theirs,
On the dusty ground,
God shall make them pay for,
Each sperm that can't be found.
CHILDREN
Every sperm is wanted,
Every sperm is good,
Every sperm is needed,
In your neighborhood.
MOTHER
[solo] Hindu, Taoist, Mormon,
Spill theirs just anywhere,
But God loves those who treat their
Semen with more care.
MEN NEIGHBORS
[peering out of toilets]
Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is great,
WOMEN NEIGHBORS
[on wall]
If a sperm is wasted,
CHILDREN
God get quite irate.
PRIEST
[in church] Every sperm is sacred,
BRIDE AND GROOM
Every sperm is good.
NANNIES
Every sperm is needed.
CARDINALS
[in prams] In your neighborhood!
CHILDREN
Every sperm is useful,
Every sperm is fine,
FUNERAL CORTEGE
God needs everybody's,
FIRST MOURNER
Mine!
LADY MOURNER
And mine!
CORPSE
And mine!
[solo] Though the pagans spill theirs,
O'er mountain, hill and plain,
VARIOUS ARTIFACTS IN A ROMAN CATHOLIC SOUVENIR SHOP
God shall strike them down for
Each sperm that's spilt in vain.
EVERYBODY
Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is good,
Every sperm is needed,
In your neighborhood.
EVEN MORE THAN EVERYBODY, INCLUDING TWO FIRE-EATERS, A
JUGGLER, A CLOWN AT A PIANO AND A STILT-WALKER RIDING A
BICYCLE
Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is great,
If a sperm is wasted,
God gets quite irate.
[Everybody cheers (including the fire-eaters, the
juggler, the clown at the piano and the stilt-walker
riding the bicycle). Fireworks go off, a Chinese dragon
is brought on and flags of all nations are unfurled
overhead.]
[Back inside.]
So you see my problem, little ones... I can't keep you
here any longer.
SHOUT FROM THE BACK
Speak up!
[raising his voice] I can't keep you here any longer...
God has blessed us so much that I can't afford to feed
you anymore.
Couldn't you have your balls cut off...?
It's not as simple as that Nigel... God knows all... He
would see through such a cheap trick. What we do to
ourselves, we do to Him...
VOICE
You could have them pulled off in an accident?
[Other voices suggest ways his balls can be removed.]
No... no... children... I know you're trying to help
but believe me, my mind's made up. I've given this long
and careful thought. And it's medical experiments for
the lot of you...
[The children emerge singing a melancholy reprise of
'Every Sperm is Sacred.']
[They are being watched from another Northern house.]
MR. BLACKITT
Look at them, bloody Catholics. Filling the bloody
world up with bloody people they can't afford to bloody
feed.
MRS. BLACKITT
What are we dear?
MR. BLACKITT
Protestant, and fiercely proud of it...
MRS. BLACKITT
Why do they have so many children...?
MR. BLACKITT
Because every time they have sexual intercourse they
have to have a baby.
MRS. BLACKITT
But it's the same with us, Harry.
MR. BLACKITT
What d'you mean...?
MRS. BLACKITT
Well I mean we've got two children and we've had sexual
intercourse twice.
MR. BLACKITT
That's not the point... We *could* have it any time we
wanted.
MRS. BLACKITT
Really?
MR. BLACKITT
Oh yes. And, what's more, because we don't believe in
all that Papist claptrap we can take precautions.
MRS. BLACKITT
What, you mean lock the door...?
MR. BLACKITT
No no, I mean, because we are members of the Protestant
Reformed Church which successfully challenged the
autocratic power of the Papacy in the mid-sixteenth
century, we can wear little rubber devices to prevent
issue.
MRS. BLACKITT
What do you mean?
MR. BLACKITT
I could, if I wanted, have sexual intercourse with
you...
MRS. BLACKITT
Oh, yes... Harry...
MR. BLACKITT
And by wearing a rubber sheath over my old feller I
could ensure that when I came off... you would not be
impregnated.
MRS. BLACKITT
Ooh!
MR. BLACKITT
That's what being a Protestant's all about. That's why
it's the church for me. That's why it's the church for
anyone who respects the individual and the individual's
right to decide for him or herself. When Martin Luther
nailed his protest up to the church door in 1517, he
may not have realized the full significance of what he
was doing. But four hundred years later, thanks to him,
my dear, I can wear whatever I want on my John Thomas.
And Protestantism doesn't stop at the simple condom. Oh
no! I can wear French Ticklers if I want.
MRS. BLACKITT
You what?
MR. BLACKITT
French Ticklers... Black Mambos... Crocodile Ribs...
Sheaths that are designed not only to protect but also
to enhance the stimulation of sexual congress...
MRS. BLACKITT
Have you got one?
MR. BLACKITT
Have I got one? Well no... But I can go down the road
any time I want and walk into Harry's and hold my head
up high, and say in a loud steady voice: 'Harry I want
you to sell me a *condom*. In fact today I think I'll
have a French Tickler, for I am a Protestant...'
MRS. BLACKITT
Well why don't you?
MR. BLACKITT
But they... [He points at the stream of children still
pouring past the house.]... they cannot. Because their
church never made the great leap out of the Middle
Ages, and the domination of alien episcopal supremacy!
the Adventures of
MARTIN
LUTHER
Bravely bold Sir Robin rode forth from Camelot
He was not afraid to die, O brave Sir Robin
He was not at all afraid to be killed in nasty ways
Brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Robin
He was not in the least bit scared
to be mashed into a pulp
Or to have his eyes gouged out and his elbows broken
To have his kneecaps split and his body burned away
And his limbs all hacked and mangled, brave Sir Robin
His head smashed in and his heart cut out
And his liver removed and his bowels unplugged
And his nostrils raped and his bottom
burnt off and his penis...
He is brave Sir Robin,
Brave Sir Robin who...
To fight and...............
Brave Sir Robin ran away (NO!)
Bravely, ran away...away... (I didn't)
When danger reared its ugly head
He bravely turned his tail and fled
Yes, brave Sir Robin turned about
And gallantly he chickened out
Bravely taking to his feet (I never did!)
He beat a very brave retreat
Bravest of the brave, Sir Robin
He is packing it in and packing it up
And sneaking away and buggering up
And chickening out and pissing off home,
Man (Eric Idle): You sit here, dear.
Wife (Graham Chapman in drag): All right.
Man (to Waitress): Morning!
Waitress (Terry Jones, in drag as a bit of a rat-bag):
Morning!
Man: Well, what've you got?
Waitress: Well, there's egg and bacon; egg sausage and
bacon; egg and spam;
egg bacon and spam; egg bacon sausage and spam; spam
bacon sausage
and spam; spam egg spam spam bacon and spam; spam
sausage spam spam
bacon spam tomato and spam;
Vikings (starting to chant): Spam spam spam spam...
Waitress: ...spam spam spam egg and spam; spam spam
spam spam spam spam baked
beans spam spam spam...
Vikings (singing): Spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam!
Waitress: ...or Lobster Thermidor a Crevette with a
mornay sauce served in a
Provencale manner with shallots and aubergines
garnished with
truffle pate, brandy and with a fried egg on top and
spam.
Wife: Have you got anything without spam?
Waitress: Well, there's spam egg sausage and spam,
that's not got much spam in
Wife: I don't want ANY spam!
Man: Why can't she have egg bacon spam and sausage?
Wife: THAT'S got spam in it!
Man: Hasn't got as much spam in it as spam egg sausage
and spam, has it?
Vikings: Spam spam spam spam (crescendo through next
few lines)
Wife: Could you do the egg bacon spam and sausage
without the spam then?
Waitress: Urgghh!
Wife: What do you mean 'Urgghh'? I don't like spam!
Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!)
Waitress: Shut up!
Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!
Waitress: Shut up! (Vikings stop) Bloody Vikings! You
can't have egg bacon
spam and sausage without the spam.
Wife (shrieks): I don't like spam!
Man: Sshh, dear, don't cause a fuss. I'll have your
spam. I love it.
I'm having spam spam spam spam spam spam spam beaked
beans spam spam
spam and spam!
Vikings (singing): Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam!
Wonderful spam!
Waitress: Shut up!! Baked beans are off.
Man: Well could I have her spam instead of the baked
beans then?
Waitress: You mean spam spam spam spam spam spam...
(but it is too late and
the Vikings drown her words)
Vikings (singing elaborately): Spam spam spam spam.
Lovely spam! Wonderful
spam! Spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam.
Lovely spam!
Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam!
Spam spam
A customer enters a pet shop.
Customer: 'Ello, I wish to register a complaint.
(The owner does not respond.)
C: 'Ello, Miss?
Owner: What do you mean "miss"?
C: I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a
complaint!
O: We're closin' for lunch.
C: Never mind that, my lad. I wish to complain about
this parrot what I
purchased not half an hour ago from this very boutique.
O: Oh yes, the, uh, the Norwegian
Blue...What's,uh...What's wrong with it?
C: I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad. 'E's
dead, that's what's
wrong with it!
O: No, no, 'e's uh,...he's resting.
C: Look, matey, I know a dead parrot when I see one,
and I'm looking
at one right now.
O: No no he's not dead, he's, he's restin'! Remarkable
bird, the Norwegian
Blue, idn'it, ay? Beautiful plumage!
C: The plumage don't enter into it. It's stone dead.
O: Nononono, no, no! 'E's resting!
C: All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him up!
(shouting at the cage)
'Ello, Mister Polly Parrot! I've got a lovely fresh
cuttle fish for you if
you show...(owner hits the cage)
O: There, he moved!
C: No, he didn't, that was you hitting the cage!
O: I never!!
C: Yes, you did!
O: I never, never did anything...
C: (yelling and hitting the cage repeatedly) 'ELLO
POLLY!!!!!
Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine
o'clock alarm call!
(Takes parrot out of the cage and thumps its head on
the counter. Throws it up
in the air and watches it plummet to the floor.)
C: Now that's what I call a dead parrot.
O: No, no.....No, 'e's stunned!
C: STUNNED?!?
O: Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was wakin' up!
Norwegian Blues
stun easily, major.
C: Um...now look...now look, mate, I've definitely 'ad
enough of this.
That parrot is definitely deceased, and when I
purchased it not 'alf an hour
ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement was
due to it bein'
tired and shagged out following a prolonged squawk.
O: Well, he's...he's, ah...probably pining for the
fjords.
C: PININ' for the FJORDS?!?!?!? What kind of talk is
that?, look, why
did he fall flat on his back the moment I got 'im home?
O: The Norwegian Blue prefers keepin' on it's back!
Remarkable bird, id'nit,
squire? Lovely plumage!
C: Look, I took the liberty of examining that parrot
when I got it home,
and I discovered the only reason that it had been
sitting on its perch in
the first place was that it had been NAILED there.
(pause)
O: Well, o'course it was nailed there! If I hadn't
nailed that bird down,
it would have nuzzled up to those bars, bent 'em apart
with its beak, and
VOOM! Feeweeweewee!
C: "VOOM"?!? Mate, this bird wouldn't "voom" if you put
four million volts
through it! 'E's bleedin' demised!
O: No no! 'E's pining!
C: 'E's not pinin'! 'E's passed on! This parrot is no
more! He has ceased
to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E's a
stiff! Bereft
of life, 'e rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed 'im to
the perch 'e'd be
pushing up the daisies! 'Is metabolic processes are now
'istory! 'E's off
the twig! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is
mortal coil, run
down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir
invisibile!!
THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!!
(pause)
O: Well, I'd better replace it, then.
(he takes a quick peek behind the counter)
O: Sorry squire, I've had a look 'round the back of the
shop, and uh, we're
right out of parrots.
C: I see. I see, I get the picture.
O: I got a slug.
(pause)
C: (sweet as sugar) Pray, does it talk?
O: Nnnnot really.
C: WELL IT'S HARDLY A BLOODY REPLACEMENT, IS
IT?!!???!!?
O: Look, if you go to my brother's pet shop in Bolton,
he'll replace
the parrot for you.
C: Bolton, eh? Very well.
The customer leaves.
The customer enters the same pet shop. The owner is
putting on a false
moustache.
C: This is Bolton, is it?
O: (with a fake mustache) No, it's Ipswitch.
C: (looking at the camera) That's inter-city rail for
you.
The customer goes to the train station.
He addresses a man standing behind a desk marked
"Complaints".
C: I wish to complain, British-Railways Person.
Attendant: I DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS JOB, YOU KNOW!!!
C: I beg your pardon...?
A: I'm a qualified brain surgeon! I only do this job
because I like
being my own boss!
C: Excuse me, this is irrelevant, isn't it?
A: Yeah, well it's not easy to pad these python files
out to 200 lines,
you know.
C: Well, I wish to complain. I got on the Bolton train
and found myself
deposited here in Ipswitch.
A: No, this is Bolton.
C: (to the camera) The pet shop man's brother was
lying!!
A: Can't blame British Rail for that.
C: In that case, I shall return to the pet shop!
He does.
C: I understand this IS Bolton.
O: (still with the fake mustache) Yes?
C: You told me it was Ipswitch!
O: ...It was a pun.
C: (pause) A PUN?!?
O: No, no...not a pun...What's that thing that spells
the same backwards
as forwards?
C: (Long pause) A palindrome...?
O: Yeah, that's it!
C: It's not a palindrome! The palindrome of "Bolton"
would be "Notlob"!!
It don't work!!
O: Well, what do you want?
C: I'm not prepared to pursue my line of inquiry any
longer as I think
this is getting too silly!
Sergeant-Major: Quite agree, quite agree, too silly,
I'd like to have an argument, please.
Certainly, sir. Have you been here before?
No, this is my first time.
I see. Well, were you thinking of taking a five minute
argument or a course?
Well, what's the cost?
It's £1 for a five minute argument, but it's £8 for a
course of ten.
I think I'll take the five minutes and see how it
progresses.
Very well. Now, Mr. Hayward isn't free at the moment,
nor is Mr. Baker.
Here we go, Mr. Maynard, Room 12.
Thank you.
WHAT DO YOU WANT?!
Well, I was told outside--
DON'T GIVE ME THAT, YOU SNOTTY-FACED HEAP OF PARROT
DROPPINGS!
What?!
SHUT YOUR FESTERING GOB, YOU TIT!
YOUR TYPE REALLY MAKES ME PUKE, YOU PERVERT!
What are you doing?! I came in here for an argument!
Oh! I'm sorry, but this is abuse.
Oh, that explains it.
Yes, you want Room 12A. Next door.
Thank you.
Not at all. (Door shuts) Stupid git.
Is the right room for an argument?
I've told you once.
No, you didn't.
Yes, I did.
When?
Just now.
No, you didn't.
Yes, I did.
No, you didn't.
Excuse me. Is the five minute argument or the half
hour?
Oh, just the five minute.
Thank you. Anyway, I did tell you.
No, you most certainly did not.
Let's get one thing straight: I most definitely told
you.
No, you didn't.
Yes, I did.
No, you didn't.
Yes, I did.
No, you didn't.
Yes, I did.
This isn't an argument!
Yes, it is.
No, it isn't. It's just contradiction.
No, it isn't.
Yes, it is. You just contradicted me.
No, I didn't.
Yes, you did.
No, no, no.
You did just then.
That's ludicrous.
Oh, this is futile.
No, it isn't.
I came in here for a good argument.
No, you didn't. You came in here for an argument.
Well, argument isn't the same as contradiction.
Can be.
No, it can't.
An argument is a collective series of statements
intended to establish a proposition.
No, it isn't.
Yes, it is. It isn't just contradiction.
Look, if I argue with you. I must take a contrary
position.
But it isn't just saying No, it isn't.
Yes, it is.
No, it isn't. Argument's an intellectual protest,
contradiction just the automatic opposite of any
statement the other person makes.
No, it isn't.
Yes, it is.
Not at all.
Now, look-- (Bell dings)
Good morning.
What?
That's it. Good morning.
I was just getting interested.
I'm sorry, the five minutes is up.
That was not five minutes.
I'm afraid it was.
Oh, no, it wasn't. (Argument professional looks around
the room)
I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to argue anymore.
What?
If you want to go on arguing you'll have to pay for
another five minutes.
But that was not five minutes, just now. (Professional
whistles) Oh, come on.
If you want to continue arguing, you must pay for
another five minutes.
Oh, fine. Here.
Thank you.
Well?
Well what?
That was not five minutes, just then.
I told you, you have to pay.
I just paid.
No, you didn't.
Yes, I did.
No, you didn't.
I don't want to argue about that.
Well, you didn't pay.
Ah, but if I didn't pay, why are you arguing? Aha! Got
you.
No, you haven't.
Yes, I have. If you're arguing, I must have paid.
Not necessarily. I could be arguing in my spare time.
Oh, I've had enough of this.
MR. TID: Gentlemen, we have two basic suggestions for
the design of this--
GUMBYS: Up there!...
MR. TID: Gentlemen, we have two basic suggestions for
the design of this--
GUMBYS: Architects! Up there! Up ther--
MR. TID: Shut up! Gentlemen, we have two basic
suggestions--
GUMBYS: Boring! Boring! Boring! Boring!... (splash)
MR. TID: Gentlemen, we have two basic suggestions for
the design of this architectural block, the residential
block, and I thought it best that the architects
themselves came in to explain the advantages of both
designs.
(knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock
knock)
That must be the first architect now. Ah, yes. It's Mr.
Wiggin of Ironside and Malone.
MR. WIGGIN: Good morning, gentlemen. Uh, this is a
twelve-storey block combining classical neo-Georgian
features with all the advantages of modern design. Uhh,
the tenants arrive in the entrance hall here, are
carried along the corridor on a conveyor belt in
extreme comfort and past murals depicting Mediterranean
scenes, towards the rotating knives. The last twenty
feet of the corridor are heavily soundproofed. The
blood pours down these chutes and the mangled flesh
slurps into these large contai--
CITY GENT #1: Excuse me.
MR. WIGGIN: Hmm?
CITY GENT #1: Uh, did you say 'knives'?
MR. WIGGIN: Uh, rotating knives. Yes.
CITY GENT #2: Are you, uh, proposing to slaughter our
tenants?
MR. WIGGIN: Does that not fit in with your plans?
CITY GENT #1: No, it does not. Uh, we-- we wanted a...
simple... block of flats.
MR. WIGGIN: Ahh, I see. I hadn't, uh, correctly divined
your attitude...
CITY GENT #: Uh, huh huh.
MR. WIGGIN: ...towards your tenants.
CITY GENT #: Huh huh.
MR. WIGGIN: You see, I mainly design slaughter houses.
CITY GENT #1: Yes. Pity.
MR. WIGGIN: Mind you, this is a real beaut. I mean,
none of your blood caked on the walls and flesh flying
out of the windows inconveniencing passers-by with this
one. I mean, my life has been building up to this.
CITY GENT #2: Yes, and well done, huh, but we did want
a block of flats.
MR. WIGGIN: Well, may I ask you to reconsider? I mean,
you wouldn't regret it. Think of the tourist trade.
CITY GENT #1: No, no, it's-- it's just that we wanted a
block of flats and not an abattoir.
MR. WIGGIN: Yes, well, that's the sort of blinkered,
philistine pig ignorance I've come to expect from you
non-creative garbage. You sit there on your loathsome,
spotty behinds squeezing blackheads, not caring a
tinker's cuss for the struggling artist. You excrement!
You whining, hypocritical toadies, with your colour TV
sets and your Tony Jacklin golf clubs and your bleeding
Masonic secret handshakes! You wouldn't let me join,
would you, you blackballing bastards! Well, I wouldn't
become a freemason now if you went down on your lousy,
stinking knees and begged me!
CITY GENT #2: Well, we're sorry you feel like that, but
we, um, did... want... a block of flats. Nice, though,
the abattoir is. Huh huh.
MR. WIGGIN: Oh, p-p-p-p the abattoir.
(He dashes forward and kneels in front of them.)
That's not important, but if one of you could put in a
word for me, I'd love to be a freemason. Freemasonry
opens doors. I mean, um, I-- I was a bit on edge just
now, but-- but if I was a mason, I'd just sit at the
back and not get in anyone's way.
CITY GENT #1: Thank you.
MR. WIGGIN: I've got a second-hand apron.
CITY GENT #2: Thank you.
(Mr. Wiggin hurries to the door but stops...)
MR. WIGGIN: I nearly got in at Hendon.
Linkman: Oh, err, and Sheila has just..eh... come back
now with our projector from the shop, and some bacon,
too. Thank you, Sheila. So now, back to our feature
film, and, uh, some things for the week-end, thank you.
