Monty Python's Flying Circus
1969
(hunting a moth) Hank Spim: Well, I follow the moth in the helicopter to lure it away from the flares, and then Roy comes along in the Lockheed Starfighter and attacks it with air-to-air missiles.
Pepperpot Lady: Well, I object to all this sex on the television! I mean, I keep falling off!
Old lady: Well, I don't like all this sex in the television! I *mean*, I keep falling off!
Mr Equatol: Hello, my name is Equatol. Like the middle of the Earth, only with an L. (he and his wife laugh hysterically) Mr Equatol: This is my wife Audrey, she smells a bit, but inside she has a heart of gold. (both laugh hysterically again)
Man: Officer? Policeman: Yes? Man: I'm terribly sorry, but I was sitting on that bench over there, and dozed off for a while, and when I woke up I found my wallet gone and 500 pounds to be stolen. Policeman: Well, uh, did you see anyone around, anyone at all... ? Man: No, none at all, that's the trouble. Policeman: Well, I'm afraid there's not much we can do about that, sir. (long pause) Man: You wanna go home to my place? (another pause) Policeman: Yeah, all right.
T.F. Gumby: (in Gumby mode) I'd like to meet somebody of superior intelligence!
Michael Miles: And could we have the next contender, please? Ha ha ha... Good evening, madam, and your name is? Mrs Scum: Yes, yes! Michael Miles: And what's your name? Mrs Scum: I go to church regularly. Michael Miles: Jolly good, I see, and which prize do you have particular eyes on this evening? Mrs Scum: I'd like the blow on the head. Michael Miles: The blow on the head. Mrs Scum: Just there. (pats her head) Michael Miles: Jolly good. Well, your first question for the blow on the head this evening is - what great opponent of Cartesian dualism resists the reduction of psychological phenomena to physical states? Mrs Scum: I don't know that! Michael Miles: Well, have a guess. Mrs Scum: Henri Bergson? Michael Miles: Is the correct answer! Mrs Scum: Ooh, that was lucky. I never even heard of him. Michael Miles: Jolly good. Mrs Scum: I don't like darkies! Michael Miles: Ha ha ha! Who does! And now your second question for the blow on the head is - what is the main food that penguins eat? Mrs Scum: Pork luncheon meat? Michael Miles: No. Mrs Scum: (thinks) Spam? Michael Miles: No, no, no. What do penguins eat? Penguins. Mrs Scum: Penguins? Michael Miles: Yes. Mrs Scum: I 'ate penguins!
(Mrs Scum is trying to guess what penguins eat in the pursuit of the grand prize, the blow on the head) Michael Miles: No, no, no. Mrs Scum: They eat themselves! Michael Miles: No, no, what do *penguins* eat? Mrs Scum: Horses! Armchairs! Objects! Michael Miles: No, no, no. What do penguins eat? Mrs Scum: Oh, penguins! Michael Miles: Penguins. Mrs Scum: Cannelloni. Michael Miles: No. Mrs Scum: Lasagna, moussaka, lobster thermidor, escalopes de veau a l'estragon avec endives gratineed with cheese! Michael Miles: No, no, no, no. I'll give you a clue. (mimes a fish swimming) Mrs Scum: Ah! Brian Close!
BBC Voice over: We interrupt this program to annoy you and make things generally irritating.
Kenny Lust: 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: Never mind, he's not all he's cracked up to be.
Inspector Praline: Well, where's the pleasure in that?
Hermit: It's...
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.
Mr Smoke-Too-Much: I saw your add in the "Bolour" Supplement. Bounder: The what? Mr Smoke-Too-Much: The Bolour Suppliment. Bounder: The Colour Supplement. Mr Smoke-Too-Much: Yes, I'm sorry, I can't say the letter B. Bounder: C? Mr Smoke-Too-Much: Yes, that's right. It's all due to a trauma I suffered when I was a "sbool" boy. I was attacked by a bat. Bounder: A cat? Mr Smoke-Too-Much: No, a bat.
