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Announcer And now for something completely different.
Commentator This morning, shortly after eleven o’clock, comedy struck this little house in Dibley Road. Sudden. Violent. Comedy.
Rustic Shepherd It is my belief that these sheep are labouring under the misapprehension that they’re birds. Observe their behaviour. Take for a start the sheeps’ tendency to hop about the field on their back legs. Now witness their attempts to fly from tree to tree. Notice that they do not so much fly as plummet. Observe for example that ewe in that oak tree. She is clearly trying to teach her lamb to fly. (baaaaaa . . . thump) Talk about the blind leading the blind.
Norman Is your wife a… goer… eh? Know what I mean? Know what I mean? Nudge nudge. Nudge nudge! Know what I mean? Say no more… know what I mean?
Man I beg your pardon?
Norman Your wife… does she, er, does she “go”—eh? Eh? Eh? Know what I mean, know what I mean? Say no more.
Man She sometimes goes, yes.
Norman I bet she does! I bet she does! I bet she does! Know what I mean? Nudge nudge.
Man: I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow you.
Norman: Follow me! Follow me! I like that. That’s good. A nod’s as good as a wink to a blind bat, eh?
Marge: Ralph! Stop it! Stop it! Stop chewing that Turner! You are… (popping out of shot) you are a naughty, naughty, vicious little boy. (coming back into shot) Oh look at that! The Fighting Temeraire—ruined! What shall I do?
Janet Now don’t do a thing with it love, just put it in the bin over there.
Janet Yes take my word for it, Marge. Kevin’s eaten most of the early nineteenth-century British landscape artists, and I’ve learnt not to worry. As a matter of fact, I feel a bit peckish myself. (breaking off a piece of the Turner) Yes…
Marge I never used to ike Turner.
Janet No… I don’t know much about art, but I know what I like.
Critic Mmmm… (munches on an Utrillo) Well I think Utrillo’s brushwork is fantastic… But he doesn’t always agree with me…. Not after a Rubens, anyway… all those cherries… ooohh… Urgh! I’ve gt Vermeer all down my shirt…
Wife Watteau, dear?
Critic What a terrible joke.
Wfe But it’s my only line!
RSM Look, I’m only doing me job. I have to show you how to defend yourself against fresh fruit.
Fourth Man And pointed sticks.
RSM Shut up!
Second Man Supposing someone came at you with a banana and you haven’t got a gun?
RSM Run for it.
Third Man You could stand and scream for help.
RSM You try that with a pineapple down your windpipe.
Policeman I must warn you, sir, that outside I have police dog Josephine, who is not only armed, and trained to sniff out certain substances, but is also a junkie.
Young Man What are you after… ?
Policeman (pulling a brown paper bag from out of his pocket, very badly and obviously) Oo! Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! Here is a brown paper bag I have found on the premises. I must confiscate this, sir, and take it with me for clinical purposes.
Young Man Wait a minute. You just got that out of your pocket.
Young Man (takes it) Well what’s in it anyway? (opens it) Sandwiches.
Policeman Sandwiches? Blimey. Whatever did I give the wife?
Inspector Praline Mr. Milton? You are sole proprietor and owner of the Whizzo Chocolate Company?
Milton I am.
Praline Superintendent Parrot and I are from the hygiene squad. We want to have aword with you about your box of chocolates entitled The Whizzo Quality Assortment.
Milton Ah, yes.
Praline (producing box of chocolates) If I may begin at the beginning. First there is the cherry fondue. This is extremely nasty, but we can’t prosecute you for that.
Praline Next we have number four, “crunchy frog”.
Milton Ah, yes.
Praline Am I right in thinking there’s a real frog in here?
Milton Yes. A little one.
Praline What sort of frog?
Milton A dead frog.
Praline Is it cooked?
Praline What, a raw frog?
Milton We use only the finest baby frogs, dew picked and flown from Iraq, cleansed in finest quality spring water, lightly killed, and then sealed in a succulent Swiss quituple smooth treble cream milk chocolate envelope and lovingly frosted with glucose.