Now back to our feature film, set in a Boeing 787. -
A.D.
Father: One day, lad, all this will be yours!
Prince Herbert: What, the curtains?
Father: No. Not the curtains, lad. All that you can
see, stretched out over the hills and valleys of this
land! This'll be your kingdom, lad.
Herbert: But Mother--
Father: Father, lad. Father.
Herbert: B-- b-- but Father, I don't want any of that.
Father: Listen, lad. I built this kingdom up from
nothing. When I started here, all there was was swamp.
Other kings said I was daft to build a castle on a
swamp, but I built it all the same, just to show 'em.
It sank into the swamp. So, I built a second one. That
sank into the swamp. So, I built a third one. That
burned down, fell over, then sank into the swamp, but
the fourth one... stayed up! And that's what you're
gonna get, lad: the strongest castle in these islands.
Herbert: But I don't want any of that. I'd rather--
Father: Rather what?!
Herbert: I'd rather... [music] ...just... sing!
Father: Stop that! Stop that! You're not going into a
song while I'm here. Now listen, lad. In twenty
minutes, you're getting married to a girl whose father
owns the biggest tracts of open land in Britain.
Herbert: B-- but I don't want land.
Father: Listen, Alice,--
Herbert: Herbert.
Father: 'Erbert. We live in a bloody swamp. We need all
the land we can get.
Herbert: But-- but I don't like her.
Father: Don't like her?! What's wrong with her?! She's
beautiful.She's rich. She's got huge... tracts o' land!
Herbert: I know, but I want the-- the girl that I marry
to have... [music] ...a certain,... special...
something!
Father: Cut that out! Cut that out! Look, you're
marrying Princess Lucky, so you'd better get used to
the idea! [smack] Guards! Make sure the Prince doesn't
leave this room until I come and get him.
Guard #1: Not to leave the room even if you come and
get him.
Guard #2: Hic!
Father: No, no. Until I come and get him.
Guard #1: Until you come and get him, we're not to
enter the room.
Father: No, no. No. You stay in the room and make sure
he doesn't leave.
Guard #1: And you'll come and get him.
Guard #2: Hic!
Father: Right.
Guard #1: We don't need to do anything apart from just
stop him entering the room.
Father: No, no. Leaving the room.
Guard #1: Leaving the room. Yes. [sniff]
Father: All right?
Guard #1: Right.
Guard #2: Hic!
Father: Right.
Guard #1: Oh, if-- if-- if, uhh-- if-- if-- w-- ehh--
i-- if-- if we--
Father: Yes? What is it?
Guard #1: Oh, i-- if-- i-- oh--
Father: Look, it's quite simple.
Guard #1: Uh...
Father: You just stay here and make sure 'e doesn't
leave the room. All right?
Guard #2: Hic!
Father: Right.
Guard #1: Oh, I remember. Uhh, can he leave the room
with us?
Father: N-- no, no. No. You just keep him in here and
make sure he--
Guard #1: Oh, yes. We'll keep him in here, obviously,
but if he had to leave and we were with him--
Father: No, no, no, no. Just keep him in here--
Guard #1: Until you or anyone else--
Father: No, not anyone else. Just me.
Guard #1: Just you.
Guard #2: Hic!
Father: Get back.
Guard #1: Get back.
Father: All right?
Guard #1: Right. We'll stay here until you get back.
Guard #2: Hic!
Father: And, uh, make sure he doesn't leave.
Guard #1: What?
Father: Make sure 'e doesn't leave.
Guard #1: The Prince?
Father: Yes. Make sure 'e doesn't leave.
Guard #1: Oh, yes, of course.
Guard #2: Hic!
Guard #1: Ah. I thought you meant him. You know, it
seemed a bit daft me havin' to guard him when he's a
guard.
Father: Is that clear?
Guard #2: Hic!
Guard #1: Oh, quite clear. No problems.
Father: Right. Where are you going?
Guard #1: We're coming with you.
Father:No, no. I want you to stay here and make sure 'e
doesn't leave.
Guard #1: Oh, I see. Right.
Herbert: But Father!
Father: Shut your noise, you! And get that suit on!
[music] And no singing!
Guard #2: Hic!
Wapcaplet: Aah, come in, come in, Mr....Simpson. Aaah,
welcome to Mousebat, Follicle, Goosecreature,
Ampersand, Spong, Wapcaplet, Looseliver, Vendetta and
Prang!
Mr. Simpson: Thank you.
Wapcaplet: Do sit down--my name's Wapcaplet, Adrian
Wapcaplet...
Mr. Simpson: how'd'y'do.
Wapcaplet: Now, Mr. Simpson... Simpson, Simpson...
French, is it?
Mr. Simpson: No.
Wapcaplet: Aah. Now, I understand you want us to
advertise your washing powder.
Mr. Simpson: String.
Wapcaplet: String, washing powder, what's the
difference. We can sell anything.
Mr. Simpson: Good. Well I have this large quantity of
string, a hundred and twenty-two thousand miles of it
to be exact, which I inherited, and I thought if I
advertised it--
Wapcaplet: Of course! A national campaign. Useful
stuff, string, no trouble there.
Mr. Simpson: Ah, but there's a snag, you see. Due to
bad planning, the hundred and twenty-two thousand miles
is in three inch lengths. So it's not very useful.
Wapcaplet: Well, that's our selling point! "SIMPSON'S
INDIVIDUAL STRINGETTES!"
Mr. Simpson: What?
Wapcaplet: "THE NOW STRING! READY CUT, EASY TO HANDLE,
SIMPSON'S INDIVIDUAL EMPEROR STRINGETTES - JUST THE
RIGHT LENGTH!"
Mr. Simpson: For what?
Wapcaplet: Uhmm... "A MILLION HOUSEHOLD USES!"
Mr. Simpson: Such as?
Wapcaplet: Uhmm...Tying up very small parcels,
attatching notes to pigeons' legs, uh, destroying
household pests...
Mr. Simpson: Destroying household pests?! How?
Wapcaplet: Well, if they're bigger than a mouse, you
can strangle them with it, and if they're smaller than,
you flog them to death with it!
Mr. Simpson: Well surely!....
Wapcaplet: "DESTROY NINETY-NINE PERCENT OF KNOWN
HOUSEHOLD PESTS WITH PRE-SLICED, RUSTPROOF, EASY-TO-
HANDLE, LOW CALORIE SIMPSON'S INDIVIDUAL EMPEROR
STRINGETTES, FREE FROM ARTIFICIAL COLORING, AS USED IN
HOSPITALS!"
Mr. Simpson: 'Ospitals!?!
Wapcaplet: Have you ever in a Hospital where they
didn't have string?
Mr. Simpson: No, but it's only string!
Wapcaplet: ONLY STRING?! It's everything! It's...it's
waterproof!
Mr. Simpson: No it isn't!
Wapcaplet: All right, it's water resistant then!
Mr. Simpson: It isn't!
Wapcaplet: All right, it's water absorbent!
It's...Super Absorbent String! "ABSORB WATER TODAY WITH
SIMPSON'S INDIVIDUAL WATER ABSORB-A-TEX STRINGETTES!
AWAY WITH FLOODS!"
Mr. Simpson: You just said it was waterproof!
Wapcaplet: "AWAY WITH THE DULL DRUDGERY OF WORKADAY
TIDAL WAVES! USE SIMPSON'S INDIVIDUAL FLOOD
PREVENTERS!"
Mr. Simpson: You're mad!
Wapcaplet: Shut up, shut up, shut up! Sex, sex sex,
must get sex into it. Wait, I see a television
commercial- There's this nude woman in a bath holding a
bit of your string. That's great, great, but we need a
doctor, got to have a medical opinion. There's a nude
woman in a bath with a doctor--that's too sexy. Put an
archbishop there watching them, that'll take the curse
off it. Now, we need children and animals. There's two
kids admiring the string, and a dog admiring the
archbishop who's blessing the string.
Uhh...international flavor's missing...make the
archbishop Greek Orthodox. Why not Archbishop Macarios?
No, no, he's dead... nevermind, we'll get his brother,
Linkman: Jarrow - New Year's Eve 1911
Reg:
(Graham) Trouble at mill.
Lady Mountback:
(Carol) Oh no - what kind of trouble?
Reg: I don't know - Mr Wentworth told me to come and
say that there was trouble at the mill, that's all - I
didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition.
[JARRING CHORD]
(The door flies open and Cardinal Ximinez of Spain
enters, flanked by two junior cardinals. Cardinal
Biggles has goggles pushed over his forehead. Cardinal
Fang is just Cardinal Fang)
Ximinez:
(Michael) NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition! Our
weapon is suprise...surprise and fear...fear and
surprise.... Our two weapons are fear and
surprise...and ruthless efficiency.... Our three
weapons are fear, and surprise, and the ruthless
efficiency...and an almost fanatical devotion to the
Pope.... Amongst our weapons...are fear, surprise,
ruth... Amongst our weaponry...are such elements as
fear... I'll come in again.
(Exit and exeunt)
Reg: I didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition.
[JARRING CHORD]
(The cardinals burst in)
Ximinez: NOOOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition!
Amongst our weaponry are such diverse elements as:
fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency, and an almost
fanatical devotion to the Pope, and a night out with
the neighbour - Oh erh! It's no good, I'm sorry.
Cardinal Biggles - you'll have to say it.
Biggles:
(Terry J) What?
Ximinez: You'll have to say the bit about 'Our chief
weapons are ...'
Biggles: I couldn't say that...
(Ximinez bundles the cardinals outside again)
Reg: I didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition.
[JARRING CHORD]
(The cardinals enter)
Biggles: Er.... Nobody...um....
Ximinez: Expects...
Biggles: Expects... Nobody expects
the...um...Spanish...um...
Ximinez: Inquisition.
Biggles: Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition. In
fact, those who do expect -
Ximinez: Our chief weapons is...
Biggles: Our chief weapons is...um...er...
Ximinez: Surprise...
Biggles: Surprise and --
Ximinez: Stop. Stop. Stop there - All right! All right!
...our chief weapon is surprise...blah blah blah blah
blah. Now, Cardinal Fang, read the charges.
Fang:
(Terry G) One pound for a full sketch, 24 p for a
quickie.
Ximinez: What will you have?
JESUS CHRIST: How blest are the sorrowful. They shall
find consolation. How blest are those of gentle spirit.
They shall have the earth for their possession. How
blest are those who hunger and thirst to see right
prevail.
RANDOM: [cough cough]
MANDY: Speak up!
MAN: Shh.
BRIAN: Quiet, Mum.
MANDY: Well, I can't hear a thing.
MANDY: Let's go t' the stoning.
MR. BIG NOSE
Shh.
BRIAN: You can go to a stoning any time.
MANDY: Oh, come on, Brian.
MR. BIG NOSE: Will you be quiet?!
MRS. BIG NOSE: Don't pick your nose.
MR. BIG NOSE: I wasn't picking my nose. I was
scratching.
MRS. BIG NOSE: You was picking it, while you was
talking to that lady.
MR. BIG NOSE: I wasn't!
MRS. BIG NOSE: Leave it alone. Give it a rest.
MR. CHEEKY: Do you mind? I can't hear a word he's
saying.
MRS. BIG NOSE: Don't you 'do you mind' me. I was
talking to my husband.
MR. CHEEKY: Well, go and talk to him somewhere else. I
can't hear a bloody thing.
MR. BIG NOSE: Don't you swear at my wife.
MR. CHEEKY: I was only asking her to shut up, so I can
hear what he's saying, Big Nose.
MRS. BIG NOSE: Don't you call my husband 'Big Nose'!
MR. CHEEKY: Well, he has got a big nose.
GREGORY: Could you be quiet, please?
JESUS: They shall have the earth...
GREGORY: What was that?
JESUS: ...for their possession. How blest are those...
MR. CHEEKY: I don't know. I was too busy talking to Big
Nose.
JESUS: ...who hunger and thirst to see...
MAN #1: I think it was 'Blessed are the cheesemakers.'
JESUS: ...right prevail.
MRS. GREGORY: Ahh, what's so special about the
cheesemakers?
GREGORY: Well, obviously, this is not meant to be taken
literally. It refers to any manufacturers of dairy
products.
MR. CHEEKY: See? If you hadn't been going on, we'd have
heard that, Big Nose.
JESUS: How blest are those who...
MR. BIG NOSE: Hey. Say that once more; I'll smash your
bloody face in.
MRS. GREGORY: Ohh.
MR. CHEEKY: Better keep listening. Might be a bit about
'Blessed are the big noses.'
BRIAN: Oh, lay off him.
MR. CHEEKY: Oh, you're not so bad yourself, Conkface.
Where are you two from? Nose City?
MR. BIG NOSE: One more time, mate; I'll take you to the
fuckin' cleaners!
MRS. BIG NOSE: Language!
JESUS: ...hunger and thirst to see...
MRS. BIG NOSE: And don't pick your nose.
JESUS: ...right prevail.
MR. BIG NOSE: I wasn't going to pick my nose. I was
going to thump him!
MAN #2: You hear that? Blessed are the Greek.
GREGORY: The Greek?
MAN #2: Mmm. Well, apparently, he's going to inherit
the earth.
GREGORY: Did anyone catch his name?
MRS. BIG NOSE: You're not going to thump anybody.
MR. BIG NOSE: I'll thump him if he calls me 'Big Nose'
again.
MR. CHEEKY: Oh, shut up, Big Nose.
MR. BIG NOSE: Ah! All right. I warned you. I really
will slug you so hard--
MRS. BIG NOSE: Oh, it's the meek! Blessed are the meek!
Oh, that's nice, isn't it? I'm glad they're getting
something, 'cause they have a hell of a time.
MR. CHEEKY: Listen. I'm only telling the truth. You
have got a very big nose.
MR. BIG NOSE: Hey. Your nose is going to be three foot
wide across your face by the time I've finished with
you!
MAN #1 and
MAN #2: Shhh.
MR. CHEEKY: Well, who hit yours, then? Goliath's big
brother?
MR. BIG NOSE: Oh. Right. That's your last warning.
MRS. GREGORY: Oh, do pipe down.
[MR. BIG NOSE slugs MRS. GREGORY]
[MR. BIG NOSE and GREGORY fight]
GREGORY: Oh!
MRS. GREGORY: Awa?
MR. BIG NOSE: Silly bitch. Get in the way on me?...
MRS. GREGORY: Ow!...
MR. BIG NOSE: Break it up-- oh. Oh!
MANDY: Oh, come on. Let's go to the stoning.
BRIAN: All right.
[music]
FRANCIS: Well, blessed is just about everyone with a
vested interest in the status quo, as far as I can
tell, Reg.
REG: Yeah. Well, what Jesus blatantly fails to
appreciate is that it's the meek who are the problem.
JUDITH: Yes, yes. Absolutely, Reg. Yes, I see.
MANDY: Oh, come on, Brian, or they'll have stoned him
before we get there.
BRIAN: All right.
MR. CHEEKY: Hey. Get off her. That's disgusting. Stop
trying to do that. Hey, officer, intervene here.
Attempted rape going on. It's the chap with the big
[trumpets]
CROWD: [cheering]
PILATE: People of Jewusalem!
CROWD: [chuckling]
PILATE: Wome is your fwiend.
CROWD: [laughing]
PILATE: To pwove our fwiendship, it is customawy at
this time to welease a wongdoer fwom our pwisons.
CROWD: [laughing]
GUARD #3: [chuckling]
PILATE: Whom would you have me welease?
BOB HOSKINS: Welease Woger!
CROWD: Yes! Welease Woger! Welease Woger! [laughing]
PILATE: Vewy well. I shall welease Woger!
CROWD: [cheering]
CENTURION: Sir, uh, we don't have a 'Woger', sir.
PILATE: What?
CENTURION: Uh, we don't have anyone of that name, sir.
PILATE: Ah. We have no 'Woger'!
CROWD: Ohhhhh!
BOB: Well, what about Wodewick, then?
CROWD: Yes! Welease Wodewick! Welease Wodewick!
PILATE: Centuwion, why do they titter so?
CENTURION: Just some, uh, Jewish joke, sir.
PILATE: Are they... wagging me?
CENTURION: Oh, no, sir!
GUARD #3: [chuckling]
PILATE: Vewy well. I shall welease... Wodewick!
CROWD: [laughing]
CENTURION: Sir, we don't have a 'Roderick' either.
PILATE: No 'Woger'? No 'Wodewick'?
CENTURION: Sorry, sir.
PILATE: Who is this 'Wod'--
GUARD #1: [chuckle]
PILATE: Who is the 'Wodewick' to whom you wefer?
BOB: He's a wobber!
CROWD: [laughing]
MAN: And a wapist!
CROWD: [laughing]
WOMAN: And a pickpocket!
CROWD: Yeah! Ahh, no! No! Shh! Shh!...
PILATE: He sounds a notowious cwiminal.
CENTURION: We haven't got him, sir. Mm hm.
PILATE: Do we have anyone in our pwisons at all?
CENTURION: Oh, yes, sir. We've got, uh, 'Samson', sir.
PILATE: Samson?
CENTURION: Samson the Sadducee Strangler, sir. Uh,
Silus the Syrian Assassin. Uh, several seditious
scribes from Caesarea. Uhhh, sixty- seven seers from--
BIGGUS: Let me thpeak to them, Pontiuth!
CENTURION: Oh, no. Oh.
PILATE: Ah. Good idea, Biggus.
BIGGUS: Thitizens! We have Thamthon the Thadduthee
Thtrangler, Thilus...
CROWD: [laughing]
BIGGUS: ...the Athyrian Athathin, theveral theditiouth
A customer enters a pet shop.
Customer: 'Ello, I wish to register a complaint.
(The owner does not respond.)
C: 'Ello, Miss?
Owner: What do you mean "miss"?
C: I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a
complaint!
O: We're closin' for lunch.
C: Never mind that, my lad. I wish to complain about
this parrot what I purchased not half an hour ago from
this very boutique.
O: Oh yes, the, uh, the Norwegian
Blue...What's,uh...What's wrong with it?
C: I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad. 'E's
dead, that's what's wrong with it!
O: No, no, 'e's uh,...he's resting.
C: Look, matey, I know a dead parrot when I see one,
and I'm looking at one right now.
O: No no he's not dead, he's, he's restin'! Remarkable
bird, the Norwegian Blue, idn'it, ay? Beautiful
plumage!
C: The plumage don't enter into it. It's stone dead.
O: Nononono, no, no! 'E's resting!
C: All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him up!
(shouting at the cage)
'Ello, Mister Polly Parrot! I've got a lovely fresh
cuttle fish for you if you show...(owner hits the cage)
O: There, he moved!
C: No, he didn't, that was you hitting the cage!
O: I never!!
C: Yes, you did!
O: I never, never did anything...
C: (yelling and hitting the cage repeatedly) 'ELLO
POLLY!!!!!
Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine
o'clock alarm call!
(Takes parrot out of the cage and thumps its head on
the counter. Throws it up in the air and watches it
plummet to the floor.)
C: Now that's what I call a dead parrot.
O: No, no.....No, 'e's stunned!
C: STUNNED?!?
O: Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was wakin' up!
Norwegian Blues stun easily, major.
C: Um...now look...now look, mate, I've definitely 'ad
enough of this. That parrot is definitely deceased, and
when I purchased it not 'alf an hour ago, you assured
me that its total lack of movement was due to it bein'
tired and shagged out following a prolonged squawk.
O: Well, he's...he's, ah...probably pining for the
fjords.
C: PININ' for the FJORDS?!?!?!? What kind of talk is
that?, look, why did he fall flat on his back the
moment I got 'im home?
O: The Norwegian Blue prefers kippin' on it's back!
Remarkable bird, id'nit, squire? Lovely plumage!
C: Look, I took the liberty of examining that parrot
when I got it home, and I discovered the only reason
that it had been sitting on its perch in the first
place was that it had been NAILED there.
(pause)
O: Well, o'course it was nailed there! If I hadn't
nailed that bird down, it would have nuzzled up to
those bars, bent 'em apart with its beak, and VOOM!
Feeweeweewee!
C: "VOOM"?!? Mate, this bird wouldn't "voom" if you put
four million volts through it! 'E's bleedin' demised!
O: No no! 'E's pining!
C: 'E's not pinin'! 'E's passed on! This parrot is no
more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone to
meet 'is maker!
'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If you
hadn't nailed 'im to the perch 'e'd be pushing up the
daisies!
'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the
twig!