Inspector Tiger: Now, alduce me to introlow myself. I'm sorry. Alself me to myduce introlow. Introme tolose mylow alself. Alme to you introself mylowduce. Excuse me a moment. (bangs himself on the head) Allow me to introduce myself. I'm afried I must ask that no-one leave the room. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Inspector Tiger. All: Tiger? Inspector Tiger: (jumps) Where? Where? What? Ah. Me Tiger. You Jane. (growl) Beg your pardon, allow me to introduce myself, I'm afraid I must ask that no-one leave the room. Lady Velloper: Why not? Inspector Tiger: Elementary. Since the body was found in this room, and no-one has left it. Therefore... the murderer must be somebody in this room. Colonel Pickering: What body? Inspector Tiger: Somebody. In this room. Must the murderer be. The murderer of the body is somebody in this room, which nobody must leave... leave the body in the room not to be left by anybody. Nobody leaves anybody or the body with somebody. Everybody who is anybody shall leave the body in the roombody. Take the tablets Tiger. Anybody with a body but not the body is nobody. Nobody leaves the body in the... (takes a tablet) Albody me introbody albodyduce. (a surgeon and two nurses enter with saws and lay Tiger down on the table. The same drawing room, one lobotomy later, Tiger's head is bandaged) Surgeon: Now for Sir Gerald. (exit) Inspector Tiger: That's better. Now I'm Inspector Tiger and I must ask that nobody leave the room. (gives thumbs up to the surgeon) Now someone has committed a murder here, and that murderer is someone in this room. The question is... who? Colonel Pickering: Look, there hasn't been a murder. Inspector Tiger: No murder? All: No. Inspector Tiger: Oh, I don't like it. It's too simple, too clear cut. I'd better wait. (sits) No, too simple, too clear cut. (lights out, a scream, and a shot. Tiger is dead with a poison bottle in his hand, an arrow through his neck, and a bullet in his head) Colonel Pickering: By jove, he was right!
Toastmaster: Gentlemen, pray silence for the President of the Royal Society for Putting Things on Top of Other Things. Sir William: Thank you, gentlemen. The year has been a good one for the society. This year, our members have put more things on top of other things than ever before. But I should warn you, this is no time for complacency. No, there are still many things, and I cannot emphasize this too strongly, *not on top of other things.* I myself, on my way here, saw a thing that was not on top of another thing in any way. (cries of "shame!') Shame indeed. But we must not allow ourselves to become too despondent. For we must never forget that if there was not one thing that was not on top of another thing, our society would be nothing more than a meaningless body of men that had gathered together for no good purpose. But we flourish. This year our Australasian members and the various organisations affiliated to our Australasian branches put no fewer than twenty-two things on top of other things. (applause) Well done all of you. But there is one cloud on the horizon. In this last year our Staffordshire branch has not succeeded in putting one thing on top of another. (more cries of "shame!) Therefore I call upon our Staffordshire delegate to explain this weird behaviour. Cutler: (timidly) Er, Cutler, Staffordshire. Um... well... Mr Chairman, it's just that most of the members in Staffordshire feel... the whole thing's a bit... silly. (cries of outrage) Sir William: Silly? SILLY? (pauses and thinks) Silly! I suppose it is, a bit. What have we been doing wasting our lives with all this nonsense? Right, meeting adjourned for ever.
Man: I'd like to have an argument, please. Secretary: Certainly, sir, have you been here before? Man: No. This will be my first time. Secretary: 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? Secretary: Well, it's £1 for a five minute argument, but only £8 for a course of ten. Man: Well, I think it would be best if I started off with just the one and then see how it goes. Secretary: Fine. I'll see who's free at the moment. Mr Bakley's free, but he's a little bit conciliatory. Ah yes, try Mr Barnard, room 12.
Man: 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 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: 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: It can be.