Praline That’s as maybe, it’s still a frog.
Man Er, excuse me, I want to get married.
Registrar I’m afraid I’m already married.
Man Er, no, no. I just want to get married.
Registrar I could get a divorce, I suppose, but that would be a bit of a wrench.
Man Er, no, no. That wouldn’t be necessary because—
Registrar You see, would you come to my place or should I have to come to yours, because I’ve got a big mortgage.
Man No, no. I want to get married here.
Registrar Oh, dear. I had my heart set on a church wedding.
Interviewer Good evening. Tonight we’re going to take a hard tough abrasive look at camel spotting. to spotter Hello.
Spotter Hello, Peter.
Interviewer Now tell me, what exactly are you doing?
Spotter Er well, I’m camel spotting. I’m spotting to see if there are any camels that I can spot and put them down in my camel spotting book.
Interviewer Good. And how many camels have you spotted so far?
Spotter Oh well so far, Peter, up to the present moment, I’ve spotted nearly, ooh, nearly one.
Interviewer Nearly one?
Spotter Er, call it none.
Art Critic Good evening. I’d like to talk to you tonight about the place of the nude in my bed… um… in the history of my bed… of art, of art, I’m sorry. The place of the nude in the history of tart… call girl… I’m sorry. I’ll start again… bum… oh what a giveaway.
Mr. Praline It’s not pinin’! It’s passed on! This parrot is no more! It has ceased to be! It’s expired and gone to meet ‘is maker! It’s a stiff! Bereft of life, It rests in peace! If you hadn’t nailed it to the perch it’d be pushing up the daisies! Its metabolic processes are now history! It’s off the twig! It’s kicked the bucket, it’s shuffled off it’s mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin’ choir invisible! THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!
Sir So! (looking four feet to Bob’s right) You want to join my mountaineering expedition do you?
Bob Me, sir?
Bob Yes, I’d very much like to, sir.
Sir Jolly good, jolly good. (ticking sheet and then looking right at Bob) And how about you?
Bob There is only me, sir.
Sir (putting hand over eye and looking both at Bob and to Bob’s right) Well bang goes his application then. (he tears up form) Now let me fill you in. I’m leading this expedition and we’re going to climb both peaks of Mount Kilimanjaro.
Bob I thought there was only one peak, sir.
Sir (getting up, putting one hand over one eye again and going to a large map of Africa on wall and peering at it at point-blank range) Well, that’ll save a bit of time.
BBC Voiceover The BBC would like to apologize for the next announcement.
Pepperpot Lady Well, I object to all this sex on the television! I mean, I keep falling off!
Compère Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the refreshment room here at Bletchley. My name is Kenny Lust and I’m your compère for tonight. You know, once in a while it is my pleasure, and my privilege, to welcome here at the refreshment room, some of the truly great international artists of our time. And tonight we have one such artist. Ladies and gentlemen, someone whom I’ve always personally admired, perhaps more deeply, more strongly, more abjectly than ever before. A man, well, more than a man, a god, a great god, whose personality is so totally and utterly wonderful my feeble words of welcome sound wretchedly and pathetically inadequate. Someone whose boots I would gladly lick clean until holes wore through my tongue, a man who is so totally and utterly wonderful, that I would rather be sealed in a pit of my own filth, than dare tread on the same stage with him. Ladies and gentlemen, the incomparably superior human being, Harry Fink.
Voice Offstage He can’t come!
Kenny Lust (winks) Never mind, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.
Second Undertaker (to camera) Are you nervy, irritable, depressed, tired of life. Keep it up. (winks)
Landlady Telephone Mr. Hilter. It’s that nice Mr McGoering from the Bell and Compasses. He says he’s found a place where you can hire bombers by the hour.
Hitler If he opens his mouth again… it’s lampshade time!