'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal
coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin'
choir invisibile!!
THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!!
(pause)
O: Well, I'd better replace it, then.
(he takes a quick peek behind the counter)
O: Sorry squire, I've had a look 'round the back of the
shop, and uh, we're right out of parrots.
C: I see. I see, I get the picture.
O: I got a slug.
(pause)
C: (sweet as sugar) Pray, does it talk?
O: Not really...
C: Well, it's hardly a bloody replacement, is it?!?!
O: Do you want to come back to my place?
Dead Parrot Sketch
The cast:
MR. PRALINE
John Cleese
SHOP OWNER
Michael Palin
The sketch:
A customer enters a pet shop.
Mr. Praline: 'Ello, I wish to register a complaint.
(The owner does not respond.)
Mr. Praline: 'Ello, Miss?
Owner: What do you mean "miss"?
Mr. Praline: I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a
complaint!
Owner: We're closin' for lunch.
Mr. Praline: Never mind that, my lad. I wish to
complain about this parrot what I purchased not half an
hour ago from this very boutique.
Owner: Oh yes, the, uh, the Norwegian
Blue...What's,uh...What's wrong with it?
Mr. Praline: I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my
lad. 'E's dead, that's what's wrong with it!
Owner: No, no, 'e's uh,...he's resting.
Mr. Praline: Look, matey, I know a dead parrot when I
see one, and I'm looking at one right now.
Owner: No no he's not dead, he's, he's restin'!
Remarkable bird, the Norwegian Blue, idn'it, ay?
Beautiful plumage!
Mr. Praline: The plumage don't enter into it. It's
stone dead.
Owner: Nononono, no, no! 'E's resting!
Mr. Praline: All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake
him up! (shouting at the cage) 'Ello, Mister Polly
Parrot! I've got a lovely fresh cuttle fish for you if
show...
(owner hits the cage)
Owner: There, he moved!
Mr. Praline: No, he didn't, that was you hitting the
cage!
Owner: I never!!
Mr. Praline: Yes, you did!
Owner: I never, never did anything...
Mr. Praline: (yelling and hitting the cage repeatedly)
'ELLO POLLY!!!!! Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing!
This is your nine o'clock alarm call!
(Takes parrot out of the cage and thumps its head on
the counter. Throws it up in the air and watches it
plummet to the floor.)
Mr. Praline: Now that's what I call a dead parrot.
Owner: No, no.....No, 'e's stunned!
Mr. Praline: STUNNED?!?
Owner: Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was wakin' up!
Norwegian Blues stun easily, major.
Mr. Praline: Um...now look...now look, mate, I've
definitely 'ad enough of this. That parrot is
definitely deceased, and when I purchased it not 'alf
an hour
ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement was
due to it bein' tired and shagged out following a
prolonged squawk.
Owner: Well, he's...he's, ah...probably pining for the
fjords.
Mr. Praline: PININ' for the FJORDS?!?!?!? What kind of
talk is that?, look, why did he fall flat on his back
the moment I got 'im home?
Owner: The Norwegian Blue prefers keepin' on it's back!
Remarkable bird, id'nit, squire? Lovely plumage!
Mr. Praline: Look, I took the liberty of examining that
parrot when I got it home, and I discovered the only
reason that it had been sitting on its perch in the
first place was that it had been NAILED there.
(pause)
Owner: Well, o'course it was nailed there! If I hadn't
nailed that bird down, it would have nuzzled up to
those bars, bent 'em apart with its beak, and
VOOM! Feeweeweewee!
Mr. Praline: "VOOM"?!? Mate, this bird wouldn't "voom"
if you put four million volts through it! 'E's bleedin'
demised!
Owner: No no! 'E's pining!
Mr. Praline: 'E's not pinin'! 'E's passed on! This
parrot is no more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired
and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E's a stiff! Bereft of
life, 'e
rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed 'im to the perch
'e'd be pushing up the daisies! 'Is metabolic processes
are now 'istory! 'E's off the twig! 'E's kicked the
bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the
curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!! THIS
IS AN EX-PARROT!!
(pause)
Owner: Well, I'd better replace it, then. (he takes a
quick peek behind the counter) Sorry squire, I've had a
look 'round the back of the shop, and uh,
we're right out of parrots.
Mr. Praline: I see. I see, I get the picture.
Owner: I got a slug.
(pause)
Mr. Praline: Pray, does it talk?
Owner: Nnnnot really.
Mr. Praline: WELL IT'S HARDLY A BLOODY REPLACEMENT, IS
IT?!!???!!?
Owner: N-no, I guess not. (gets ashamed, looks at his
feet)
Mr. Praline: Well.
(pause)
Owner: (quietly) D'you.... d'you want to come back to
my place?
Praline:
(John) I wish to register a complaint.
'Ello, Miss?
Shopkeeper:
(Michael) What do you mean "miss"?
Praline: (pause) I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to
make a complaint!
Shopkeeper: Sorry, we're closin' for lunch.
Praline: Never mind that, my lad. I wish to complain
about this parrot what I purchased not half an hour ago
from this very boutique.
Shopkeeper: Oh yes, the, uh, the Norwegian
Blue...What's,uh...What's wrong with it?
Praline: I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad.
'E's dead, that's what's wrong with it!
Shopkeeper: No, no, 'e's uh,...he's resting.
Praline: Look, matey, I know a dead parrot when I see
one, and I'm looking at one right now.
Shopkeeper: No no he's eh he's not dead, he's, he's
restin', y'know! Remarkable bird, the Norwegian Blue,
idn'it, ay? Beautiful plumage!
Praline: The plumage don't enter into it. 'E's stone
dead.
Shopkeeper: No, no! He's... he's resting!
Praline: All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him
up! (shouting at the cage) 'Ello, Mister Polly Parrot!
I've got a nice fresh banana for you if you...
(shopkeeper hits the cage)
Shopkeeper: There, he moved!
Praline: No, he didn't, you hit the cage!
Shopkeeper: I never!!
Praline: Yes, you did!
Shopkeeper: I never, never did anything...
Praline: (yelling and hitting the cage repeatedly)
'ELLO POLLY!!!!! Wakey! Wakey! This is your nine
o'clock alarm call!
(Takes parrot out of the cage and thumps its head on
the counter. Throws it up in the air and watches it
plummet to the floor.)
Now that's what I call a dead parrot.
Shopkeeper: No, no.....'E's stunned!
Praline: STUNNED?!?
Shopkeeper: Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was
wakin' up! Norwegian Blues stun easily.
Praline: Now look! Don't play the slippery eel with me.
That parrot is definitely deceased, and when I
purchased it not 'alf an hour ago, you assured me that
its total lack of movement was due to it bein' tired
and shagged out after a long squawk.
Shopkeeper: Well, he's..ah....he's probably pining for
the fjords.
Praline: PININ' for the FJORDS?!?!?!? What kind of talk
is that?, look, why did he fall flat on his back the
moment I got 'im home?
Shopkeeper: The Norwegian Blue prefers kipping on it's
back! Remarkable bird, id'nit, eh, major? Beautiful
plumage!
Praline: Look, Tosh, I took the liberty of examining
that bird when I got it home, and I discovered the only
reason that it had been sitting on its perch in the
first place was that it had been NAILED there.
(pause)
Shopkeeper: Well, o'course it was nailed there! Listen,
if I hadn't nailed that bird down, it would have
muscled those bars, bent 'em apart with its little
pecker, and VOOM!
Praline: "VOOM"?!?
Shopkeeper: Voom!
Praline: Mate, this parrot wouldn't "voom" if you put
four million volts through it! 'E's bleedin' demised!
Shopkeeper: No no! 'E's pining!
Praline: 'E's not pinin'! 'E's passed on! This parrot
is no more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone
to meet 'is maker! 'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e
rests in peace, if you hadn't nailed 'im to the perch
'e'd be pushing up the daisies! 'E's of the twig. 'E's
curled up his tootsies, 'e's shuffled off this mortal
coil. 'E's run down the curtain and joined the bleedin'
choir invisibile!! 'E fucking snuffed it! Vis-a-vis the
metabolic processes, 'e's had 'is lot! All statements
to the effect of this parrot is still a going concern,
are from now on inoperative. THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!!
(pause)
Shopkeeper: Well.
Well, I'd better replace it, then. (he takes a quick
peek behind the counter)
Praline: [mumbling profanities]
What's the news?
Shopkeeper: I've had a look 'round the back of the
shop, and uh, we're right out of parrots.
Praline: I see. I see. I get the picture.
Shopkeeper: (pause) I got a slug.
(pause)
Praline: Does it talk?
Shopkeeper: Yep.
1st Announcer (Eric Idle): And now it's time for "Novel
Writing" which today comes from the west country from
Dorset.
2nd Announcer (Michael Palin): (sound of a crowd in the
background) Hello and welcome to Dorchester where a
very good crowd has turned out to watch local boy
Thomas Hardy write his new novel "The Return of the
Native" on this very pleasant July morning. This will
be his eleventh novel and the fifth of the very popular
Wessex novels….and here he comes! Here comes Hardy
walking out toward his desk, he looks confident, he
looks relaxed; very much the man in form as he
acknowledges this very good natured Bank Holiday crowd.
And the crowd goes quiet now as Hardy settles himself
down at the desk, body straight, shoulders relaxed, pen
held lightly but firmly in the right hand, he dips the
pen...in the ink and he’s off! Its the first word, but
it is not a word….. oh no, its a doodle way up on top
of the left hand margin. It is a piece of meaningless
scribble, and he’s signed his name underneath it... oh
dear, what a disappointing start, but he is off again
and he goes the first word of Thomas Hardy’s new novel,
at 10:35 on this very lovely morning, it’s three
letters it’s the definite article and it’s THE, Dennis
Dennis (Graham Chapman): Well, this is true to form; no
surprises there. He started five of his eleven novels
to date with the definite article. We’ve had two of
them with 'it', there's been one 'but', two 'at's, one
'on' and a 'Delores'. Oh, that, of course, was never
published.
2nd Announcer: I'm sorry to interrupt you there,
Dennis, but he’s crossed it out. Thomas Hardy on the
first day of his new novel has crossed out the only
word he has written so far and he's gazing off into
space….Ohh! Oh dear, he’s signed his name again.
Dennis: It looks like Tess of the d'Urbervilles all
over again.
2nd Announcer: But he's..No..he's down again and
writing, Dennis. He’s written THE again, he’s crossed
it out again and he has written A and there is a second
word coming up straight away, it's SAT, a sat, doesn’t
make sense, a sat, a Saturday, it is a SATURDAY and the
crowd are loving it. They're really enjoying this novel
and it’s AFTERNOON, a Saturday afternoon, is a
confident beginning and he is straight on to the next
word and it's IN, a Saturday afternoon, IN, in, in,…no,
NOVEMBER, November's spelt wrong, he has left out the
second E, but he’s not going back! It looks as though
he is going for the sentence and it is the first verb
coming up, the first verb of the novel and it's WAS,
and the crowd are going wild! A Saturday afternoon in
November was, and a long word here , appro, is it
approval, no, it’s APPROACHING, a Saturday afternoon in
November was approaching and he has done the definite
article THE again and he is writing fluently, easily
with flowing strokes of the pen as he comes up to the
middle of this first sentence and with this eleventh
novel well underway and the prospect of a good day's
From Monty Python's "Live at the Hollywood Bowl"
Transcribed by John Daley jdaley@picasso.ocis.temple.edu
Immanuel Kant was a real pissant who was very rarely stable,
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar who could think you under the table,
David Hume could out-consume Schopenhauer and Hegel,
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine who was just as schloshed as Schlegel.
There's nothing Nietzsche couldn't teach ya 'bout the turning of the wrist,
Socrates himself was permanently pissed...
John Stuart Mill, of his own free will, with half a pint of shandy was
particularly ill,
Plato, they say, could stick it away, half a crate of whiskey every day,
Aristotle, Aristotle was a beggar for the bottle,
Hobbes was fond of his dram,
And Rene Descartes was a drunken fart, "I drink therefore I am."
Yes, Socrates himself is particularly missed;
I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK
I sleep all night and I work all day
(He's a lumberjack and he's OK
He sleeps all night and he works all day)
I cut down trees, I eat my lunch
I go to the lavat'ry
On Wednesdays I go shopping
And have buttered scones for tea
(He cuts down trees...)
(He's a lumberjack...)
I cut down trees, I skip and jump
I love to press wild flow'rs
I put on women's clothing
And hang around in bars
(He cuts down trees...)
(He's a lumberjack...)
I cut down trees, I wear high heels
Suspenders and a bra
I wish I'd been a girlie
Just like my dear papar
(He cuts down trees...)
I bet you they won't play this song on the radio.
I bet you they won't play this new ******ng song.
It's not that it's **** or **** controversial
just that the ****ng words are awfully strong.
You can't say ****** on the radio,
or *****
or *****
or *****
You can't even say I'd like to ***** you someday
unless you're a doctor with a very large *****.
So I bet you they won't play this song on the radio.
I bet you they damn *****ng wellprogram it.
I bet you their ****** program directors who think it's a
FIRST VILLAGER
We have found a witch. May we burn her?
A Witch! Burn her!
BEDEVERE
How do you know she is a witch?
She looks like one. Yes, she does.
BEDEVERE
Bring her forward.
They bring her forward - a beautiful YOUNG GIRL (MISS
ISLINGTON) dressed up
as a witch.
WITCH
I am not a witch. I am not a witch.
BEDEVERE
But you are dressed as one
WITCH
They dressed me up like this.
We didn't, we didn't!
WITCH
This is not my nose, It is a false one.
BEDEVERE takes her nose off.
BEDEVERE
Well?
FIRST VILLAGER
... Well, we did do the nose.
BEDEVERE
The nose?
FIRST VILLAGER
And the hat. But she is a witch.
A witch, a witch, burn her!
BEDEVERE
Did you dress her up like this?
FIRST VILLAGER
... Um ... Yes ... no ... a bit ... yes... she has got
a wart.
BEDEVERE
Why do you think she is a witch?
SECOND VILLAGER
She turned me into a newt.
BEDEVERE
A newt?
SECOND VILLAGER
(After looking at himself for some time)
I got better.
Burn her anyway.
BEDEVERE
Quiet! Quiet! There are ways of telling whether she is
a witch.
ARTHUR and PATSY ride up at this point and watch what
follows with interest
There are? Tell up. What are they, wise Sir Bedevere?
BEDEVERE
Tell me ... what do you do with witches?
Burn them.
BEDEVERE
And what do you burn, apart from witches?
FOURTH VILLAGER
... Wood?
BEDEVERE
So why do witches burn?
SECOND VILLAGE
(pianissimo)
... Because they're made of wood...?
BEDEVERE
Good.
PEASANTS stir uneasily then come round to this
conclusion.
I see. Yes, of course.
BEDEVERE
So how can we tell if she is made of wood?
FIRST VILLAGER
Make a bridge out of her.
BEDEVERE
Ah ... but can you not also make bridges out of stone?
Ah. Yes, of course ... um ... err ...
BEDEVERE
Does wood sink in water?
No, no, It floats. Throw her in the pond Tie weights on
her. To the pond.
BEDEVERE
Wait. Wait ... tell me, what also floats on water?
Bread? No, no, no. Apples .... gravy ... very small
rocks ...
ARTHUR
A duck.
They all turn and look at ARTHUR. BEDEVERE looks up
very impressed.
BEDEVERE
Exactly. So... logically ...
FIRST VILLAGER
(beginning to pick up the thread)
If she ... weighs the same as a duck ... she's made of
wood.
BEDEVERE
And therefore?
A witch! ... A duck! A duck! Fetch a duck.
FOURTH VILLAGER
Here is a duck, Sir Bedevere.
BEDEVERE
We shall use my largest scales.
He leads them a few yards to a very strange contraption
indeed, made of wood and rope and leather. They put the
GIRL in one pan and the duck
in another. Each pan is supported by a wooden stave.
BEDEVERE checks each pan then ... ARTHUR looks on with
interest.
BEDEVERE
Remove the supports.
Two PEASANTS knock them away with sledge hammers. The
GIRL and the duck swing slightly but balance perfectly.
A witch! A witch!
WITCH
It's a fair cop.
Burn her! Burn her! Let's make her into a ladder.
The VILLAGERS drag the girl away, leaving ARTHUR and
Michael: Ahh.. Very passable, this, very passable.
Graham: Nothing like a good glass of Chateau de
Chassilier, eh Josiah?
Terry J: You're right there Obediah.
Eric: Who'd a thought thirty years ago we'd all be
sittin' here drinking Chateau de Chassilier?
Michael: Aye. In them days, we'd a' been glad to have
the price of a cup o' tea.
Graham: A cup o' COLD tea.
Eric: Without milk or sugar.
Terry J: OR tea!
Michael: In a cracked cup, and all.
Eric: We never had a cup. We used to have to drink out
of a rolled up newspaper.
Graham: The best WE could manage was to suck on a piece
of damp cloth.
Terry J: But you know, we were happy in those days,
though we were poor.
Michael: Aye. BECAUSE we were poor. My old Dad used to
say to me, "Money doesn't buy you happiness."
Eric: 'E was right. I was happier then and I had
NOTHIN'. We used to live in this tiny old house, with
greaaaaat big holes in the roof.
Graham: House? You were lucky to have a HOUSE! We used
to live in one room, all twenty-six of us, no
furniture. Half the floor was missing and we were all
huddled together in one corner for fear of FALLING!
Terry J: You were lucky to have a ROOM! We used to have
to live in a corridor!
Michael: Ohhhh we used to DREAM of livin' in a
corridor! Woulda' been a palace to us. We used to live
in an old water tank on a rubbish tip. We got woken up
every morning by having a load of rotting fish dumped
all over us! House!? Hmph.
Eric: Well when I say "house" it was only a hole in the
ground covered by a sheet of tarpolin, it was a house
to US.
Graham: We were evicted from our hole in the ground; we
had to go and live in a lake!
Terry J: You were lucky to have a LAKE! There were a
hundred and fifty of us living in a shoebox in the
middle of the road.
Michael: Cardboard box?
Terry J: Aye.
Michael: You were lucky. We lived for three months in a
paper bag in a septic tank. We used to have to get up
at six in the morning, clean the paper bag, eat a crust
of stale bread, go to work down the mill for fourteen
hours a day week in week out, for sixpence a week. When
we got home, out Dad would thrash us to sleep with his
belt!
Graham: Luxury! We used to have to get out of the lake
at six o'clock in the morning, clean the lake, eat a
handful of hot gravel, work twenty hour a day at the
mill for tuppence a month, come home, and Dad would
thrash us to sleep with a broken bottle, if we were
LUCKY!
Terry J: Well of course, we had it tough. We used to
have to get up out of the shoebox at twelve o'clock at
night, and LICK the road clean with our tongues. We had
half two bits of cold gravel, worked twenty-four hours
a day at the mill for sixpence every four years, and
when we got home, our Dad would slice us in two with a
bread knife.
Eric: Right. I had to get up in the morning at ten
o'clock at night, half an hour before I went to bed,
drink a cup of sulphuric acid, work twenty-nine hours a
day down mill, and pay mill owner for permission to
come to work, and when we got home, our Dad and our
Mother would kill us, and dance about on our graves
singing "Hallelujah."
Michael: And you try and tell the young people today
that... and they won't believe ya'.
Praline: (whistles a bit, then) Hello. I would like to
buy a fish license, please.
Postal clerk: A what?
Praline: A license for my pet fish, Eric.
Clerk: How did you know my name was Eric?
Praline: No, no, no! My fish's name is Eric. Eric fish.
He's an halibut.
Clerk: What?
Praline: He is an halibut.
Clerk: You've got a pet halibut?
Praline: Yes, I chose him out of thousands. I didn't
like the others, they were all too flat.
Clerk: You must be a loony.
Praline: I am not a loony. Why should I be tarred with
the epithet 'loony' merely because I have a pet
halibut? I've heard tell that Sir Gerald Nabarro has a
pet prawn called Simon - you wouldn't call him a loony!
Furthermore Dawn Pathorpe, the lady show jumper, had a
clam called Stafford, after the late chancellor. Alan
Bullock has two pikes, both called Chris, and Marcel
Proust had an 'addock! So if you're calling the author
of 'A la recherche de temps perdu' a loony, I shall
have to ask you to step outside!
Clerk: All right, all right, all right. A license?
Praline: Yes!
Clerk: For a fish.
Praline: Yes!
Clerk: You *are* a loony.