Man: An argument is a connected series of statements intended to establish a proposition. Mr Vibrating: No it isn't. Man: Yes it is. It's not just contradiction. Mr Vibrating: Look, if I argue with you, I must take up a contrary position. Man: But that's not just saying, "No it isn't." Mr Vibrating: Yes it is. Man: No it isn't. An 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: (bell rings) Good morning. Man: What? Mr Vibrating: That's it. Good morning. Man: It was just getting interesting. Mr Vibrating: Sorry, the five minutes is up. Man: That was never five minutes.
'Thrust' Presenter: Good evening. I have with me tonight Anne Elk. Mrs Anne Elk. Miss Anne Elk: Miss. 'Thrust' Presenter: You say you have a new theory about the brontosaurus Miss Anne Elk: Can I just say here Chris for one moment that I have a new theory about the brontosaurus. 'Thrust' Presenter: Exactly. (long pause) Well, what is it? Miss Anne Elk: (looks around, concerned) Where? 'Thrust' Presenter: No, no, your new theory. Miss Anne Elk: Oh, what is my theory? 'Thrust' Presenter: Yes. Miss Anne Elk: Oh, what is my theory that it is. Well, Chris, you may well ask me what is my theory. 'Thrust' Presenter: I am asking. Miss Anne Elk: Good for you. My word yes. Well, Chris, what it is that it is - this theory of mine. Well, this is what it is - my theory that I have, that is to say, which is mine, is mine. 'Thrust' Presenter: Yes, I know it's yours, what is it? Miss Anne Elk: (looks round again) Where? Oh, what is my theory? This is it. (clears her throat at length) My theory that belongs to me is as follows. (clears her throat very noisily and violently) This is how it goes. The next thing I'm going to say is my theory. Ready? 'Thrust' Presenter: (exasperated) Yes. Miss Anne Elk: My theory by A. Elk, brackets, Miss, brackets. This theory goes as follows and begins now. All brontosauruses are thin at one end, much much thicker in the middle, and the thin again at the far end. That is my theory, it is mine, and it belongs to me, and I own it, and what ist is, too. 'Thrust' Presenter: That's it, is it? Miss Anne Elk: Spot on, Chris. 'Thrust' Presenter: Well, uh, this theory of yours appears to have hit the nail on the head. Miss Anne Elk: And it's mine.
(Erik Njorl, son of Frothgar, has just been sworn in) Superintendent: You are hereby charged: one, that you did, on or about 1126, conspire to publicise a London Borough in the course of a BBC saga; two, that you were wilfully and persistently a foreigner; three, that you conspired to do things not normally considered illegal; four, that you were caught in possession of an offensive weapon, viz., the big brown table down at the police station... Judge: The big brown table down at the police station? Superintendent: It's the best we could find, m'lud... and five, all together now... All: Assaulting a police officer! Prosecuting Counsel: Call Police Constable Pan-Am. (Pan-Am enters, randomly beating people with his truncheon) Into the witness box, Constable, there'll be plenty of time for that later on. Now, you are Police Constable Pan-Am? Police Constable Pan-Am: No! I shall deny that to the last breath in my body! (superintendent gestures to him) Oh, sorry! Yes. Prosecuting Counsel: Police Constable, do you recognize the defendant? Police Constable Pan-Am: No. Never seen him before in my life. (superintendent gestures again) Oh, yes, yes, he's the one. He done it. I'd recognize him anywhere! Sorry, super. Prosecuting Counsel: Constable, will you please tell the court in your own words what happened. Police Constable Pan-Am: Oh yes! (refers to a notebook) I was proceeding in a northerly direction up Alitalia Street when I saw the deceased (indicates Erik) standing at an upstairs window, baring her bosom at the general public. She then took off her - wait a tick. Wrong story. (leafs through notebook) Oh yes. There were three nuns in a railway station and the ticket inspector says to one of them - (superintendent gestures) No... anyway, I clearly saw the deceased... Clerk: Defendant. Police Constable Pan-Am: Defendant! Sorry. Sorry, super. I clearly saw the defendant... doing whatever he's accused of. Red handed! When kicked - cautioned, he said, (as if reading line by line) "It's a fair. Cop I done it all. Right no doubt about. That.' Then, bound as he was to the chair, he assaulted myself and three other officers while bouncing around the cell. The end. (applause and cheering)