Von Ribbentrop (controlling Hitler and getting him toward the door) Shut up. (Hitler exits) Hire bombers by the hour, ha ha, what a laugh he is, that Scottish person! Good old Norman. (he exits)
Landlady He’s on the phone all the time nowadays.
Johnson In business, is he?
Himmler Soon baby.
Landlady Course it’s his big day Thusday. Oh, they’ve been planning it for months.
Johnson What happens then?
Landlady Oh it’s the North Minehead by-election. Mr. Hilter’s standing as a National Bocialist candidate. He’s got wonderful plans for Minehead.
Johnson Like what?
Landlady Well for a start he wants to annex Poland.
Interviewer What do you think of Mr. Hilter’s policies?
Yokel I don’t like the sound of these ‘ere boncentration bamps.
Head Waiter Fine. I’m the head waiter. This is a vegetarian restaurant only, we serve no animal flesh of any kind. We’re not only proud of that, we’re smug about it.
Customer I’ve come about your advert—”Small white pussy cat for sale. Excellent condition.”
Shopkeeper Ah. You wish to buy it?
Customer That’s right. Just for the hour.
At the Ministry of Silly Walks
Minister Good morning. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, but I’m afraid my walk has become rather sillier recently, and so it takes me rather longer to get to work. Now then, what was it again?
Man Well sir, I have a silly walk and I’d like to obtain a Government grant to help me develop it.
Minister I see. May I see your silly walk?
Man Yes, certainly. Yes.
He gets up and does a few steps, lifting the bottom part of his left leg sharply at every alternate pace. He stops.
Minister That’s it?
Man Yes, that’s it, yes.
Minister It’s not particularly silly, is it? I mean the right leg isn’t silly at all and the left leg merely does a forward aerial half turn every alternate step.
Man Yes, but I think that with government backing I could make it very silly.
Mrs Simnel Kipling Road was a typical sort of eastend street. People were in and out of each other’s houses with each other’s property all day long. They were a cheery lot though.
Interviewer Was it a terribly violent area?
Mrs Simnel Oh, ho… yes. Cheerful and violent.
Gloria Dinsdale was a gentleman. And what’s more he knew how to treat a female impersonator.
Criminologist It’s easy for us to judge Dinsdale Piranha too harshly. After all, he only did what most of us simply dream of doing… (tic… controls himself) I’m sorry. After all a murderer is only an extroverted suicide.
Reg Mr Wentworth just told me to come in here and say 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.
Ximinez Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition. Our chief weapon is surprise… surprise and fear… fear and surprise… our two weapons are fear and surprise… and ruthless efficiency. Our three weapons are fear and surprise and ruthless efficiency and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope…. Our four… no… amongst our weapons…. I’ll come in again.
Vicar It’s about this letter you sent me regarding my insurance claim.
Devious Oh, yeah, yeah—well, you see, it’s just that we’re not… as yet… totally satisfied with the grounds of your claim.
Vicar But it says something about filling my mouth in with cement.
Devious Oh well, that’s just insurance jargon.
Mousebender …So I thought to myself, “a little fermented curd will do the trick”. So I curtailed my Walpolling activities, sallied forth and infiltrated your place of purveyance to negotiate the vending of some cheesy comestibles. (smacks his lips)
Henry Wenslydale Come again.
Mousebender (broad Northern accent) I want to buy some cheese.
Henry Wenslydale Oh, I thought you were complaining about the music.
Mousebender Heaven forbid. I am one who delights in all manifestations of the harpsichordean muse.
Mousebender I like a nice dance—you’ve forced me to…
Wensleydale Ah! We do have some Camembert, sir.
Mousebender You do. Excellent.
Wenslydale It’s a bit runny, sir.
Mousebender Oh, I like it runny.
Wenslydale Well as a matter of fact it’s very runny, sir.
Mousebender No matter. No matter. Hand over le fromage de la Belle France qui s’appelle Camembert, s’il vous plait.
Wenslydale I think it’s runnier than you like it, sir.