Praline: Look, it's a bleeding pet, isn't it? I've got
a license for me pet dog Eric, I've got a license for
me pet cat Eric.
Clerk: You don't need a license for your cat.
Praline: I bleedin' well do and I've got one! Can't be
caught out there!
Clerk: There is no such thing as a bloody Cat license.
Praline: Yes there is.
Clerk: No there isn't.
Praline: Is!
Clerk: Isn't!
Praline: Is!
Clerk: Isn't!
Praline: Is!
Clerk: Isn't!
Praline: Is!
Clerk: Isn't!
Praline: Is!
Clerk: Isn't!
Praline: Is!
Clerk: Isn't!
Praline: What's that then?
Clerk: This is a dog license with the word 'dog'
crossed out and 'cat' written in, in crayon.
Praline: Man didn't have the right form.
Clerk: What man?
Praline: The man from the cat detector van.
Clerk: The loony detector van, you mean.
Praline: Look, it's people like you what cause unrest.
Clerk: What cat detector van?
Praline: The cat detector van from the Ministry of
Housinge.
Clerk: Housinge?
Praline: It was spelt like that on the van. I'm very
observant. I never seen so many bleedin' aerials. The
man said their equipment could pinpoint a purr at four
hundred yards, and Eric being such a happy cat was a
piece of cake.
Clerk: How much did you pay for this?
Praline: Sixty quid and eight for the fruit-bat.
Clerk: What fruit-bat?
Praline: Eric the fruit-bat.
Clerk: Are all your pets called Eric?
Praline: There's nothing so odd about that. Kemel
Attaturk had an entire menagerie called Abdul.
Clerk: No he didn't.
Praline: Did!
Clerk: Didn't!
Praline: Did, did, did, did, did and did!
Clerk: Oh all right.
Praline: Spoken like a gentleman, sir. Now, are you
going to give me a fish license?
Clerk: I promise you that there is no such thing. You
don't need one.
NB: The TV Version continues.....the album version
continues below
Praline: Then I would like a statement to that effect
signed by the Lord Mayor.
(Fanfare of trumpets. Mayor gorgeously dressed with
dignitaries enters flanked by trumpeters.)
Clerk: You're in luck.
(In long shot now. The Mayor, who is nine foot high,
and dignitaries approach a startled Praline. Organ
music below a reverent voice over)
********** TV Version finishes - continuation of Album
Version **********
Praline: In that case give me a bee license.
Clerk: A license for your pet bee.
Praline: Correct.
Clerk: Called Eric? Eric the bee?
Praline: No.
Clerk: No?
Praline: No, Eric the half bee. He had an accident.
Clerk: You're off your chump.
Praline: Look, if you intend by that utilization of an
obscure colloquialism to imply that my sanity is not up
to scratch, or even to deny the semi-existence of my
little chum Eric the half bee, I shall have to ask you
to listen to this. Take it away, Eric the orchestra-
Linkman: Hello, good evening and welcome to Election
Night Special. There's tremendous excitement here at
the moment and we should be getting the first results
through any moment now. We're not sure where it will be
from, it might be Leicester or from West Byfleet, the
polling's been quite heavy in both areas. Ah, I'm just
getting... I'm just getting... a buzzing noise in my
left ear. Urgh, argh! (removes insect and stamps on
it). And now let's go straight over to Leicester.
Norman: And it's a straight fight here at Leicester and
we're expecting the result any moment now. There with
the Returning Officer is Arthur Smith the sensible
candidate and next to him is Jethro Q. Walrustitty the
silly candidate with his agent and his silly wife.
Officer: Here is the result for Leicester. Arthur J.
Smith...
Linkman: (Sensible Party)
Officer: ...30,612. (applause)
Jethro Q. Bunn Whackett Buzzard Stubble and Boot
Walrustitty...
Linkman: (Silly Party)
Officer: ...33,108. (applause)
Linkman: Well there we have the first result of the
election and the Silly party has held Leicester.
Norman.
Norman: Well pretty much as I predicted, except that
the Silly party won. Er, I think this is largely due to
the number of votes cast. Gerald.
Gerald: Well there's a big swing here to the Silly
Party, but how big a swing I'm not going to tell you.
Norman: I think one should point out that in this
constituency since the last election a lot of very
silly people have moved into new housing estates with
the result that a lot of sensible voters have moved
further down the road the other side of number er, 29.
Linkman: Well I can't add anything to that. Colin?
Colin: Can I just say that this is the first time I've
been on television?
Linkman: No I'm sorry, there isn't time, we're just
going straight over to Luton.
Gerald: Well here at Luton it's a three-cornered
contest between, from left to right, Alan Jones
(Sensible Party), Tarquin Fin-tim-lin-bin-lim-bim-bim-
bim-bim-bus-stop-F'tang-F'tang-Olé-Biscuitbarrel (Silly
Party), and Kevin Phillips-Bong, who is running on the
Slightly Silly ticket. And here's the result.
Woman: Alan Jones...
Linkman: (Sensible)
Woman: ...9,112.
Kevin Phillips-Bong...
Linkman: (Slightly Silly)
Woman: Nought.
Tarquin Fin-tim-lin-bin-whin-bim-lin-bim-bus-stop-
F'tang-F'tang-Olé-Biscuitbarrel...
Linkman: (Silly)
Woman: 12,441. (applause)
Linkman: Well there you have it, the first result of
the election as the Silly Party take Luton. Norman.
Norman: Well this is a very significant result. Luton,
normally a very sensible constituency with a high
proportion of people who aren't a bit silly, has gone
completely ga-ga.
Linkman: And we've just heard that James Gilbert has
with him the winning Silly candidate at Luton.
James: Tarquin, are you pleased with this result?
Tarquin: Ho yus, me old beauty, I should say so. (Silly
noises including a goat bleating).
Linkman: And do we have the swing at Luton?
Gerald: Er... no.
(pause)
Linkman: Right, well I can't add anything to that.
Colin?
Colin: Can I just say that this is the second time I've
been on television?
Linkman: No, I'm sorry there isn't time, we're just
about to get another result.
Norman: And this one is from Harpenden Southeast. A
very interesting constituency this: in addition to the
official Silly candidate there is an unofficial Very
Silly candidate, in the slab of concrete, and he could
well split the silly vote here at Harpenden Southeast.
Voice over: Mrs Elsie Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...
Linkman: (Silly)
Voice over: 26,317 (applause).
Jeanette Walker...
Linkman: (Sensible)
Voice over: 26,318...
Linkman: That was very close!
Voice over: Malcolm Peter Brian Telescope Adrian
Blackpool Rock Stoatgobbler John Raw Vegetable Brrroooo
Norman Michael (rings bell) (blows whistle) Edward
(sounds car horn) (does train impersonation) (sounds
buzzer) Thomas Moo... (sings) "We'll keep a welcome in
the..." (fires gun) William (descending swanee whistle)
"Raindrops keep falling on my" (ascending swanee
whistle) "Don't sleep in the subway" (cuckoo cuckoo)
Naaoooo... Smith...
Linkman: (Very Silly)
Voice over: ...two.
Linkman: Well there you have it, a Sensible gain at
Harpenden with the Silly vote being split.
Norman: And we've just heard from Luton that Tony
Stratton-Smith has with him there the unsuccessful
Slightly Silly candidate, Kevin Phillips-Bong.
Tony: Kevin Phillips-Bong. You polled no votes at all.
Not a sausage. Bugger all. Are you at all disappointed
with this performance?
Phillips-Bong: Not at all. As I always say:
Climb every mountain
Ford every stream,
Follow every by-way,
Till you find your dream.
(Sings:)
A dream that will last
All the love you can give
Every day of your life
For as long as you live.
All together now!
Climb every mountain
Ford every stream...
Linkman: A very brave Kevin Phillips-Bong there.
Norman.
Norman: And I've just heard from Luton that my aunt is
ill. Possibly gastro-enteritis, possibly just catarrh.
Gerald.
Linkman: Right. Er, Colin?
Colin: Can I just say that I'll never appear on
television again?
Linkman: No I'm sorry, there isn't time, we have to
pick up a few results you may have missed. A little
pink pussy-cat has taken Barrow-in-Furness -- that's a
gain from the Liberals there. Rastus Odinga Odinga has
taken Wolverhampton Southwest, that's Enoch Powell's
old constituency -- an important gain there for Darkie
Power. Arthur Negus has held Bristols -- that's not a
result, that's just a bit of gossip. Sir Alec Douglas
Hume has taken Oldham for the Stone Dead party. A small
piece of putty about that big, a cheese mechanic from
Dunbar and two frogs -- one called Kipper the other one
not -- have all gone "Ni ni ni ni ni ni ni!" in
Blackpool Central. And so it's beginning to look like a
Silly landslide, and with the prospect of five more
years' Silly government facing us we... Oh I don't want
to do this any more, I'm bored!
Norman: He's right you know, it is a bloody waste of
time.
Gerald: Absolute waste of time.
Voice over: Number ninety-seven: a radio.
Radio Announcer: And now the BBC is proud to present a
brand new radio drama series, "The Death of Mary, Queen
of Scots." Part One: The Beginning.
(music)
Man's voice: Yoo arrr Mary, Queen of Scots?
Woman's voice: I am!
(sound of violent blows being dealt, things being
smashed, awful crunching noises, bones being broken,
and other bodily harm being inflicted. All of this
accompanied by screaming from the woman.)
(music fades up and out)
Announcer: Stay tuned for part two of the Radio Four
Production of "The Death of Mary, Queen of Scots",
coming up...almost immediately.
(music then sound of saw cutting, and other violent
sounds as before, with the woman screaming. Suddenly it
is silent.)
Man's voice: I think she's dead.
Woman's voice: No I'm not!
(sounds of physical harm and screaming start again.
then music fades up and out)
Announcer: that was episode two of "The Death of Mary,
Queen of Scots", specially adapted for radio by Gracie
Fields and Joe Frazier. And now, Radio Four will
explode.
A customer enters a pet shop.
Customer: 'Ello, I wish to register a complaint.
(The owner does not respond.)
C: 'Ello, Miss?
Owner: What do you mean "miss"?
C: I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a
complaint!
O: We're closin' for lunch.
C: Never mind that, my lad. I wish to complain about
this parrot what I purchased not half an hour ago from
this very boutique.
O: Oh yes, the, uh, the Norwegian
Blue...What's,uh...What's wrong with it?
C: I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad. 'E's
dead, that's what's wrong with it!
O: No, no, 'e's uh,...he's resting.
C: Look, matey, I know a dead parrot when I see one,
and I'm looking at one right now.
O: No no he's not dead, he's, he's restin'! Remarkable
bird, the Norwegian Blue, idn'it, ay? Beautiful
plumage!
C: The plumage don't enter into it. It's stone dead.
O: Nononono, no, no! 'E's resting!
C: All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him up!
(shouting at the cage)
'Ello, Mister Polly Parrot! I've got a lovely fresh
cuttle fish for you if you show...(owner hits the cage)
O: There, he moved!
C: No, he didn't, that was you hitting the cage!
O: I never!!
C: Yes, you did!
O: I never, never did anything...
C: (yelling and hitting the cage repeatedly) 'ELLO
POLLY!!!!!
Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine
o'clock alarm call!
(Takes parrot out of the cage and thumps its head on
the counter. Throws it up in the air and watches it
plummet to the floor.)
C: Now that's what I call a dead parrot.
O: No, no.....No, 'e's stunned!
C: STUNNED?!?
O: Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was wakin' up!
Norwegian Blues stun easily, major.
C: Um...now look...now look, mate, I've definitely 'ad
enough of this. That parrot is definitely deceased, and
when I purchased it not 'alf an hour ago, you assured
me that its total lack of movement was due to it bein'
tired and shagged out following a prolonged squawk.
O: Well, he's...he's, ah...probably pining for the
fjords.
C: PININ' for the FJORDS?!?!?!? What kind of talk is
that?, look, why did he fall flat on his back the
moment I got 'im home?
O: The Norwegian Blue prefers kippin' on it's back!
Remarkable bird, id'nit, squire? Lovely plumage!
C: Look, I took the liberty of examining that parrot
when I got it home, and I discovered the only reason
that it had been sitting on its perch in the first
place was that it had been NAILED there.
(pause)
O: Well, o'course it was nailed there! If I hadn't
nailed that bird down, it would have nuzzled up to
those bars, bent 'em apart with its beak, and VOOM!
Feeweeweewee!
C: "VOOM"?!? Mate, this bird wouldn't "voom" if you put
four million volts through it! 'E's bleedin' demised!
O: No no! 'E's pining!
C: 'E's not pinin'! 'E's passed on! This parrot is no
more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone to
meet 'is maker!
'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If you
hadn't nailed 'im to the perch 'e'd be pushing up the
daisies!
'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the
twig!
'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal
coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin'
choir invisibile!!
THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!!
(pause)
O: Well, I'd better replace it, then.
(he takes a quick peek behind the counter)
O: Sorry squire, I've had a look 'round the back of the
shop, and uh, we're right out of parrots.
C: I see. I see, I get the picture.
O: I got a slug.
(pause)
C: (sweet as sugar) Pray, does it talk?
O: Not really...
C: Well, it's hardly a bloody replacement, is it?!?!
O: Do you want to come back to my place?
Arthur: Old woman!
Dennis: MAN!
Arthur: Man, sorry. What knight lives in that castle
over there?
Dennis: I'm 37.
Arthur: What?
Dennis: I'm 37, I'm not old!
Arthur: Well, I can't just call you "man".
Dennis: You could say "Dennis".
Arthur: I didn't know you were called Dennis.
Dennis: Well you didn't bother to find out, did you?
Arthur: I did say I'm sorry about the "old woman"
thing, but from behind you looked...
Dennis: What I object to is you automatically treatin'
me like an inferior.
Arthur: Well, I am king.
Dennis: Oh, king, eh? Very nice. And how'd you get
that, eh? By exploiting the workers! By hanging on to
outdated imperialist dogma which perpetuates the
economic and social differences in our society! If
there's ever going to be any progress...
Dennis' Mother: Dennis, Dennis, there's some lovely
filth down here! [sees Arthur] Oh. How'd you do?
Arthur: How do you do, good lady? I am Arthur, king of
the Britons. Whose castle is that?
Dennis' Mother: King of the who?
Arthur: The Britons.
Dennis' Mother: Who are the Britons?
Arthur: Well, we are. You are all Britons and I am your
king.
Dennis' Mother: I didn't know we had a king. I thought
we were an autonomous collective.
Dennis: You're fooling yourself. We're living in a
dictatorship! A self-perpetuating autocracy in which
the working classes...
Dennis' Mother: Oh there you go, bringing class into it
again!
Dennis: But that's what it's all about! If only people
would realise...
Arthur: Please, please, good people. I am in haste. Who
lives in that castle?
Dennis' Mother: No one lives there.
Arthur: Then who is your lord?
Dennis' Mother: We don't have a lord.
Arthur: What?!
Dennis: I told you. We're an anarcho-syndicalist
commune. We take it in turns to act as sort-of-
executive officer for the week...
Arthur: Yes.
Dennis: ... But all the decisions of that officer have
to be ratified at a special biweekly meeting...
Arthur: Yes, I see.
Dennis:... by a simple majority, in the case of purely
internal affairs...
Arthur: [getting bored] Be quiet.
Dennis:... but by a two thirds majority, in the case of
more major -
Arthur: Be quiet! I order you to be quiet!
Dennis' Mother: Order, eh? Who does he think he is?
Arthur: I am your king!
Dennis' Mother: Well I didn't vote for you.
Arthur: You don't vote for kings!
Dennis' Mother: How'd you become king, then?
Arthur: The Lady of the Lake,... [Angel chorus begins
singing in background] her arm clad in the purest
shimmering samite, held aloft Excalibur from the bosom
of the water signifying by Divine Providence that I,
Arthur, was to carry Excalibur. [Angel chorus ends]
THAT is why I am your king!
Dennis: Listen. Strange women lying in ponds
distributing swords is no basis for a system of
government. Supreme executive power derives from a
mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic
ceremony.
Arthur: Be quiet!
Dennis: You can't expect to wield supreme executive
power just 'cause some watery tart threw a sword at
you!
Arthur: Shut up!
Dennis: I mean, if I went 'round saying I was an
emperor just because some moistened bint had lobbed a
scimitar at me, they'd put me away!
Arthur: Shut up! Will you shut up?! [Grabs Dennis and
shakes him]
Dennis: Ah, now we see the violence inherent in the
system!
Arthur: Shut up!
Dennis: Oh! Come and see the violence inherent in the
system! HELP, HELP, I'M BEING REPRESSED!
Arthur: BLOODY PEASANT!!
Dennis: Oh, what a giveaway. Did you hear that? Did you
hear that, eh? That's what I'm on about! Did you see
Launcelot: Look, my liege!
(fanfare)
Launcelot: Camelot!
Robin: Camelot!
Galahad: Camelot!
Patsy: (whispered) It's only a model.
Galahad: Shh!
Arthur: Knights, I bid you welcome to your new home.
Let us ride...to
CAMELOT!
song:
We're knights of the round table, we dance whene're
we're able.
We do routines, and border scenes, with footwork imp-e-
cable;
We dine well here in Camelot, we eat ham and jam and
spamalot.
We're knights of the round table, our shows are for-
mid-able
Though many times, we're given rhymes, that are quite
un-sing-able
We're not so bad in Camelot, we sing from the Dia-
phragm alot!
Though we're tough and able,
Quite in-de-fa-ti-gable,
Between our quests, we seek incest and impersonate
Clark Gable,
It's a busy life in Camelot:
I have to push the pram-a-lot!
Arthur: On second thought, let's not go to Camelot. It
is a silly place.
Second Bruce: G'day, Bruce!
First Bruce: Oh, Hello Bruce!
Third Bruce: How are you Bruce?
First Bruce: A bit crook, Bruce.
Second Bruce: Where's Bruce?
First Bruce: He's not 'ere, Bruce.
Third Bruce: Blimey, it's hot in here, Bruce.
First Bruce: Hot enough to boil a monkey's bum!
Second Bruce: That's a strange expression, Bruce.
First Bruce: Well Bruce, I heard the Prime Minister use
it. "It's hot enough to boil a monkey's bum in here,
your Majesty," he said and she smiled quietly to
herself.
Third Bruce: She's a good Sheila Bruce, and not at all
stuck up.
Second Bruce: Here! Here's the boss-fellow now! - how
are you bruce?
(Enter fourth Bruce with English person, Michael)
Fourth Bruce: 'Ow are you, Bruce?
First Bruce: G'day Bruce!
Fourth Bruce: Bruce.
Second Bruce: Hello Bruce.
Fourth Bruce: Bruce.
Third Bruce: How are you, Bruce?
Fourth Bruce: G'day Bruce.
Fourth Bruce: Gentleman, I'd like to introduce man from
Pommeyland who is joinin' us this year in the
philosophy department at the University of Walamaloo.
Everybruce: G'day!
Michael: Hello.
Fourth Bruce: Michael Baldwin, Bruce. Michael Baldwin,
Bruce. Michael Baldwin, Bruce.
First Bruce: Is your name not Bruce?
Michael: No, it's Michael.
Second Bruce: That's going to cause a little confusion.
Third Bruce: Mind if we call you "Bruce" to keep it
clear?
Fourth Bruce: Gentlemen, I think we better start the
faculty meeting. Before we start, though, I'd like to
ask the padre for a prayer.
First Bruce: Oh Lord, we beseech Thee, Amen!!
Everybruce: Amen!
Fourth Bruce: Crack tubes! (Sound of cans opening) Now
I call upon Bruce to officially welcome Mr. Baldwin to
the philosophy faculty.
Second Bruce: I'd like to welcome the pommey bastard to
God's own Earth, and remind him that we don't like
stuck-up sticky-beaks here.
Everybruce: Hear, hear! Well spoken, Bruce!
Fourth Bruce: Bruce here teaches classical philosophy,
Bruce there teaches Haegelian philosophy, and Bruce
here teaches logical positivism. And is also in charge
of the sheep dip.
Third Bruce: What's New-Bruce going to teach?
Fourth Bruce: New-Bruce will be teaching political
science, Machiavelli, Bentham, Locke, Hobbes,
Sutcliffe, Bradman, Lindwall, Miller, Hassett, and
Benaud.
Second Bruce: Those are all cricketers!
Fourth Bruce: Aww, spit!
Third Bruce: Hails of derisive laughter, Bruce!
Everybruce: Australia, Australia, Australia, Australia,
we love you amen!