Mr Mann: (in a recording studio) Well, then, what sort of thing were you looking for? Tick: Well, er, really something to make me feel a little less insignificant. Mr Mann: Oh, I see, sort of "Now look here! You may be Chairman but your bloody pusillanimous behaviour makes me vomit!" That sort of thing? Tick: Oh, no, no, no, not really, no. Mr Mann: Oh, I see, well perhaps something a bit more sort of Clive Jenkins-ish? (Welsh accent) "Mr Smarmy So-Called Harold Wilson can call himself pragmatic until he's blue in the breasts!" Tick: Oh no, I really want something that will make people be attracted to me like a magnet. Mr Mann: I see, well, you want our "Life and Soul of the Party" tape then, I think. Tick: What's that? Mr Mann: Well it's sort of "'Ello squire, haven't seen you for a bit, haven't seen you for a bit either, Beryl. Two pints of wallop please, love. Still driving the Jensen then? Cheer up Jack it may never happen. What's your poison then?'" Tick: Fantastic, yes. Mr Mann: Right, I'll just see if we've got the tape.
Carol Cleveland: But it's my only line!
Fourth Bruce: Michael Baldwin, this is Bruce. Michael Balwin, this is Bruce. And Michael Baldwin, this is Bruce. First Bruce: Is your name not Bruce, then? Michael Balwin: No, it's Michael. Second Bruce: That's gonna cause a little confusion. Third Bruce: Yeah. Mind of we call you Bruce, just to keep it clear?
Announcer: Hello, good evening, and welcome to, "It's A Living." The rules a very simple. Each week, we get a large fee. At the end of that week, we get another large fee. If there's been no interruption at the end of the year, we get a repeat fee, which can be added on for tax purposes to the previous year, or the following year if there's no new series. Every contestant, in addition to getting a large fee is entitled to three drinks at the BBC or, if the show is over, seven drinks - unless he's an M.P., in which case he can have seven drinks before the show; or a bishop, only three drinks in toto. The winners will receive an additional fee, a prize which they can flog back, and a special fee for a guest appearance on, "Late Night Lineup." Well, those are the rules, that's the game. We'll be back again same time next week; 'til then, bye-bye!
Interviewer: Good evening. I have with me in the studio tonight one of the country's leading skin specialists, Raymond Luxury Yacht. Raymond Luxury Yacht: That's not my name! Interviewer: (tries literal pronunciation) I'm sorry; Raymond Luxury Yatscht. Raymond Luxury Yacht: No no no, it's spelled, "Raymond Luxury Yacht," but it's pronounced, "Throat Warbler Mangrove". Interviewer: You are a very silly man, and I'm not going to interview you.
Larry Saltzberg: Now boys, here's my idea. Third Writer: It's great! Larry Saltzberg: You like it, huh? Others: Great, really great! etc. Larry Saltzberg: Do *you* like it? First Writer: Yeah! Uh... yeah. Larry Saltzberg: What do you like best about it? First Writer: Er, well, you haven't told us... what it is yet... Larry Saltzberg: WHAT? First Writer: I like what he likes. Larry Saltzberg: What do you like? Second Writer: I like what he likes. Third Writer: I like what he likes. Fourth Writer: I like what he likes. Fifth Writer: I'm just crazy about what he likes. Larry Saltzberg: What do you like? Sixth Writer: Uh... I... I agree with them. Larry Saltzberg: Good. Now we're getting somewhere.
BBC Voiceover: The BBC would like to apologize for the next announcement.