Mousebender I don’t care how excrementally runny it is. Hand it over with speed.
Wenslydale Yes sir. (bends below the counter and reappears) Oh…
Wenslydale The cat’s eaten it.
Mousebender Has he?
Wenslydale She, sir.
Interviewer Good evening. Well, we have in the studio tonight a man who says things in a very roundabout way. Isn’t that so, Mr Pudifoot?
Mr. Pudifoot Yes.
Interviewer Have you always said things in a very roundabout way?
Mr Pudifoot Yes.
Interviewer Well, I can’t help noticing that, for someone who claims to say things in a very roundabout way, your last two answers have had very little of the discursive quality about them.
Announcer And now a precision display of bad temper.
Soldiers My goodness me! I am in a bad temper today, two three! Damn damn, two three! I am vexed and ratty, two three! And hopping mad!
Announcer And now, the men of the Second Armored Division with their famous close order swanning about.
Sergeant Squad… Camp it up!
Soldiers Ooh get her! Whoops, I’ve got your number ducky, you couldn’t afford me dear, two three. I’ll scratch your eyes out! Don’t come the Brigadier bit with us dear, we all know where you’ve been, you military fairy. Two, three, one, two, three, four, five, six. Whoops! Don’t look now girls, the man has just minced in with that jolly colour Sergeant, two three. OOOOH!
Social Worker You vacuous, toffee-nosed, malodorous, pervert!
Man What? I came here for an argument!
Social Worker Oh, sorry, this is “Abuse”.
Biggles Miss Bladder, take a letter.
Miss Bladder Yes, Señor Biggles.
Biggles Don’t call me “Señor!” I’m not a Spanish person. You must call me Mr. Biggles or Group Captain Biggles, or Mary Biggles if I’m dressed as my wife, but never “Señor!”
Michelangelo Good evening, Your Holiness.
Pope Evening, Michelangelo. I want to talk to you about this painting of yours, The Last Supper. I’m not happy about it.
Michelangelo Oh, dear. It took me hours.
Pope Not happy at all.
Michelangelo Is it the jello you don’t like?
Michelangelo It does add a bit of colour, doesn’t it. Oh, I know, you don’t like the kangaroo.
Pope What kangaroo?
Michelangelo No problem, I’ll paint him out.
Pope I never saw a kangaroo.
Michelangelo Uh, he’s right at the back. No sweat, I’ll make him into a disciple. All right?
Pope That’s the problem.
Michelangelo What is?
Pope The disciples.
Michelangelo Are they too Jewish? I made Judas the most Jewish.
Pope No, it’s just that there are 28 of them.
Michael Palin You were lucky. We lived for three months in a brown paper bag in a septic tank. We used to have to get up at six o’clock in the morning, clean the bag, eat a crust of stale bread, go to work down the mill for fourteen hours a day week in-week out. When we got home, our Dad would thrash us to sleep with his belt!
Graham Chapman Luxury! We used to have to get out of the lake at three o’clock in the morning, clean the lake, eat a handful of hot gravel, go to work at the mill every day for tuppence a month, come home, and Dad would beat us around the head and neck with a broken bottle, if we were LUCKY!
Terry Gilliam Well, 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 a handful of freezing cold gravel, worked twenty-four hours a day at the mill for fourpence every six years, and when we got home, our Dad would slice us in two with a bread knife.
Eric Idle Right. steels himself I had to get up in the morning at ten o’clock at night, half an hour before I went to bed, eat a lump of cold poison, 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 would kill us, and dance about on our graves singing “Hallelujah.”
Michael Palin But you try and tell the young people today that… and they won’t believe ya’.
All Nope, nope…
Philosopher’s Drinking Song Immanuel Kant was a real piss-ant who was very rarely stable. Heideggar, Heideggar was a boozy beggar who could think you under the table. David Hume could out-consume Schopenhauer and Hegel. Rene Descartes was a drunken fart: “I drink, therefore I am.”