Fourth Bruce:Bruce: Crack tube! (Sound of cans opening)
Any questions?
Second Bruce: New-Bruce, are you a Poofter?
Fourth Bruce: Are you a Poofter?
Michael: No!
Fourth Bruce: No. Right, I just want to remind you of
the faculty rules: Rule One!
Everybruce: No Poofters!
Fourth Bruce: Rule Two, no member of the faculty is to
maltreat the Abbos in any way at all -- if there's
anybody watching. Rule Three?
Everybruce: No Poofters!!
Fourth Bruce: Rule Four, now this term, I don't want to
catch anybody not drinking. Rule Five,
Everybruce: No Poofters!
Fourth Bruce: Rule Six, there is NO ... Rule Six. Rule
Seven,
Everybruce: No Poofters!!
Fourth Bruce: Right, that concludes the readin' of the
rules, Bruce.
First Bruce: This here's the wattle, the emblem of our
land. You can stick it in a bottle, you can hold it in
your hand.
Everybruce: Amen!
Immanuel Kant was a real pissant
Who was very rarely stable.
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar
Who could think you under the table.
David Hume could out-consume
Schopenhauer and Hegel,
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine
Who was just as schloshed as Schlegel.
There's nothing Nietzche couldn't teach ya
'Bout the raising of the wrist.
Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed.
John Stuart Mill, of his own free will,
On half a pint of shandy was particularly ill.
Plato, they say, could stick it away--
Half a crate of whiskey every day.
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle.
Hobbes was fond of his dram,
And Ren Descartes was a drunken fart.
'I drink, therefore I am.'
Yes, Socrates, himself, is particularly missed,
A lovely little thinker,
Presenter Hello, good evening, and welcome to
'Blackmail'! And to start tonight's programme, we go to
Preston in Lancashire, and Mrs Betty Teal!
Cut to a slightly blurred black and white photo of a
housewife with her face blotted out by a black oblong.
Presenter Hello, Mrs Teal!
Cut back to presenter. He picks up a letter and reads
Presenter Now this is for £15 and it's to stop us
revealing the name of your lover in Bolton.
SUPERIMPOSED CAPTION: '£15' (which flashes on and off
quickly)
Presenter So Mrs Teal...if you send us £15 by return
post, please, and your husband Trevor, and your lovely
children, Diane, Janice and Juliet need never know the
name of your lover in Bolton.
Cut to a nude man (except for a collar and a tie) at
organ. He plays a few stirring chords. Cut back to
presenter.
Presenter (as he speaks he holds up the various items)
And now...a letter...a hotel registration book...and a
series of photographs...which could add up to divorce,
premature retirement, and possible criminal proceedings
for a company director in Bromsgrove. He's a freemason,
and prospective Tory MP.. that's Mr S. of Bromsgrove...
£3,000...
SUPERIMPOSED CAPTION: '£3000' (which flashes on and
off)
Presenter ...to stop us from revealing your name, the
name of the three other people involved, the youth
organization to which they belong, and the shop where
you bought the equipment.
Cut back to nude man at organ with chords again. Cut to
still of two pairs of naked feet and lower legs. Organ
music over this. Cut back to presenter.
Presenter We'll be showing you more of that photograph
later in the programme...unless we hear from Charles or
Michael. And now it's time for our 'Stop the Film'
spot!
SUPERIMPOSED FLASHING CAPTION: 'STOP THE FILM'
Presenter The rules are very simple. We have taken a
film which contains compromising scenes and unpleasant
details, which could wreck a man's career. But, the
victim may phone me at any point and stop the film. But
remember the money increases as the film goes on. So
the longer you leave it...the more you have to pay! So
now, with the clock at £300 this week 'Stop the Film'
visited Thames Ditton...
The following film is shot in murky 8mm. As the film
progresses we have a £ sign with numerals in one corner
which increase. Shot of a residental street in Thames
Ditton (sic). Another section of a street with a figure
in a Robin Hood hat and raincoat - in the distance on
the far side of the road, so we can't really make him
out. Cut to slightly closer shot of him about to cross
the road. Cut to suburban house. The man is standing at
the door pressing the bell and looking round rather
furtively. Again shot from some distance and over a
hedge. Cut back to studio. The presenter looking at a
monitor and then at a phone. Back to the film: a woman
opens the door. She wears a dressing gown over
lingerie. A shaky zoom in to reveal her clothing. Wide
shot of the house with door shut. Jump cut to shot
obviously taken from a window in the house. Shaky zoom
in on window. We can see in the window...both the man
and woman enter the bedroom. He goes out of shot,
taking his coat off. Cut back to studio.
Presenter He's being very brave here...
Cut back to the film: even closer perhaps of window. A
series of short jump cuts. She is undressing. She
throws off her dressing gown. A jump and she's taking
off her negligee. Underneath she wears black corsets.
She produces a whip and seems to be beckoning to the
man. Phone rings. Cut back to the studio. The presenter
picks up the phone.
Presenter Hello, sir, hello, yes. No sir, no, I'm sure
you didn't. No, it's all right, sir, we don't morally
censure, we just want the money....Yes, and here's the
address to send it to:
Mother: (turning off radio) liberal rubbish! Klaus!
Klaus: Yeah?
M: Whaddaya want with yer jugged fish?
K: 'Alibut.
M: The jugged fish IS 'alibut!
K: Well, what fish 'ave you got that isn't jugged?
M: Rabbit.
K: What, rabbit fish?
M: Uuh, yes...it's got fins....
K: Is it dead?
M: Well, it was coughin' up blood last night.
K: All right, I'll have the dead unjugged rabbit fish.
voice over: one dead unjugged rabbit fish later:
K: (putting down his knife and fork) Well, that was
really 'orrible.
M: Aaw, you're always complainin'!
K: Wha's for afters?
M: Rat cake, rat sorbet, rat pudding, or strawberry
tart.
K: (eyes lighting up) Strawberry tart?
M: Well, it's got *some* rat in it.
K: 'Ow much?
M: Three. A lot, really.
K: Well, I'll have a slice without so much rat in it.
voice over: One slice of strawberry tart without so
much rat in it later:
K: (putting down fork and knife) Appalling.
M: Naw, naw, naw!
Son: (coming in the door) 'Ello Mum. 'Ello Dad.
K: 'Ello son.
S: There's a dead bishop on the landing, dad!
K: Really?
M: Where's it from?
S: Waddya mean?
M: What's its diocese?
S: Well, it looked a bit Bath and Wells-ish to me...
K: (getting up and going out the door) I'll go and have
a look.
M: I don't know...kids bringin' 'em in here....
S: It's not me!
M: I've got three of 'em down by the bin, and the
dustmen won't touch 'em!
K: (coming back in) Leicester.
M: 'Ow d'you know?
K: Tattooed on the back o' the neck. I'll call the
police.
M: Shouldn't you call the church?
S: Call the church police!
K: All right. (shouting) The Church Police!
(sirens racing up, followed by a tremendous crash)
(the church police burst in the door)
Detective What's all this then, Amen!
M: Are you the church police?
All the police officers: (in unison) Ho, Yes!
M: There's another dead bishop on the landing, vicar
sargeant!
Detective: Uh, Detective Parson, madam. I see...
suffrican, or diocisian?
M: 'Ow should I know?
D: It's tatooed on the back o' their neck. (spying the
tart) 'Ere, is that rat
tart?
M: yes.
D: Disgusting! Right! Men, the chase is on! Now we
should all kneel!
(they all kneel)
All: O Lord, we beseech thee, tell us 'oo croaked
Lester!
(thunder)
Voice of the Lord: The one in the braces, he done it!
Klaus: It's a fair cop, but society's to blame.
Detective: Agreed. We'll be charging them too.
K: I'd like you to take the three by the bin into
consideration.
D: Right. I'll now ask you all to conclude this harrest
with a hymn.
All: All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The church fuzz nicked them all.
Man: I wish those bloody bells would stop.
Wife: Oh, it's quite nice dear, it's Sunday, it's the
church.
Man: What about us atheists? Why should we 'ave to
listen to that sectarian turmoil?
Wife: You're a lapsed atheist, dear.
Man: The principle's the same. Bleeding C-of-E. The
Mohmedans don't come 'round here wavin' bells at us! We
don't get Buddhists playing bagpipes in our bathroom!
Or Hindus harmonizing in the hall! The Shintuists don't
come here shattering sheet glass in the shithouse,
shouting slogans...
Wife: All right, don't practice your alliteration on
Man: Anyway, when I get my membership card and blazer
badge back from the League of Agnostics, I shall urge
the executive to lodge a protest against that religious
racket! Pass the butter knife!
Wife: WHAT??
Man: PASS THE BUTTER KNIFE!! THANK YOU! IF ONLY WE HAD
SOME KIND OF MISSILE!
Wife: 'OLD ON, I'LL CLOSE THE WINDOW.
(Sound: Window closing, bells get faint, but are still
there)
Man: If only we had some kind of missile, we could take
the steam out of those bells.
Wife: Well, you could always use the number 14-St.
Joseph-the-somewhat- divine-on-the-hill ballistic
missile. It's in the attic.
Man: What ballistic missile would this be, then?
(Sound: Bells begin to get increasingly louder)
Wife: I made it for you, it's your birthday present!
Man: Just what I wanted, 'ow nice of you to remember,
my pet. 'EAR!
Wife: WHAT?
Man: THOSE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER!
Wife: WHAT?
Man: THOSE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER!!
Wife: THE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER! OOOH, LOOK!
Man: WHAT?
Wife: THE CHURCH, IT'S GETTING CLOSER! ITS COMING DOWN
THE 'ILL!
Man: WHAT A LIBERTY!
Wife: IT'S TURNING INTO OUR LANE!
Man: STRAIGHT THROUGH THE LIGHTS, OF COURSE.
Wife: TYPICAL, YOU BETTER GO PUT IT OUT OF IT'S MISERY.
Man: WHERE'S THIS MISSILE, THEN?
Wife: IT'S IN THE AIRING CUPBOARD. PRESS THE BUTTON
MARKED CHURCH!
Man: 'OW DO I AIM IT?
Wife: IT AUTOMATICALLY HOMES IN ON THE NEAREST PLACE OF
WORSHIP!
Man: THAT'S ST. MARKS!
Wife: IT ISN'T NOW, LOOK!! OH, ITS OP'NING THE GATE.
Man: WHAT? USE THE MEGAPHONE!
Wife: IT'S OP'NING THE GATE!!
Man: I'LL POP UP THE AIRING CUPBOARD.
Wife: 'HURRY UP, ITS TRAMPLING OVER THE AZALIAS!
(Sound: Missle launch, explosion, bells diminish)
Man: Did I 'it it?
Wife: Yes, right up the aisle.
Man: Well I've always said, There's nothing an agnostic
can't do if he really doesn't know whether he believes
Man (Michael Palin): Ah, I'd like to have an argument,
please.
Receptionist (Rita Davies): Certainly sir. Have you
been here before?
M: No, I haven't, this is my first time.
R: I see. Well, do you want to have just one argument,
or were you thinking of taking a course?
M: Well, what is the cost?
R: Well, It's one pound for a five minute argument, but
only eight pounds for a course of ten.
M: Well, I think it would be best if I perhaps started
off with just the one and then see how it goes.
R: Fine. Well, I'll see who's free at the moment. Uh,
Mr. DeBakey's free, but he's a little bit conciliatory.
Ahh yes, Try Mr. Barnard; room 12.
M: Thank you. (closes door)
(Walks down the hall. Opens door.)
Abuser (Graham Chapman): What do you want?
M: Well, I was told outside that...
Abuser: DON'T give me that, you snotty-faced heap of
parrot droppings!
M: What?
Abuser: Shut your festering gob, you tit! Your type
really makes me puke, YOU VACUOUS, TOFFEE-NOSED,
MALODOROUS PERVERT!!!
M: Look, I CAME HERE FOR AN ARGUMENT, I'm not going to
just stand...!!
Abuser: OH, oh I'm sorry, but this is abuse.
M: Oh, I see, well, that explains it.
Abuser: Ah yes, you want room 12a, Just along the
corridor.
M: Oh, Thank you very much. Sorry.
Abuser: Not at all.
M: Thank you. (closes door)
Abuser: Stupid git!
(Walks down the corridor, Knocks)
Arguer (John Cleese): Come in.
M: Uh, is this the right room for an argument?
A: I told you once.
M: No, you haven't.
A: Yes I have.
M: When?
A: Just now.
M: No, you didn't.
A: I did.
M: Didn't.
A: Did!
M: Didn't!
A: I'm telling you I did!
M: You did not!
A: Oh, I'm sorry, just one moment. Is this a five
minute argument or the full half hour?
M: Oh, just the five minutes.
A: Ah, thank you. Anyway, I did.
M: You most certainly did not.
A: Look, let's get this thing clear; I quite definitely
told you.
M: No, you did not.
A: Yes, I did.
M: No, you didn't.
A: Yes, I did.
M: No, you didn't.
A: Yes, I did!
M: No, you didn't!
A: Yes, I did!
M: You didn't!
A: Did!
M: Oh look, this isn't an argument.
A: Yes it is.
M: No, it isn't. It's just contradiction.
A: No, it isn't.
M: It is!
A: It is not!
M: Look, you just contradicted me.
A: I did not!
M: Oh you did!!
A: No, no, no!
M: You did just then.
A: Nonsense!
M: Oh look, this is futile!
A: No, it isn't.
M: I came here for a good argument.
A: No, you didn't; no, you came here for an argument.
M: Well, an argument isn't just contradiction.
A: Can be.
M: No, it can't. An argument is a connected series of
statements intended to establish a proposition.
A: No, it isn't.
M: Yes, it is. It's not just contradiction.
A: Look, if I argue with you, I must take up a contrary
position.
M: Yes, but that's not just saying, "No it isn't".
A: Yes, it is!
M: No, it isn't! Argument is an intellectual process.
Contradiction is just the automatic gainsaying of any
statement the other person makes.
(short pause)
A: No, it isn't.
M: Yes, it is.
A: Not at all.
M: Now look--
A: (Rings bell) Good Morning.
M: What?
A: That's it. Good morning.
M: I was just getting interested.
A: Sorry, the five minutes is up.
M: That was never five minutes!
A: I'm afraid it was.
M: It wasn't.
(pause)
A: I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to argue anymore.
M: What?!
A: If you want me to go on arguing, you'll have to pay
for another five minutes.
M: Yes, but that was never five minutes, just now. Oh
come on!
A: (Hums)
M: Look, this is ridiculous.
A: I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to argue unless
you've paid!
M: Oh, all right. (pays)
A: Thank you.
(short pause)
M: Well?
A: Well what?
M: That wasn't really five minutes, just now.
A: I told you, I'm not allowed to argue unless you've
paid.
M: I just paid!
A: No, you didn't.
M: I DID!
A: No, you didn't.
M: Look, I don't want to argue about that!
A: Well, you didn't pay.
M: Aha! If I didn't pay, why are you arguing? I got
you!
A: No, you haven't.
M: Yes, I have. If you're arguing, I must have paid.
A: Not necessarily. I could be arguing in my spare
time.
M: Oh, I've had enough of this.
A: No you haven't.
M: Oh, shut up. (closes door)
(Walks down the stairs. Opens door.)
M: I want to complain.
Complainer (Eric Idle): YOU want to complain? Look at
these shoes. I've only had them three weeks and the
heels are worn right through.
M: No, I want to complain about...
C: If you complain nothing happens, you might as well
not bother.
M: Oh!
C: Oh, my back hurts, it's not a very fine day and I'm
sick and tired of this office.
(Slams door. walks down corridor, opens next door.)
M: Hello, I want to... Oohhh! (Terry clobbers Michael
with comedy mallet)
Head Hitter (Terry Jones): No, no, no. Hold your head
like this, then go "Waaah". Try it again.
M: Uuuwwhh!!
H: Better, Better, but Waah, Waah! Put your hand there.
M: No.
H: Now...
M: Waaaaah!!!
H: Good, Good! That's it.
M: Stop hitting me!
H: What?
M: Stop hitting me!
H: Stop hitting you?
M: Yes!
H: Why did you come in here then?
M: I wanted to complain.
H: Oh no, that's next door. It's being-hit-on-the-head
lessons in here.
Man: Eh, I'd like to have an argument, please.
Receptionist: Certainly, sir. Have you been here
before?
Man: No, I haven't, this is my first time.
Receptionist: I see. Well, do you want to have just one
argument, or were you thinking of taking a course?
Man: Well, what is the cost?
Receptionist: Well, it's one pound for a five-minute
argument, but only eight pounds for a course of ten.
Man: Well, I think it would be best if I perhaps
started of with just the one, and then see how it goes.
Receptionist: Fine. Well, I'll see who's free at the
moment. Mr. Du-Bakey's free, but he's a little bit
conciliatory. Ah, yes, try Mr. Barnard, room 12.
Man: Thank you.
He enters room 12.
Mr. Barnard: WHADDAYOU WANT?
Man: Well, I was told outside that...
Mr. Barnard: DON'T GIVE ME THAT, YOU SNOTTY-FACED HEAP
OF PARROT DROPPINGS!
Man: What?
Mr. Barnard: SHUT YOUR FESTERING GOB, YOU TIT! YOUR
TYPE REALLY MAKES ME PUKE! YOU VACUOUS TOFFEE-NOSED
MALODOROUS PERVERT!!!
Man: Look, I came here for an argument! I'm not just
going to stand here...
Mr. Barnard: OH! Oh! I'm sorry! This is abuse!
Man: Oh I see! Well, that explains it...
Mr. Barnard: Aha! No, you want room 12A, just along the
corridor.
Man: Oh...Thank you very much...Sorry...
Mr. Barnard: Not at all!
Man: Thank you. (Leaves)
Mr. Barnard: (under his breath) Stupid git.
The man knocks at the door to room 12A.
Mr. Vibrating: Come in.
Man: Is this the right room for an argument?
Mr. Vibrating: I've told you once.
Man: No you haven't!
Mr. Vibrating: Yes I have.
Man: When?
Mr. Vibrating: Just now.
Man: No you didn't!
Mr. Vibrating: I did!
Man: Didn't!
Mr. Vibrating: Did!
Man: Didn't!
Mr. Vibrating: I'm telling you, I did!
Man: You did not!
Mr. Vibrating: Oh I'm sorry, just one moment. Is this a
five minute argument, or the full half hour?
Man: Ah! Just the five minutes.
Mr. Vibrating: Ah, thank you.
Anyway, I did.
Man: You most certainly did not!
Mr. Vibrating: Look, let's get this thing clear: I
quite definitely told you!
Man: No you did not!
Mr. Vibrating: Yes I did!
Man: No you didn't!
Mr. Vibrating: Yes I did!
Man: No you didn't!
Mr. Vibrating: Yes I did!
Man: No you didn't!
Mr. Vibrating: Yes I did!
Man: You didn't!
Mr. Vibrating: Did!
Man: Oh look, this isn't an argument!
Mr. Vibrating: Yes it is!
Man: No it isn't! It's just contradiction!
Mr. Vibrating: No it isn't!
Man: It IS!
Mr. Vibrating: It is NOT!
Man: Look, you just contradicted me!
Mr. Vibrating: I did not!
Man: Oh, you DID!
Mr. Vibrating: No no no!
Man: You did just then!
Mr. Vibrating: Nonsense!
Man: (exasperated) Oh, this is futile!!
Mr. Vibrating: No it isn't!
Man: I came here for a good argument!
Mr. Vibrating: No you didn't, no, you came here for an
argument!
Man: An argument isn't just contradiction.
Mr. Vibrating: CAN be!
Man: No it can't! An argument is a connected series of
statements intended to establish a proposition.
Mr. Vibrating: No it isn't!
Man: Yes it is! 'tisn't just contradiction.
Mr. Vibrating: Look, if I argue with you, I must take
up a contrary position!
Man: Yes but that's not just saying "no it isn't".
Mr. Vibrating: Yes it is!
Man: No it isn't! Argument is an intellectual process.
Contradiction is just the automatic gainsaying of any
statement the other person makes.
Mr. Vibrating: No it isn't.
Man: Yes it is!
Mr. Vibrating: Not at all!
Man: Now look...
Mr. Vibrating: (Hits a bell on his desk) [DING] Good
morning!
Man: (stunned) What?
Mr. Vibrating: That's it. Good morning.
Man: But I was just getting interested!
Mr. Vibrating: I'm sorry, the five minutes is up.