BBC Voiceover: Well, it's five past nine and nearly time for six past nine. On BBC 2 now, it'll shortly be six and a half minutes past nine. Later on this evening, it'll be ten o'clock and at 10: 30 we'll be joining BBC 2 in time for 10: 33, and don't forget tomorrow when it'll be 9: 20. Those of you who missed 8: 45 on Friday will be able to see it again this Friday at a quarter to nine. Now, here is a time check. It's six and a half minutes to the big green thing. 2nd BBC Voiceover: You're a looney. BBC Voiceover: I get so bored. I get so bloody bored.
Host: Did you write this symphony in the shed? Arthur "Two Sheds" Jackson: No! Host: Have you written any of your recent works in this shed of yours? Arthur "Two Sheds" Jackson: No, no, not at all. It's just an ordinary garden shed. Host: I see, I see. And you're thinking of buying this second shed to write in! Arthur "Two Sheds" Jackson: No, no. Look. This shed business... it doesn't really matter. The sheds aren't important. A few friends call me "Two Sheds" and that's all there is to it. I wish you'd ask me about the music. Everybody talks about the sheds. They've got it out of proportion... I'm a composer. I'm going to get rid of the shed. I'm fed up with it! Host: Then you'll be Arthur "No Sheds" Jackson, eh?
Announcer: And now a precision display of bad temper. (Soldiers all yell in unison) 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! (Soldiers stamp feet on ground angrily) Announcer: And now, the men of the Second Armored Division with their famous close order swanning about. Sergeant: Squad... CAMP it UP! (Soldiers all chant in unison while mincing) 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!
Announcer: And now for something completely different.
Announcer: And now for something completely different: a man with a tape recorder up his nose. (after that) And now for something completely different: a man with a tape recorder up his brother's nose.
Arthur Name: What's brown and sounds like a bell? Dung!
Arthur Name: She your wife? Man on a Date: Um, no, actually... Arthur Name: Ooooh, oooh, well don't let me interrupt anything, I know all about one-night-stands! Oh dear, this music isn't much, is it? (throws away calm record and starts playing marsh music) I heard this hilarious joke at the pub today: What's brown and sounds like a bell? Man on a Date: I beg your pardon? Arthur Name: What's brown and sounds like a bell? Woman on a Date: (shakes head in confusion) Arthur Name: Dung!
Very agitated man: All right, everybody out, now, all of you! I will not have my home filled with filthy dirty perverts, now I'm giving you all about five minutes to leave before I call the police! Mr Equatol: I don't much like the tone of your voice. (shoots the very agitated man to death) Mr Equatol: Right, let's have a ding-dong.
Minister of Silly Walks: (to his receptionist) Uh, Mrs Tea, would you please bring two cups of coffee to my office? Receptionist: Yes, Mr Sugar Cube. Minister of Silly Walks: (pause) Out of her mind.
Voiceover: What exactly are the commercial possibilities for flying sheep?
Voiceover: (BBC1 World symbol appears) Here is a preview of some of the programmes you'll be able to see coming shortly on BBC Television. To kick off with there's variety... (cut to still picture of Peter West and Brian Johnston) Peter West and Brian Johnston star in "Rain Stopped Play", a whacky new comedy series about the gay exploits of two television cricket commentators (cut to photo of E. W. Swanton) with E. W. Swanton as Aggie the kooky Scots maid. For those of you who don't like variety, there's variety, with Brian Close at the Talk of the Town. (cut to picture of Brian Close in cricket whites on a stage) And of course there'll be sport. The Classics series (cut to engraving of London and caption: "The Classics") return to BBC 2 with twenty-six episodes of John Galsworthy's "Snooker My Way" (cut to composite photo of Nyree Dawn Porter holding a snooker cue) with Nyree Dawn Porter repeating her triumph as Joe Davis. And of course there'll be sport. Comedy is not forgotten (cut to Caption: "Comedy") with Jim Laker (cut to photo of Laker) in "Thirteen Weeks of Off-spin Bowling". Jim plays the zany bachelor bowler in a new series of "Owzat", with Anneley Brummond-Haye on Mr Softee (cut to photo of same) as his wife. And of course there'll be sport. "Panorama" will be returning, introduced (cut to "Panorama" caption with photo of Tony Jacklin) as usual by Tony Jacklin, and Lulu (cut to photo of Lulu) will be tackling the Old Man of Hoy (cut to photo of same) And for those of you who prefer drama - there's sport. On "Show of the Week" Kenneth Wostenholme sings. (cut to still of him, superimposed over Flick Colby Dancers, Pans People, ono) And for those of you who don't like television there's David Coleman. (cut to picture of him smiling) And of course there'll be sport. But now for something completely different - sport.