Man: That was never five minutes!!
Mr. Vibrating: I'm afraid it was.
Man: It wasn't...
Mr. Vibrating: I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to argue
any more.
Man: WHAT??
Mr. Vibrating: If you want me to go on arguing, you'll
have to pay for another five minutes.
Man: Yes, but that was never five minutes just now! Oh
Come on!
Mr. Vibrating: (Hums to himself.)
Man: Look this is ridiculous!
Mr. Vibrating: I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to argue
unless you've paid!
Man: Oh all right. (Pays.)
Mr. Vibrating: Thank you.
Man: Well...
Mr. Vibrating: Well WHAT?
Man: That wasn't really five minutes just now.
Mr. Vibrating: I told you, I'm not allowed to argue
unless you've paid!
Man: Well I just paid!
Mr. Vibrating: No you didn't!
Man: I DID!!!
Mr. Vibrating: No you didn't!
Man: Look, I don't want to argue about that!
Mr. Vibrating: Well, you didn't pay!
Man: Ah HAH!! If I didn't pay, why are you arguing???
I've got you.
Mr. Vibrating: No you haven't!
Man: Yes I have! If you're arguing, I must have paid.
Mr. Vibrating: Not necessarily. I could be arguing in
my spare time.
Man: Oh, I have had enough of this.
Mr. Vibrating: No, you haven't.
Man: Oh, shut up!
(He leaves and sees a door marked complaints; he goes
Man: I want to complain.
Man in Charge: YOU want to complain...look at these
shoes...I've only had them three weeks and the heels
are worn right through.
Man: No, I want to complain about...
Man in Charge: If you complain nothing happens...you
might as well not bother. My back hurts and the middel
of such a fine day and I'm sick and tired of this
office...
(The man exits, walks down the corridor and enters a
room)
Man: Hello, I want to (smack) OHHH!
Spreaders: No, no, no, hold your head like this, then
go 'waaagh'! Try it again.
Man: Woogh!
Spreaders: Better. Better. But 'waaaaagh'! 'Waaaagh'!
Put your hand there...
Man: No!
Spreaders: Now. (Hits him)
Man: Waagh!
Spreaders: Good, good, that's it!
Man: Stop hitting me.
Spreaders: What?
Man: Stop hitting me.
Spreaders: Stop hitting you?
Man: Yes.
Spreaders: Why do you come in here, then?
Man: I wanted to complain.
Spreaders: Oh, no, that's next door. It's being hit on
the head lessons in here.
(Sounds of birds)
Good evening. We apologize most sincerely to those of you
who had bought this record under the impression that it
was in any way connected with the television program,
"Monty Python's Flying Circus". This was due to an error
in the printing stage of the album cover. This album is
in fact called, "Pleasures of the Dance", a collection of
Norwegian carpenter songs compiled by Oscar Tritt.
Good evening, we apologize for the previous apology. This
apology was unnecessary and appeared on the record owing
to an administrative error. This album is not as stated
in the previous apology, "Pleasures of the Dance", a
selection of Norwegian carpenter songs, but a new album
from the humourous television comedy show, "Monty
Python's Flying Circus"
(Short extract from "Pleasures of the Dance", Click)
We apologize for that short extract from the "Pleasures
of the Dance" which appeared on this record of "Monty
Python's Flying Circus" owing to the same administrative
error which resulted in the first apology. The rest of
this record is now totally taken up with..
(laughing).. "Monty Python's Flying Circus"
Always look on the bright side of life
Always look on the bright side of life
Some things in life are bad, they can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse
When you're chewing on life's gristle, don't grumble give a whistle
This will help things turn out for the best
Always look on the bright side of life
Always look on the right side of life
If life seems jolly rotten, there's something you've forgotten
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing
When you're feeling in the dumps, don't be silly, chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle, that's the thing
So, always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath
Life's a counterfeit and when you look at it
Life's a laugh and death's the joke, it's true
You see, it's all a show, keep them laughing as you go
Just remember the last laugh is on you
Always look on the bright side of life
And always look on the right side of life
Always look on the bright side of life
Narrator: Once upon a time, long, long ago, there lived
in a valley far, far away in the mountains, the most
contented kingdom the world had ever known. It was
called "Happy Valley", and it was ruled over by a wise
old king called Otto. And all his subjects flourished
and were happy, and there were no discontents or
grumblers, because wise king Otto had had them all put
to death along with the trade union leaders many years
before. And all the good happy folk of Happy Valley
sang and danced all day long. And anyone who was for
any reason miserable or unhappy or who had any
difficult personal problems was prosecuted under the
"Happiness Act".
(Sounds of laughter and giggling. A gavel strikes.
Giggling continues throughout)
Prosecutor: Gaspar Sletts, I put it to you that on
February the Fifth of this year, you were very
depressed with malice aforethought, and that you moaned
quietly contrary to the Cheerful Noises Act.
Gaspar Sletts: ...I did.
Defense: May I just explain, m'lud, that the reason for
my client's behavior was that his wife had died that
morning?
(This elicits big laughs. Judge bangs gavel again)
Judge: (laughing) I sentence you to be hanged by the
neck until you cheer up.
(more laughter)
Narrator: And whilst the good folk of Happy Valley
tenaciously frolicked away, their wise old king, who
was a merry old thing, played strange songs on his
Hammond Organ up in the beautiful castle where he lived
with the gracious Queen Syllabub, and their lovely
daughter Mitzi Gaynor, who had fabulous tits and an
enchanting smile, and wooden teeth which she had bought
at a chemist's in Augsburgh, despite the fire risk. She
treasured these teeth, which were made of the finest
pine and she varnished them after every meal. And next
to her teeth, her dearest love was her pet dog, Herman.
She would take Herman for long walks and pet and fuss
over him all day, and steal him tasty tidbits which he
never ate, because sadly, he was dead. And no one had
had the heart to tell her, because she was so sweet and
innocent and knew nothing of gastroenteritis or plastic
hip joints or even personal hygiene. One day, while she
was pulling Herman 'round the lawn, she suddenly fell
in love with the most beautiful young man she had ever
seen, naturally assuming him to be a prince. Well,
luckily he was a prince. So she looked him up in the
Observer's Book of Princes, learned his name and went
and introduced the subject of marriage. And, in what
seemed like the twinkling of an eye, but was in fact a
fortnight, they were on their way to her father's court
to ask his permission to wed.
King Otto:(accompanied by Hammond organ) Ya Di
Bucketty, rum ding ftooo, Ni! Ni! Ni! Yowoooo...
(applause)
King Otto: Thank you, thank you, thank you...
Princess Mitzi: Daddy?
King Otto: Yes, daughter?
Princess Mitzi: This is Charming, who wants to marry
King Otto: Is he a prince?
Princess Mitzi: Yes!
King Otto: Is he in the book?
Princess Mitzi: Yes!
King Otto: Oh, very well. Before I can give my
permission, young man, I must set you a task, which, if
you succeed, will prove you worthy of my daughter's
hand.
Prince Charming: Yes, sir, I accept.
King Otto: Good. At nine o'clock tomorrow morning,
armed only with your sword, you must go to the highest
tower in the castle, and jump out of the window.
Narrator: And so, early the next morning, the young
Prince Charming, dressed in a beautiful white robe, and
gripping his magic sword, plummeted to a painful death.
(terrified scream, followed by a squish, then laughter)
Princess Mitzi: Can we get married now, Daddy?
King Otto: No, my dear, he wasn't worthy of you.
Princess Mitzi: Oh, will he have to go into the ground
like all the others?
King Otto: Hmm, that's a good idea for a song, er...
(Hammond organ) Yum-yum, yum-yum-dee bucketty, rum ding
ftooo, Yi! Ni! Ni! Yowoooo...
(the king is joined by a chorus of singers)
Chorus of Singers: (accompanied by Hammond organ) Ya Di
bucketty, rum fing f-tooo, Ni! Ni! Ni! Yow-oooo...
Narrator: One day, while Princess Mitzi was out
hopefully kissing frogs, she spotted a flash of gold
beneath a weeping willow tree, and there, sure enough,
was a prince. He was rather thin and spotty, with a
long nose and bandy legs, and nasty unpolished plywood
teeth, and bad breath, and a rare foot disease, "But,"
thought Mitzi, "a prince is a prince," and she fell in
love with him without another thought and rushed into
his arms. And after a time, or a few times anyway, he
too fell in love with her, and very soon they were on
their way to ask King Otto's permission to wed.
King Otto:(accompanied by Hammond organ) Ya Di
Bucketty, rum ting f-tooo...
Princess Mitzi: Hello, Daddy.
King Otto: Ni! Ni! Ni!
Princess Mitzi: Hello, Daddy!
King Otto: Yow...oh, hello Mitzi!
Princess Mitzi: This is Prince Walter, who wants to
marry me.
King Otto: Is he in the book?
Princess Mitzi: And in the forward...
King Otto:(in a low, grumbling voice) Oh... Hello,
Walter.
Prince Walter: PRINCE Walter!
King Otto: You little...
Queen Syllabub: Otto!
King Otto: Oh, sorry! So, you want to marry my
daughter, do you?
Prince Walter: Perhaps. (sniffles loudly)
Princess Mitzi: Oh, say you do, Walter!
Prince Walter: Yeah, all right.
King Otto: Well, in that case, I must set you a task,
so that you can prove yourself worthy of my daughter's
hand.
Prince Walter: Why?
King Otto: Because she's a fucking princess, that's
why! I'm sorry. Before you can marry my daughter, you
must go to the highest tower...
Queen Syllabub: Otto!
King Otto: Uh, oh, you must, oh...go down to the town
and get me twenty Rothmans.
Prince Walter: What, now?
King Otto: No, tomorrow morning!
Narrator: And so, early next morning, single-handed,
armed only with 40p, Prince Walter set out for the
tobacconist's. Yard after yard he walked. Minute after
minute ticked by. His body breathed in... and breathed
out. Until...
(door bell jingles)
Prince Walter: Twenty Rothmans, please.
Tobacconist: Certainly, sir.
(cash register bell rings)
(crowd cheering)
Narrator: How all the happy residents of Happy Valley
cheered Prince Walter as he walked back up the hill in
triumph. But just as he was approaching the castle, he
was run over by a London bus, which only goes to show.
(sound of brakes screeching, squish, gasp)
Narrator: And the moral of the story is... Smoking can
GOOD EVENING, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, HERE'S A
LITTLE NUMBER I TOSSED OFF RECENTLY IN THE
CARIBBEAN.
Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis.
Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong.
It's swell to have a stiffy,
It's divine to own a dick.
From the tiniest little tadger,
To the world's biggest prick.
So three cheers for your willy or John Thomas.
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake.
Your piece-of-pork,
Your wife's best friend,
Your Percy or your cock.
You can wrap it up in ribbons,
You can slip it in your sock.
But don't take it out in public
Or they will stick you in the dock,
And you won't come back.
Why are we here, what's life all about?
Is God really real, or is there some doubt?
Well tonight, we're going to sort it all out
For tonight it's the Meaning of Life.
What's the point of all this hoax?
Is it the chicken and the egg time,
Are we just yolks?
Or perhaps we're just one of God's little jokes.
Well ça c'est the Meaning of Life.
Is life just a game where we make up the rules,
While we're searching for something to say,
Or are we just simply spiralling coils,
Of self-replicating DNA?
In this life, what is our fate?
Is there Heaven and Hell? Do we reincarnate?
Is mankind evolving or is it too late?
Well tonight here's the Meaning of Life.
For millions this life is a sad vale of tears,
Sitting round with nothing to say,
While scientists say we're just spiralling coils,
Of self-replicating DNA.
So just why, why are we here?
And just what, what, what, what do we fear?
Well çe soir, for a change, it will all be made clear,
For this is the Meaning of Life
-c'est la sens de la vie,
[trumpets]
CROWD: [cheering]
PILATE: People of Jewusalem!
CROWD: [chuckling]
PILATE: Wome is your fwiend.
CROWD: [laughing]
PILATE: To pwove our fwiendship, it is customawy at
this time to welease a wongdoer fwom our pwisons.
CROWD: [laughing]
GUARD #3: [chuckling]
PILATE: Whom would you have me welease?
BOB HOSKINS: Welease Woger!
CROWD: Yes! Welease Woger! Welease Woger! [laughing]
PILATE: Vewy well. I shall welease Woger!
CROWD: [cheering]
CENTURION: Sir, uh, we don't have a 'Woger', sir.
PILATE: What?
CENTURION: Uh, we don't have anyone of that name, sir.
PILATE: Ah. We have no 'Woger'!
CROWD: Ohhhhh!
BOB: Well, what about Wodewick, then?
CROWD: Yes! Welease Wodewick! Welease Wodewick!
PILATE: Centuwion, why do they titter so?
CENTURION: Just some, uh, Jewish joke, sir.
PILATE: Are they... wagging me?
CENTURION: Oh, no, sir!
GUARD #3: [chuckling]
PILATE: Vewy well. I shall welease... Wodewick!
CROWD: [laughing]
CENTURION: Sir, we don't have a 'Roderick' either.
PILATE: No 'Woger'? No 'Wodewick'?
CENTURION: Sorry, sir.
PILATE: Who is this 'Wod'--
GUARD #1: [chuckle]
PILATE: Who is the 'Wodewick' to whom you wefer?
BOB: He's a wobber!
CROWD: [laughing]
MAN: And a wapist!
CROWD: [laughing]
WOMAN: And a pickpocket!
CROWD: Yeah! Ahh, no! No! Shh! Shh!...
PILATE: He sounds a notowious cwiminal.
CENTURION: We haven't got him, sir. Mm hm.
PILATE: Do we have anyone in our pwisons at all?
CENTURION: Oh, yes, sir. We've got, uh, 'Samson', sir.
PILATE: Samson?
CENTURION: Samson the Sadducee Strangler, sir. Uh,
Silus the Syrian Assassin. Uh, several seditious
scribes from Caesarea. Uhhh, sixty- seven seers from--
BIGGUS: Let me thpeak to them, Pontiuth!
CENTURION: Oh, no. Oh.
PILATE: Ah. Good idea, Biggus.
BIGGUS: Thitizens! We have Thamthon the Thadduthee
Thtrangler, Thilus...
CROWD: [laughing]
BIGGUS: ...the Athyrian Athathin, theveral theditiouth
We love the Yangtse
Yangtse Kiang
Flowing from Yushu
Down to Ching Kiang
Passing though Chung King
Wuhan and Hoo Kow
3000 miles,
but it gets there somehow
Oh! Szechuan's the province
and Shanghai is the port
And Yangtse is the river
that we all support
We love the Yangtse
Yangtse Kiang
Flowing from Yushu
Down to Ching Kiang
Passing though Chung King
Wuhan and Hoo Kow
3000 miles,
but it gets there somehow
Oh! Szechuan's the province
and Shanghai is the port
And Yangtse is the river
Man: Um, excuse me, is this the undertaker's?
Undertaker: Yup, that's right, what can I do for you,
squire?
Man: Um, well, I wonder if you can help me. My mother
has just died and I'm not quite sure what I should do.
Undertaker: Ah, well, we can 'elp you. We deal with
stiffs.
Man: Stiffs?
Undertaker: Yea. Now there's three things we can do
with your mum. We can bury her, burn her, or dump her.
Man: Dump her?
Undertaker: Dump her in the Thames.
Man: What?
Undertaker: Oh, did you like her?
Man: Yes!
Undertaker: Oh well, we won't dump her, then. Well,
what do you think: a burner, or a burier?
Man: Um, well, um, which would you recommend?
Undertaker: Well they're both nasty. If we burn her,
she gets stuffed in the flames, crackle, crackle,
crackle, which is a bit of a shock if she's not quite
dead. But quick. And then you get a box of ashes, which
you can pretend are hers.
Man: Oh.
Undertaker: Or, if you don't wanna fry her, you can
bury her. And then she'll get eaten up by maggots and
weevils, nibble, nibble, nibble, which isn't so hot if,
as I said, she's not quite dead.
Man: I see. Um. Well, I.. I.. I.. I'm not very sure.
She's definitely dead.
Undertaker: Where is she?
Man: In the sack.
Undertaker: Let's 'ave a look.
Umm, she looks quite young.
Man: Yes, she was.
Undertaker: (over his shoulder) FRED!
Fred: (offstage) Yea!
Undertaker: I THINK WE'VE GOT AN EATER!
Fred: (offstage) I'll get the oven on!
Man: Um, er...excuse me, um, are you... are you
suggesting we should eat my mother?
Undertaker: Yeah. Not raw, not raw. We cook her. She'd
be delicious with a few french fries, a bit of broccoli
and stuffing. Delicious! (smacks his lips)
Man: What!
Well, actually, I do feel a bit peckish - NO! No, I
can't!
Undertaker: Look, we'll eat your mum. Then, if you feel
a bit guilty about it afterwards, we can dig a grave
and you can throw up into it.
Intro: AND NOW MR. TERRY GILLIAM
WILL SING FOR YOU "I'VE GOT
TWO LEGS"
I've got two legs from my hips to the ground
And when I move them they walk around
And when I lift them they the stairs
And when I shave them they ain't got hairs
I've go
holy music]
BABY BRIAN COHEN: [crying]
WISE MAN #1: Ahem.
MANDY COHEN: Ohhh! [whump] Who are you?
WISE MAN #1: We are three wise men.
MANDY: What?!
WISE MAN #1: We are three wise men.
MANDY: Well, what are you doing creeping around a cow
shed at two o'clock in the morning? That doesn't sound
very wise to me.
WISE MAN #3: We are astrologers.
WISE MAN #1: We have come from the East.
MANDY: Is this some kind of joke?
WISE MAN #2: We wish to praise the infant.
WISE MAN #1: We must pay homage to him.
MANDY: Homage? You're all drunk. It's disgusting. Out!
The lot, out!
WISE MAN #1: No--
MANDY: Bursting in here with tales about oriental
fortune tellers. Come on. Out!
WISE MAN #2: No, no. We must see him.
MANDY: Go and praise someone else's brat! Go on!
WISE MAN #2: We--
WISE MAN #1: We were led by a star.
MANDY: Or led by a bottle, more like. Go on. Out!
WISE MAN #1: Well-- well, we must see him. We have
brought presents.
MANDY: Out!
WISE MAN #2: Gold. Frankincense. Myrrh.
MANDY: Well, why didn't you say? He's over there. ---
Sorry the place is a bit of a mess. Well, what is
myrrh, anyway?
WISE MAN #3: It is a valuable balm.
MANDY: A balm? What are you giving him a balm for? It
might bite him.
WISE MAN #3: What?
MANDY: That's a dangerous animal. Quick! Throw it in
the trough.
WISE MAN #1: No, it isn't.
MANDY: Yes, it is. It's great, big mmm...
WISE MAN #3: No, no, no. It is an ointment.
MANDY: Aww, there is an animal called a balm,... or did
I dream it? So, you're astrologers, are you? Well, what
is he then?
WISE MAN #2: Hmm?
MANDY: What star sign is he?
WISE MAN #2: Uh, Capricorn.
MANDY: Uhh, Capricorn, eh? What are they like?
WISE MAN #2: Ooh, but... he is the son of God, our
Messiah.
WISE MAN #1: King of the Jews.
MANDY: And that's Capricorn, is it?
WISE MAN #2: Uh, no, no, no. That's just him.
MANDY: Ohh, I was going to say, 'Otherwise, there'd be
a lot of them.' [sniff]
WISE MAN #1: By what name are you calling him?
MANDY: Uh, 'Brian'.
WISE MEN: We worship you, O Brian, who are Lord over us
all. Praise unto you, Brian, and to the Lord, our
Father. Amen.
MANDY: Do you do a lot of this, then?
WISE MAN #2: What?
MANDY: This praising.
WISE MAN #2: No, no. No, no.
MANDY: Er, well, um, if you're dropping by again, do
pop in. Heh. And thanks a lot for the gold and
frankincense, er, but don't worry too much about the
myrrh next time. All right? Heh. Thank you. Good-bye.
Well, weren't they nice? Hmm. Out of their bloody
The Philosopher's Song
(Monty Python)
Immanuel Kant was a real pissant
Who was very rarely stable.
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar
Who could think you under the table.
David Hume could out-consume
Schopenhauer and Hegel,
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine
Who was just as schloshed as Schlegel.
There's nothing Nietzsche couldn't teach ya
'Bout the raising of the wrist.
John Stuart Mill, of his own free will,
On half a pint of shandy was particularly ill.
Plato, they say, could stick it away
Half a crate of whiskey every day.
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle,
Hobbes was fond of his dram,
And Rene Descartes was a drunken fart:
"I drink, therefore I am"
Yes, Socrates, himself, is particularly missed;
A lovely little thinker but a bugger when he's pissed!
filename[ PHILSPHR
Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni!
Who are you?
We are the Knights who say... "Ni"!
No! Not the Knights who say "Ni"!
The same.
Who are thee?
We are the keepers of the sacred words: Ni, Ping, and
Nee-womm!
Nee-womm!
Those who hear them seldom live to tell the tale!
The knights who say "Ni" demand... a sacrifice!
Knights of Ni, we are but simple travelers who seek the
enchanter who lives beyond these woods.
Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni!
No! Nooo! Aaaugh! No!
We shall say "Ni" again to you... if you do not appease
Well what is it you want?
We want...
A shrubbery!
A what?
Ni! Ni!! Ni! Ni!
No! No! Please, please, no more! We will find you a
shrubbery.
You must return here with a shrubbery... or else you
will never pass through this wood... alive.
O Knights of Ni, you are just and fair, and we will
return with a shrubbery.
One that looks nice.
Of course!
And not too expensive.
Yes!
Now... go!
O Knights of Ni. We have brought you your shrubbery.
May we go now?
Yes, it is a good shrubbery. I like the laurels
particularly.
But there is one small problem...
What is that?
We are now no longer the Knights Who Say "Ni"!
Ni! Shh! Shh!
We are now the Knights who say "Ekky-ekky-ekky-ekky-
z'Bang, zoom-Boing, z'nourrrwringmm".
Therefore, we must give you a test.
What is this test, O Knights of...
Knights who 'til recently said "Ni"?
Firstly, you must find...
another shrubbery!
Oh not another shrubbery!
then... Then, when you have found the shrubbery,
you must place it here, beside this shrubbery, only
slightly higher, so we get the two-level effect with a
little path running down the middle.
A path! A path! A path! Shh, shhh. Ni! Ni!
kthen, when you have found the shrubbery, you must cut
down the mightiest tree in the forest...
I can see a bare-bottomed mandrill
Slyly eyeing his upper nostril
If he jumps inside there too
I really won't know what to do
I'll be a proud possessor of a kind of nasal zoo
A nasal zoo
I've got a ferret sticking up my nose
And what is worse it constantly explodes
Ferrets don't explode you say
But it happened nine times yesterday
And I should know 'cause each time
I was standing in the way
I've got a ferret sticking up my nose
I've got a ferret sticking up my nose
How it got there I can't tell
But now it's there it hurts like hell
And what is more it radically affects
Lovely spam, wonderful spa-a-m,
Lovely spam, wonderful S Spam,
Spa-a-a-a-a-a-a-am,
Spa-a-a-a-a-a-a-am,
SPA-A-A-A-A-A-A-AM,
SPA-A-A-A-A-A-A-AM,
LOVELY SPAM, LOVELY SPAM,
LOVELY SPAM, LOVELY SPAM,
LOVELY SPA-A-A-A-AM...
Sit on my face and tell me that you love me,
I'll sit on your face and tell you I love you, too.
I love to hear you o-ra-lize,
When I'm between your thighs,
You blow me awaaay.
Sit on my face and let my lips embrace you,
I'll sit on your face and then I'll love you tru-ly.
Life can be fine if we both sixty-nine,
If we sit on our faces
In all sorts of places
And play...'till we're blown awaaaaaaaaaay.
I want another slice of rhubarb tart
I want another lovely slice
I'm not disparaging the blueberry pie
But rhubarb tart is oh-so-very nice
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb tart
A what-barb tart? A rhu-barb tart
I want another slice of rhubarb tart
The principles of modern philosophy
Were postulated by Descartes
Discarding everything he wasn't certain of
He said, "I think therefore I am rhubarb tart"
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb tart
Rene who? Rene Descartes
Poor mutt, he thought he was a rhubarb tart
Rhubarb tart has fascinated all the poets
Especially the Immortal Bard
He made Richard the Third call out at Bosworth Field
"My kingdom for a slice of rhubarb tart"
Immortal what? Immortal tart
Rhubarb what? A rhubarb Bard
As rhymes go that is really pretty bad
Since Wassily Kandinsky and Paul Klee
Laid down the axioms of abstract art
Even Jackson Pollock and Piet Mondrian
Prefer to paint a slice of rhubarb tart
Wassi who? A Wassi-ly
Kandin who? A Kandin-sky
And how he get in there for a start?
Read all the existentialist philosophers
Like Schopenhauer and Jean-Paul Sartre
Even Martin Heidegger agreed on one thing
Eternal happiness is rhubarb tart
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb tart
Jean-Paul who? Jean Paul Sartre
That sounds just like a rhyme from Lionel Bart
I want another slice of rhubarb tart
I want another lovely slice
I'm not disparaging the blueberry pie
Two old women are sitting on the couch listening to the
radio when it explodes. One looks at the other
First Pepperpot (Graham Chapman): We'll have to watch
the Telly-vision!
Second Pepperpot (John Cleese): Aaaaw. (sound of
agreement)
(they turn the couch so it's facing the television. One
turns the television on, and they sit down. There is a
small penguin sitting on top of the television set.)
Both Pepperpots: (singing, mumbled) hhmhmhmhmh...
mhmmhmh mhmhm hhmhmmhm mhmhmmhmhmh
First Pepperpot: What's that on top of the telly-vision
set?
(pause)
Second Pepperpot: (matter-of-factly) Looks like a
penguin.
(pause)
Second Pepperpot: It's been a long time there, now, has
First Pepperpot: What's it doin' there?
Second Pepperpot: Standin'!
First Pepperpot: I can see that!
(pause)
First Pepperpot: If it laid an egg, it would roll down
the back of the telly-vision set.
Second Pepperpot: Ummmm. I hadn't thought of that.
First Pepperpot: Unless it's a male.
Second Pepperpot: Yes. It looks fairly butch.
(pause)
First Pepperpot: Per'aps it's from next door.
Second Pepperpot: (yelling) NEXT DOOR?!? Penguins don't
come from NEXT DOOR! They come from the Antarctic!
First Pepperpot: (yet louder) BURMA!!!
(they both stop short, looking around)
Second Pepperpot: Why'd'j say that?
First Pepperpot: I panicked.
Second Pepperpot: Oh.
First Pepperpot: Per'aps it's from the zoo.
Second Pepperpot: Which zoo?
First Pepperpot: (angrily) 'ow should I know which zoo
it's from?!? I'm not Doctor bloody Bernofsky!!
Second Pepperpot: 'Oo's Doctor bloody Bernofsky?
First Pepperpot: He knows everything.
Second Pepperpot: Oooh, I wouldn't like that, that'd
take all the mystery out of life.
(pause)
Second Pepperpot: Besides, if it were from the zoo,
it'd have "property of the zoo" stamped on it.
First Pepperpot: They don't stamp animals "property of
the zoo"!! You can't stamp a huge lion "property of the
zoo"!!
Second Pepperpot: (confidently) They stamp them when
they're small.
First Pepperpot: (snapping back) What happens when they
moult?
Second Pepperpot: Lions don't moult.
First Pepperpot: No, but penguins do. THERE! I've run
rings around you logically.
Second Pepperpot: (looks at the camera) OOOOH!
INTERCOURSE THE PENGUIN!!!
(The television warms up: a man is sitting behind a
news desk)
Man: Hello! Well, it's just after eight o'clock, and
time for the penguin on top of your television set to
explode.
(the penguin explodes)
First Pepperpot: 'Ow did 'e know that was going to
happen?!
O Lord, please don't burn us,
Don't grill us or toast your flock,
Don't put us on a barbecue,
Or simmer us in stock,
Don't braise us or bake or boil us,
Or stir-fry us in a wok.
Oh please don't lightly poach us,
Or baste us with hot fat,
Don't fricassee or roast us,
Or boil us in a vat,
And please don't stick thy servants, Lord,
Chris: Good evening. Tonight: "dinosaurs". I have here,
sitting in the
studio next to me, an elk.
Ahhhh!!!
Oh, I'm sorry! Anne Elk - Mrs Anne Elk
Anne:Miss!
C: Miss Anne Elk, who is an expert on di...
A: N' n' n' n' no! Anne Elk!
C: What?
A: Anne Elk, not Anne Expert!
C: No! No, I was saying that you, Miss Anne Elk, were
an , A-N not
A-N-N-E, expert...
A: Oh!
C: ...on elks - I'm sorry, on dinosaurs. I'm ...
A: Yes, I certainly am, Chris. How very true. My word
yes.
C: Now, Miss Elk - Anne - you have a new theory about
the brontosaurus.
A: Can I just say here, Chris for one moment, that I
have a new theory
about the brontosaurus?
C: Uh... Exactly... What is it?
A: Where?
C: No! No, what is your theory?
A: What is my theory?
C: Yes!
A: What is my theory that it is? Yes. Well, you may
well ask what is my theory.
C: I am asking.
A: And well you may. Yes, my word, you may well ask
what it is, this
theory of mine. Well, this theory, that I have, that is
to say, which is
mine,... is mine.
C: I know it's yours! What is it?
A: ... Where? ... Oh! Oh! What is my theory?
C: Yes!
A: Ahh! My theory, that I have, follows the lines that
I am about to
relate. [starts prolonged throat clearing]
C: [under breath] Oh, God!
[Anne still clearing throat]
A: The Theory, by A. Elk (that's "A" for Anne", it's
not by a elk.)
C: Right...
A: [clears throat] This theory, which belongs to me, is
as follows...
[more throat clearing]
This is how it goes...
[clears throat]
The next thing that I am about to say is my theory.
[clears throat]
Ready?
C: [wimpers]
A: The Theory, by A. Elk [Miss]. My theory is along the
following lines...
C: [under breath]God!
A: ...All brontosauruses are thin at one end; much,
much thicker in the
middle and then thin again at the far end. That is the
theory that I
have and which is mine and what it is, too.
C: That's it, is it?
A: Right, Chris!
C: Well, Anne, this theory of yours seems to have hit
the nail right on the
head.
A: ... and it's mine.
C: Thank you for coming along to the studio.
A: My pleasure, Chris.
C: Britain's newest wasp farm...
A: It's been a lot of fun...
C: ...opened last week...
A: ...saying what my theory is...
C: ... Yes, thank you.
A: ...and whose it is.
C: Yes.... opened last week...
A: I have another theory.
C: Not today, thank you.
A: My theory #2, which is the second theory that I
have. [clears throat].
This theory...
C: Look! Shut up!
A: ...is what I am about to say.
C: Please shut up!
A: which, with what I have said, are the two theories
that are mine and
which belong to me.
C: If you don't shut up, I shall have to shoot you!
A: [clears throat] My xxx theory, which I posses the
ownership of, which
belongs to...
[Sound of a single gun shot]
A: [clearing throat] The Theory the Second, by Anne...
Inflammation of the foreskin
Reminds me of your smile.
I've had ballanital chancroids
For quite a little while.
I gave my heart to NSU
That lovely night in June.
I ache for you, my darling,
And I hope you get well soon.
My penile warts, your herpes,
My syphilitic sores.
Your moenelial infection,
How I miss you more and more.
Your dobie's itch, my scrumpox,
Our lovely gonnorrhea,
At least we both were lying,
When we said that we were clear.
Our syphilitic kisses,
Sealed the secret of our tryst.
You gave me scrotal pustules,
With a quick flick of your wrist.
Your trichovaginitis
Sent shivers down my spine;
I got snail tracks in my anus
When your spirochetes met mine.
Gonoccocal urethritis, streptococcal
ballinitis, meningo myelitis,
diplococcal cephalitis, epididimitis,
interstitial keratitis, syphilitic
choroiditis, and antertior u-ve-i-tis.
My clapped out genitalia
Is not so bad for me,
As the complete and utter failure
Every time I try to pee.
My doctor says my buboes
Are the worst he's ever seen,
My scrotum's painted orange
And my balls are turning green.
My heart is very tender
Though my parts are awful raw,
You might have been infected
But you never were a bore.
I'm dying of your love, my love
I'm your spirochaetal clown,
I've left my body to science
But I'm afraid they've turned it down.
Gonoccocal urethritis, streptococcal
ballinitis, meningo myelitis,
diplococcal cephalitis, epididimitis,
interstitial keratitis, syphilitic
I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay,
I sleep all night and I work all day.
Chorus: He's a lumberjack and he's okay,
He sleeps all night and he works all day.
I cut down trees, I eat my lunch,
I go to the lavatory.
On Wednesdays I go shopping
And hav
e buttered scones for tea.
Mounties: He cuts down trees, he eats his lunch,
He goes to the lavatory.
On Wednesdays he goes shopping
And has buttered scones for tea.
Chorus: He's a lumberjack and he's okay,
He sleeps all night and he works all day.
I cut down trees, I skip and jump,
I like to press wild flowers.
I put on women's clothing,
And hang around in bars.
Mounties: He cuts down trees, he skips and jumps,
He likes to press wild flowers.
He puts on women's clothing,
And hangs around in
bars.
Chorus: He's a lumberjack and he's okay,
He sleeps all night and he works all day.
I cut down trees, I wear high heels,
Suspendies and a bra.
I wish I'd been a girlie,
Just like my dear pappa.
Mounties: He cuts down trees, he wears high heels?
Suspendies...and a bra?
...he's a lumberjack and he's okay,
He sleeps all night and he works all day.
...he's a lumberjack and he's OKAAAAAAAAAAYYY.
Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis?
Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong?
It's swell to have a stiffy,
It's devine to own a dick.
From the tiniest little tadger
To the world's biggest prick!
So three cheers for your willy or John Thomas.
Hooray for your one-eyed trousers snake.
Your piece of pork, your wife's best friend,
Your Percy or your cock.
You can wrap it up in ribbons,
You can slip it in your sock.
Don't take it out in public,
Or they will put you in the dock ...
And you won't
come
Down at an English fair,
One evening I was there,
When I heard a showman shouting
Underneath the flare:
Hoi've got a lo-ve-ly bunch o' coconuts.
There they are a-standin' in a row.
Big ones, small ones, some as big as yer 'ead!
Give 'em a twist, a flick o' the wrist,
That's what the showman said.
Hoi've got a lo-ve-ly bunch o' coconuts.
Hevery ball yer throw will make me rich.
There stands me wife, the idol of me life,
Singin' "roll a-bowl a ball, a penny a pitch!
Singin' roll a-bowl a ball, a penny a pitch!
Singin' roll a-bowl a ball, a penny a pitch!
Roll a-bowl a ball, roll a-bowl a boll, singin' roll a-bowl a ball a penny a pitch!
Instumental
I've got a lo-ve-ly bunch of coconuts (They're lovely!)
There they are a standing in a row.
(One, two, three, four)
Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head
(And bigger)
Give 'em a twist, a flick of the wrist, that's what the showman said.
Now that hoi've got a lo-ve-ly bunch of coconuts.
(La-da-de-da-da)
Hevery ball you throw will make me rich.
(Have a banana)
There stands me wife, the idol of me life,
Singin' roll a-bowl a ball, a penny a pitch!
All together now!
Singin' roll a-bowl a ball, a penny a pitch!
(Harmony!)
Singin' roll a-bowl a ball, a penny a pitch!
Roll a-bowl a ball, roll a-bowl a ball, singin' roll a-bowl a ball, a penny a pitch.
Instumental
I'm so worried about what's happening today,
In the Middle East, you know.
And I'm so worried about the baggage retrieval
System they've got at Heathrow.
I'm so worried about the fashoins today,
I don't think they're good for your feet.
And I'm so worried about the shows on TV
That sometimes they want to repeat.
I'm so worried about what's happening today,
In the Middle East, you know.
And I'm so worried about the baggage retrieval
System they've got at Heathrow.
I'm so worried about my hair falling out,
And the state of the world today.
And I'm so worried about being so full of doubt
About everything anyway.
I'm so worried about modern technology,
I'm so worried about all the things
That they dump in the sea.
I'm so worried about it, worried about it,
Worried, worried, worried.
I'm so worried about everything that can go wrong.
I'm so worried about whether people like this song.
I'm so worried about this very next verse,
It isn't the best that I've got.
And I'm so worried about whether I should go on
Or whether I shouldn't just stop.
I'm so worried about whether I ought to have stopped.
And I'm so worried because it's the sort of thing I ought to know.
And I'm so worried about the baggage retrieval
System they've got at Heathrow.
I'm so worried about whether I should have stopped then,
I'm so worried that I'm driving everyone round the bend.
And I'm so worried about the baggage retrieval
Spoken: The world today seems absolutely crackers.
With nuclear bombs to blow us all sky high.
There are fools and idiots sitting on the trigger.
It's depressing, and it's senseless, and that's why...
Intro: I like Chinese,
I like Chinese,
They
only come up to your knees,
Yet they're always friendly and they're ready to please.
Verse: I like Chinese,
I like Chinese,
There's nine hundred million of them in the world today,
You'd better learn to like them, that's what I say.
Chorus: I like Chinese,
I like Chinese,
They come from a long way overseas,
But they're cute and they're cuddly, and they're ready to please.
Verse: I like chinese food,
The waiters never are rude,
Think of the many things they've done to impress,
There's M
aoism, Taoism, I Ching and chess.
Chorus: So I like Chinese,
I like Chinese,
I like their tiny little trees,
Their Zen, their ping-pong, their
yin and yang-ese.
Verse: I like Chinese thought,
The wisdom that Confucious taught,
If Darwin is an
ything to shout about,
The Chinese will survive us all without any doubt.
Chorus: So I like Chinese,
I like Chinese,
They only come up to your knees,
Yet they're wise and they're witty, and they're ready to please.
Verse: (in Chinese)
Chorus: I like Chinese,
I like Chinese,
Their food is guaranteed to please,
A fourteen, a seven, a nine and lychees.
Chorus: I like Chinese,
I like Chinese,
I like their tiny little trees,
Their Zen, their ping-pong, their yin and yang-ese.
Fade: I like Chinese,
Henry Kissenger
How I'm missing yer,
You're the doctor of my dreams.
With your crinkly hair
And your glassy stare
And your Machiavellian schemes
I know they say that you are very vain
And short and fat and pushy
But at leats you're not insane.
Henry Kissenger
How I'm missing yer
And wishing you were here.
Henry Kissenger
How I'm missing yer
You're so chubby and so neat
With your funny clothes
And your squishy nose
You're like a German Par-o-quet.
All right so people say that you don't care
But you've got nicer legs than Hitler
And bigger tits that Cher
Henry Kissenger
How I'm missing yer
Whenever life gets you down, Mrs.Brown
And things seem hard or tough
And people are stupid, obnoxious or daft
And you feel that you've had quite enough
Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving
And revolving at nine hundred miles an hour
That's orbiting at nineteen miles a second, so it's reckoned
A sun that is the source of all our power
The sun and you and me and all the stars that we can see
Are moving at a million miles a day
In an outer spiral arm, at forty thousand miles an hour
Of the galaxy we call the 'milky way'
Our galaxy itself contains a hundred billion stars
It's a hundred thousand light years side to side
It bulges in the middle, sixteen thousand light years thick
But out by us, it's just three thousand light years wide
We're thirty thousand light years from galactic central point
We go 'round every two hundred million years
And our galaxy is only one of millions of billions
In this amazing and expanding universe
The universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding
In all of the directions it can whizz
As fast as it can go, the speed of light, you know
Twelve million miles a minute and that's the fastest speed there is
So remember, when you're feeling very small and insecure
How amazingly unlikely is your birth
And pray that there's intelligent life somewhere up in space
ARTHUR: Halt! Hallo! Hallo!
GUARD: 'Allo! Who is zis?
ARTHUR: It is King Arthur, and these are the Knights of
the Round
Table. Who's castle is this?
GUARD: This is the castle of my master, Guido Wommer!
ARTHUR: Go and tell your master that we have been
charged by God
with a sacred quest. If he will give us food and
shelter for
the night he can join us in our quest for the Holy
Grail.
GUARD: Well, I'll ask him, but I don't think he'll be
very
keen... Uh, he's already got one, you see?
ARTHUR: What?
GALAHAD: He says they've already got one!
ARTHUR: Are you sure he's got one?
GUARD: Oh, yes, it's very nice-a (I told him we already
got one)
ARTHUR: Well, um, can we come up and have a look?
GUARD: Of course not! You are English types-a!