Man: (whispers into Doctor's ear) Doctor: No. I'm sorry, but, no. Man: (whispers again) Doctor: No, you may not give urine instead of blood.
Mr Barnard: What do you 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, toffy-nosed, malodorous pervert! Man: What? I came in here for an argument. Mr Barnard: Oh, oh oh I'm sorry, this is "abuse'. You want Room 12-A just along the corridor. Man: Oh sorry. Thank you very much, sorry, thank you. (Shuts the door) Stupid git.
Arthur Figgis: Why is it the world never remembered the name of Johann Gambolputty de von Ausfern -schplenden -schlitter -crasscrenbon -fried -digger -dangle -dungle -burstein -von -knacker -thrasher -apple -banger -horowitz -ticolensic -grander -knotty -spelltinkle -grandlich -grumblemeyer -spelterwasser -kürstlich -himbleeisen -bahnwagen -gutenabend -bitte -eine -nürnburger -bratwustle -gerspurten -mit -zweimache -luber -hundsfut -gumberaber -shönendanker -kalbsfleisch -mittler -raucher von Hautkopft of Ulm?
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!
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. The place of the nude in art.
(a seductively dressed girl enters) Art Critic: Oh hello there father, er confessor, professor, your honour, your grace... Girl: (cutely) I'm not your Grace, I'm your Elsie. Art Critic: What a terrible joke! Girl: (crying) But it's my only line!
Fourth Bruce: Well, gentlemen, I'll just remind you of the faculty rules. Rule one: No pooftahs. Rule two: No member of the faculty is to maltreat the Abbos in any way whatsoever, if there's anyone watching. Rule three: No pooftahs. Rule four: I don't want to catch anyone not drinking in their rooms after lights out. Rule five: No pooftahs. Rule six: There is NO rule six. Rule seven: No pooftahs.
Mrs Premise: I just spent four hours burying the cat. Mrs Conclusion: *Four hours* to bury a cat? Mrs Premise: Yes - it wouldn't keep still.
Mr Mousebender: And I thought to myself, "A little fermented curd will do the trick," so, I curtailed my Walpoling activities, sallied forth, and infiltrated your place of purveyance to negotiate the vending of some cheesy comestibles. Henry Wenslydale: Come again? Mr Mousebender: I want to buy some cheese. Henry Wenslydale: Oh, I thought you were complaining about the bouzouki player. Mr Mousebender: Certainly not. I am one who delights in all manifestations of the Terpsichorean muse. Henry Wenslydale: Sorry? Mr Mousebender: Ooh, I like a nice dance - you're forced to.
Vet: I'm afraid I'm not personally qualified to confuse cats, but I can recommend an extremely good service.
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 invisible! THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!
Rustic Shepherd: It's my belief that these sheep are laborin' under the misapprehension that they're birds. Observe their be'avior. Take for a start the sheeps' tendency to 'op about the field on their 'ind legs. Now witness their attempts to fly from tree to tree. Notice that they do not so much fly as... plummet.