ARTHUR: Well, what are you then?
GUARD: I'm French! Why do think I have this outrageous
accent,
you silly king!
GALAHAD: What are you doing in England?
GUARD: Mind your own business!
ARTHUR: If you will not show us the Grail, we shall
take your
castle by force!
GUARD: You don't frighten us, English pig-dogs! Go and
boil your
bottoms, sons of a silly person. I blow my nose at you,
so-called Arthur-king, you and all your silly English
kaniggets.
Thppppt!
GALAHAD: What a strange person.
ARTHUR: Now look here, my good man!
GUARD: I don't want to talk to you no more, you empty
headed
animal food trough water! I fart in your general
direction! Your
mother was a hamster and your father smelt of
elderberries!
GALAHAD: Is there someone else up there we could talk
GUARD: No, now go away or I shall taunt you a second
Dad: There are Jews in the world, there are Buddhists.
There are Hindus and Mormons and then,
There are those that follow Mohammud, BUT
I've never been one of them.
I'm a Roman Catholic,
And have been since before I was born,
And the one thing
they say about Catholics
Is they'll take you as soon as you're warm.
You don't have to be a six footer,
You don't have to have a great brain,
You don't have to have any clothes on,
You're a Catholic the moment Dad came.
Because...
Every sperm is
sacred,
Every sperm is great,
If a sperm is wasted,
God gets quite irate.
Children: Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is great,
If a sperm is wasted,
God gets quite irate.
Child: Let the heathen spill theirs
On the dusty g
round,
God shall make them pay for
Each sperm that can't be found.
Children: Every sperm is wanted,
Every sperm is good,
Every sperm is needed,
In your neighborhood.
Mum: Hindu, Taoist, Mormon,
Spill theirs just anywhere,
But God l
oves those who treat their
Semen with more care.
Men: Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is great,
Women:
If a sperm is wasted,
Children:
God gets quite irate.
Priest: Every sperm is wanted,
Br. & Gr:
Every sperm is good,
Nannies:
Every sperm is needed,
Cardinal:
In your neighborhood.
Children: Every sperm is useful,
Every sperm is fine,
Funeral:
God needs everybody's,
Mourner1:
Mine!
Mourner2:
And mine!
Corpse:
And mine!
Nun: Let the Pagan spill theirs,
O'er m
ountain, hill, and plain,
Statues: God shall strike them down for
Each sperm that's spilt in vain.
Everyone: Every sperm is wanted,
Every sperm is good,
Every sperm is needed,
In your neighborhood.
Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is great,
a sperm is wasted,
D what John?
Come again do what?
Do what John?
Do what John?
D what?
Do what?
Do where John?
Do where John?
Why, what, wiv whom and when?
Triffic, really triffic!
Pardon?
Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore
Galloping through the sward
Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore
And his horse Concorde
He steals from the rich
And gives to the poor
Mr. Moore, Mr. Moore, Mr. Moore
Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore
Riding through the night
Soon every lupin in the land
Will be in his mighty hand
He steals them from the rich
And gives them to the poor
Mr. Moore, Mr. Moore, Mr. Moore
Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore
Dum dum dum the night
Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore
Dum de dum dum plight
He steals dum dum dum
And dum dum dum dee
Dennis dum, Dennis dee, dum dum dum
Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore
Riding through the woods
Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore
With his bag of things
He gives to the poor
And he takes from the rich
Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore
Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore
Riding through the land
Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore
Without a merry band
He steals from the poor
And gives to the rich
John: ...except for a half sister, who was obsessed
with Vanadium. Rigged the market, made a cool forty
million, paid off the Lord Mayor, and put the lot into
diesel powered nuns.
Terry J: Which is where it went wrong, eh...
Michael: Exactly!
Terry J: Pass the beernuts.
John: Oh he hasn't killed himself yet.
Terry J: He hasn't?
John: Oh no, waiting to April the 5th.
Michael: Some sort of tax dodge.
Graham: Good evening, sir.
John: Evening, Tom.
Terry J: Evening, Harry.
Michael: Evening, Maurice.
Graham: Well, what's it to be, sir?
John: A mark.
Terry J: Oh, one of your specials please, Harry.
John: One special please, sir.
Graham: One special coming up.
John: So see what's in page eight. Nixon's had an
arsehole transplant.
Michael: Well, have you've...eh...you've seen the stop
press though? The arsehole's rejected him.
Graham: Ehm...would you like a twist of lemming, sir?
Terry J: Uh, yes please, Harry.
(squeak, squeak, squeak)
Graham: Bit more, sir?
Terry J: Oh, just a squeeze.
(SQUEAK, SQUEAK, SQUEAK)
Graham: There you are, sir
Terry J: Thank you.
John: Alex, what'll you have?
Michael: Oh, aaaaaah, Mallard Fizz for me, please,
Maurice.
Graham: Ok, sir, one Mallard Fizz coming up.
Michael: Jolly good.
Terry J: How about old Cohen Barkley?
John: Eh?
Terry J: [???? ???? ????. ??? ??? ?????? switched the
wood preservertives into vinaigre. Sold the bottles
right next to [???].
(QUAAACK, QUAAACK, QUAAACK)
Terry J: Smart fellow's always gonna do well. Nice
bloke, said I [?????????]
Michael: Funny looking chap, you know. Buttocks bent
the wrong way. [??????????] every time he sat down he
fell over. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha. Don't make
me laugh.
Terry J: Well, cheers then.
Graham: Cheers, sir
(Retching)
John: Eh, for me...ehm...a Harlem Stinger, please, Tom.
Graham: Okay, sir. Rastus!
Rastus: Here, boss.
Graham: One Harlem Stinger.
Rastus: One stinger coming raaaahhhhht up.
(Gurgling, retching)
Michael: Cheers, old boy.
Everyone: Cheers, all the best.
(Running to the lavatory)
John: Eh, how much is that then, Tom?
Graham: One pound and forty p, sir.
John: Would you care to join us?
Graham: Oh, no, thank you, sir.
John: There we are, keep the change.
Graham: Thank you, sir.
John: Good health.
Graham: Cheers.
(Drinking. Running to the lavatory, regurgitating)
Terry J: Same again, please, Harry.
Go easy on the lemming, Harry.
Graham: Okay, sir. There you are, sir. Eh...same again
for you, sir?
Michael: Just a small one, Maurice.
Graham: Okay, sir.
Michael: Maurice?
Graham: Yes, sir?
Michael: You haven't got something a little
less...eh...ducky, have you?
Graham: What do you mean, something without the
mallard, sir? How about a Dog Turd and Tonic?
Spoken: GOOD EVENING LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. IT'S TRULY
A REAL HONORABLE EXPERIENCE TO BE HERE THIS EVENING.
A VERY WONDERFUL AND WARM AND EMOTIONAL MOMENT FOR
ALL OF US. AND I'D LIKE TO SING A SONG: FOR ALL OF
YOU.
It's Christmas in Heaven,
the children sing,
It's Christmas in Heaven,
Hark hark those church bells ring.
It's Christmas in Heaven,
The snow falls from the sky...
But it's nice and warm and everyone
looks smart and wears a tie.
It's Christmas in Heaven,
There's great fil
ms on TV...
`The Sound of Music' twice an hour
And `Jaws' I, II, and III.
There's gifts for all the family,
There's toiletries and trains...
There's Sony Walkman Headphone sets
And the latest video games.
It's Christmas it's Christmas in Heaven!
Hip hip hip hip hip hooray!
Every single day,
Is Christmas day.
It's Christmas it's Christmas in Heaven!
Hip hip hip hip hip hooray!
Every single day,
Sailor #1: Still no sign of land. How long is it?
Sailor #2: That's a rather personal question, sir.
Sailor #1: (low voice)You stupid git. I meant how long
has it been in the lifeboat? You've destroyed the
atmosphere now.
Sailor #2: I'm sorry.
Sailor #1: Shut up. Start again.
Sailor #1: Still no sign of land. How long is it?
Sailor #2: 33 days, sir.
Sailor #1: Thirty-three days?
Sailor #2: We can't go on much longer. (low voices) I
didn't think I destroyed the atmosphere.
Sailor #1: Shut up.
Sailor #2: Well, I don't think I did.
Sailor #1: 'Course you did.
Sailor #2: (aside, to 3) Did you think I destroyed the
atmosphere?
Sailor #3: Yes I think you did.
Sailor #1: Shut up. Shut up!
Sailor #1: Still no sign of land. How long is it?
Sailor #2: 33 days, sir.
Sailor #4: Have we started again? (slap)
Sailor #1: STILL no sign of land. How long is it?
Sailor #2: 33 days, sir.
Sailor #1: Thirty-three days?
Sailor #2: We can't go on much longer, sir. We haven't
eaten since the fifth day.
Sailor #3: We're done for, we're done for!
Sailor #1: Shut up, Maudling.
Sailor #2: We've just got to keep hoping. Someone may
find us.
Sailor #4: How we feeling, Captain?
Captain: Not too good. I...I feel so weak.
Sailor #2: We can't hold out much longer.
Captain: Listen...chaps...there's still a chance.
I'm...done for, I've...got a gammy leg and I'm going
fast; I'll never get through. But...some of you might.
So...you'd better eat me.
Sailor #1: Eat you, sir?
Captain: Yes. Eat me.
Sailor #2: Iiuuhh! With a gammy leg?
Captain: You needn't eat the leg, Thompson. There's
still plenty of good meat. Look at that arm.
Sailor #3: It's not just the leg, sir.
Captain: What do you mean?
Sailor #3: Well, sir...it's just that -
Captain: Why don't you want to eat me?
Sailor #3: I'd rather eat Johnson, sir! (points to
sailor #4)
Sailor #2: So would I, sir.
Captain: I see.
Sailor #4: Well that's settled then...everyone's gonna
eat me!
Sailor #1: Uh, well.
Sailor #2: What, sir?
Sailor #1:: No, no you go ahead, please, I won't.......
Sailor #4: Oh, nonsense, sir, you're starving. Tuck in.
Sailor #1: No, no, it's not that.
Sailor #2: What's the matter with Johnson, sir?
Sailor #1: Well, he's not kosher.
Sailor #3: That depends how we kill him, sir.
Sailor #1: Yes, that's true. But to be perfectly frank
I...I like my meat a little more lean. I'd rather eat
Hodges.
Sailor #2: Oh well, all right.
Sailor #3: I still prefer Johnson.
Captain: I wish you'd all stop bickering and eat me.
Sailor #2: Look. I tell you what. Those who want to can
eat Johnson. And you, sir, can have my leg. And we make
some stock from the Captain, and then we'll have
Johnson cold for supper.
Sailor #1: Good thinking, Hodges.
Sailor #4: And we'll finish off with the peaches.
(picks up a tin of peaches)
Sailor #3: And we can start off with the avocados.
(picks up two avocados) Sailor #1: Waitress! (a
waitress walks in) We've decided now, we're going to
MORTICIAN: Bring out your dead!
Bring out your dead!
[clang] Bring out your dead!
[clang] Bring out your dead!
[clang] Bring out your dead!
[clang] Bring out your dead!
CUSTOMER: Here's one -- nine pence.
DEAD PERSON: I'm not dead!
MORTICIAN: What?
CUSTOMER: Nothing -- here's your nine pence.
DEAD PERSON: I'm not dead!
MORTICIAN: Here -- he says he's not dead!
CUSTOMER: Yes, he is.
DEAD PERSON: I'm not!
MORTICIAN: He isn't.
CUSTOMER: Well, he will be soon, he's very ill.
DEAD PERSON: I'm getting better!
CUSTOMER: No, you're not -- you'll be stone dead in a
moment.
MORTICIAN: Oh, I can't take him like that -- it's
against
regulations.
DEAD PERSON: I don't want to go in the cart!
CUSTOMER: Oh, don't be such a baby.
MORTICIAN: I can't take him...
DEAD PERSON: I feel fine!
CUSTOMER: Oh, do us a favor...
MORTICIAN: I can't.
CUSTOMER: Well, can you hang around a couple of
minutes? He
won't be long.
MORTICIAN: Naaah, I got to go on to Robinson's --
they've lost
nine today.
CUSTOMER: Well, when is your next round?
MORTICIAN: Thursday.
DEAD PERSON: I think I'll go for a walk.
CUSTOMER: You're not fooling anyone y'know. Look, isn't
there
something you can do?
DEAD PERSON: I feel happy... I feel happy.
[whop]
CUSTOMER: Ah, thanks very much.
MORTICIAN: Not at all. See you on Thursday.
Bright Side of Life
by Eric Idle
Cheer up, Brian.
You know what they say;
Some things in life are bad,
They can really make you mad.
Other things just make you swear and curse,
When you're chewing on life's gristle,
Don't grumble, give a whistle,
And this'll help things turn out for the best, hey,
Always look on the bright side of life,
Always look on the light side of life,
If life seems jolly rotten,
There's something you've forgotten,
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you're feeling in the dumps,
Don't be silly chumps,
Just purse you're lips and whistle,
That's the thing.
And, always look on the bright side of life,
Always look on the right side of life,
For life is quite absurd,
An. death's the final word,
You must always face the curtain with a bow,
Forget about your sin,
give the audience a grin,
Enjoy it, it's you last chance of the hour.
So, always look on the bright side of death,
Just before you draw your terminal breath,
Life's a piece o' shit,
When you look at it,
Life's a laugh and death's a joke it's true,
You'll see it's all a show,
Keep 'em laughing as you go,
Remember that the last laugh is on you.
And, always look on the bright side of life,
Always look on the right side of life,
Come on, Brian cheer up,
Always look on the bright side of life,
Always look on the right side of life,
Worse things happen at sea, you know,
Always look on the bright side of life,
I mean, what do you have to lose?
You come from nothing,
You go back to nothing.
What have you lost? Nothing!
Bravely bold Sir Robin rode forth from Camelot
He was not afraid to die, O brave Sir Robin
He was not at all afraid to be killed in nasty ways
Brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Robin
He was not in the least bit scared to be mashed into a pulp
Or to have his eyes gouged out and his elbows broken
To have his kneecaps split and his body burned away
And all his limbs hacked and mangled, brave Sir Robin
His head smashed in and his heart cut out
And his liver removed and his bowels unplugged
And his nostrils raped and his bottom burnt off and his penis...
He is brave Sir Robin,
Brave Sir Robin who...
To fight and...............
Brave Sir Robin ran away
Bravely, ran away...away...
When danger reared its ugly head
He bravely turned his tail and fled
Yes, brave Sir Robin turned about
And gallantly he chickened out
Bravely talking to his feet
He beat a very brave retreat
Good evening! For the first time, on record, a 29 part
adoptation of King Solomon's Mines -- Wines, sorry,
wines -- King Solomon's Wines.
A lot of people in this country pooh-pooh Australian
table wines. This is a pity, as many fine Australian
wines appeal not only to the Australian palette, but
also to the cognoscenti of Great Britain.
"Black Stump Bordeaux" is rightly praised as a
peppermint flavoured Burgundy, whilst a good "Sydney
Syrup" can rank with any of the world's best sugary
wines.
"Chateau Bleu", too, has won many prizes; not least for
its taste, and its lingering afterburn.
"Old Smokey, 1968" has been compared favourably to a
Welsh claret, whilst the Australian wino society
thouroughly recommends a 1970 "Coq du Rod Laver",
which, believe me, has a kick on it like a mule: 8
bottles of this, and you're really finished -- at the
opening of the Sydney Bridge Club, they were fishing
them out of the main sewers every half an hour.
Of the sparkling wines, the most famous is "Perth
Pink". This is a bottle with a message in, and the
message is BEWARE!. This is not a wine for drinking --
this is a wine for laying down and avoiding.
Another good fighting wine is "Melbourne Old-and-
Yellow", which is particularly heavy, and should be
used only for hand-to-hand combat.
Quite the reverse is true of "Chateau Chunder", which
is an Appelachian controle, specially grown for those
keen on regurgitation -- a fine wine which really opens
up the sluices at both ends.
Real emetic fans will also go for a "Hobart Muddy", and
a prize winning "Cuiver Reserve Chateau Bottled Nuit
San Wogga Wogga", which has a bouquet like an aborigine
Announcer: Are you embarrassed easily? I am. But it's
nothing to worry about. It's all part of growing up and
being British. This course is designed to eliminate
embarrassment, to enable you to talk freely about rude
objects, to look at akward and embarrassing things, and
to point at people's privates. The course has been
designed by Dr. Karl Gruber of the Institute of Going A
Bit Red in Helsinki. Here, he himself introduces the
course.
Dr. Karl Gruber: Hello, my name is Karl Gruber. Thank
you for inviting me into your home. My method is the
result of six years work here at the institute, in
which subjects were exposed to simulated embarrassment
predicaments, over a prolonged fart - period! time!
(fart) ...Sorry. Lesson 1: Words. Do any of these words
embarass you?
Voice over: Shoe. Megaphone. Grunties.
Dr. Karl Gruber: Now let's go on to something ruder:
Voice over: Wankel rotary engine.
Dr. Karl Gruber: Now lesson 2: Noises. Noises are a
major embarrassment source. Even words like "tits",
"winkle" and "vibraphone" can not rival the
embarrassment potential of sound. Listen to this, if
you can:
(embarrassing sound)
How do you rate your embarrassment response?
A) High.
B) Hello!
C) Good evening!
If C, you are loosening up, and will soon be ready for
this:
(more embarrassing sounds)
Well! How did you rate?
A) Embarrassed.
B) Hello!
C) Good evening!
Now lesson 3, in which these rude and dirty sounds are
combined with smutty visual suggestions into a
embarrassment simulation situation. You are the waiter
at this table:
Lady: Charles, I've got something to show you...
(zipper, thud, thud)
Dr. Karl Gruber: Score 5 for no embarrassment, score 3
All things dull and ugly,
All creatures short and squat,
All things rude and nasty,
The Lord God made the lot.
Each little snake that poisons,
Each little wasp that stings,
He made their brutish venom,
He made their horrid wings.
All things sick and cancerous,
All evil great and small,
All things foul and dangerous,
The Lord God made them all.
Each nasty little hornet,
Each beastly little squid,
Who made the spikey urchin,
Who made the sharks, He did.
All things scabbed and ulcerous,
All pox both great and small,
Putrid, foul and gangrenous,
The Lord God made them all.
KNIGHTS: Aaaaugh! Aaaugh! etc.
KNIGHTS: Run away! Run away!
TIM: Haw haw haw. Haw haw haw. Haw haw.
ARTHUR: Right. How many did we lose?
???: Gawain.
???: Hector.
ARTHUR: And Boris. That's five.
GALAHAD: Three, sir.
ARTHUR: Three. Three. And we'd better not risk another
frontal
assault, that rabbit's dynamite.
ROBIN: Would it help to confuse it if we run away more?
ARTHUR: Oh, shut up and go and change your armor.
GALAHAD: Let us taunt it! It may become so cross that
it will
make a mistake.
ARTHUR: Like what?
GALAHAD: Well,....
ARTHUR: Have we got bows?
???: No.
LAUNCELOT: We have the Holy Hand Grenade.
ARTHUR: Yes, of course! The Holy Hand Grenade of
Antioch! 'Tis
one of the sacred relics Brother Maynard carries with
him! Brother
Maynard! Bring up the Holy Hand Grenade!
[singing]
How does it, uh... how does it work?
???: I know not, my liege.
???: Consult the Book of Armaments!
BROTHER MAYNARD: Armaments, Chapter Two, Verses Nine to
Twenty-One.
BROTHER MAYNARD: And Saint Atila raised the hand
grenade up on high,
saying, 'Oh, Lord, bless this thy hand grenade that
with it thou
mayest blow thy enemies to tiny bits, in thy mercy.'
And the Lord
did grin, and people did feast upon the lambs, and
sloths, and
carp, and anchovies, and orangutans, and breakfast
cereals, and
fruit bats, and large --
LANCELOT: Skip a bit, Brother.
BROTHER MAYNARD: And the Lord spake, saying, 'First
shalt thou take out
the Holy Pin. Then, shalt thou count to three, no more,
no less.
Three shalt be the number thou shalt count, and the
number of the
counting shalt be three. Four shalt thou not count, nor
either
count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to
three. Five is
right out. Once the number three, being the third
number, be
reached, then lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade of
Antioch towards
thou foe, who being naughty in my sight, shall snuff
it.'
BROTHER MAYNARD: Amen.
ALL: Amen.
ARTHUR: Right! One... two... five!
???: Three, sir!
ARTHUR: Three!
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