Voice Over: Mr Ken Andrews, of Leighton Road, Slough has concealed himself extremely well. He could be almost anywhere. He could be behind the wall, inside the water barrel, beneath a pile of leaves, up in the tree, squatting down behind the car, concealed in a hollow, or crouched behind any one of a hundred bushes. However we happen to know he's in the water barrel. (the water barrel explodes)
Inspector Thompson's Gazelle: Now I'm 'arrestin' this entire show on three counts: one, acts of self-conscious behavior contrary to the "Not in front of the children' Act, two, always saying "It's so and so of the Yard' every time the fuzz arrives and, three, and this is the cruncher, offences against the "Getting out of sketches without using a proper punchline' Act, four, namely, simply ending every bleedin' sketch by just having a policeman come in and... wait a minute.
Voice Over: Dear Sir, I am glad to hear that your studio audience disapproves of the last skit as strongly as I. As a naval officer I abhor the implication that the Royal Navy is a haven for cannibalism. It is well known that we now have the problem relatively under control, and that it is the RAF who now suffer the largest casualties in this area. And what do you think the Argylls ate in Aden. Arabs? Yours etc. Captain B.J. Smethwick in a white wine sauce with shallots, mushrooms and garlic.
Whicker: Father Pierre, why did you stay on in this colonial Campari-land, where the clink of glasses mingles with the murmur of a million mosquitoes, where waterfalls and whiskey wash away the worries of a world-weary whicker, where gin and tonics jingle in a gyroscopic jubilee of something beginning with J?
Archbishop Gumby: I believe in peace... and bashing two bricks together.
Professor R.J. Canning: The Black Death. Typhus, cholera, consumption, bubonic plague. Undertaker: Ah, those were the days...
(recurring at random points) Viking: Lemon curry?
Michael Palin: Ah, I'm afraid we'll have to stop the film there, as some of the scenes which followed were of a violent nature which may have proved distressing to some of our viewers. Though, not to me, I can tell you.
Reg: Trouble at t'mill. Lady M: Oh no! What sort of trouble? Reg: One on't cross beams gone owt askew on't treddle. Lady M: Pardon? Reg: One on't cross beams gone owt askew on't treddle. Lady M: I don't understand what you're saying. Reg: One of the cross beams has gone out of skew on the treadle. Lady M: Well, what on earth does that mean? Reg: I don't know! - Mr Wentworth just told me to come in here and say that there was trouble at the mill, that's all - I didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition! (the door flies open and in come three Cardinals in red robes) Cardinal 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... Hmf... Amongst our weaponry... are such elements as fear, surpr... I'll come in again. (They leave) Reg: I didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition. (They burst in again) Ximinez: NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition!... Amongst our weaponry are such diverse elements as: fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency, an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope, and nice red uniforms - Oh damn!
(Interview with a lady friend of the notorious Dinsdale Piranha) Interviewer: Was there anything unusual about Dinsdale? Lady Friend: I should say not! Dinsdale was a perfectly normal person in every way. Except inasmuch as he was convinced that he was being watched by a giant hedgehog he referred to as Spiny Norman. (Later) Lady Friend: Lately, Dinsdale had become increasingly worried about Spiny Norman. He had come to the conclusion that Norman slept in an aeroplane hangar at Luton Airport. Host: And so, on February the 22nd, 1966, at Luton Airport... (Footage of a mushroom cloud) Host: Even the police began to sit up and take notice.
Giant Hedgehog: Dinsdale?
Hairdresser: Look... I never wanted to be a hairdresser in the first place. I wanted to be a lumberjack. Yes! A lumberjack! Leaping from tree to tree! The crash of the mighty oak! The elm! The larch! With my best girlie by my side! We'd sing, sing, sing! (the Lumberjack Song starts)
Vivian Smith-Smythe-Smith: My father needed a waste basket.
Spiny Norman: Dinsdale!
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.
Voice Over: Dear David Jacobs, East Grinstead, Friday. Why should I have to pay 64 guineas each year for my television licence when I can buy one for six? Yours sincerely, Captain R.H. Pretty. P.S. Support Rhodesia, cut motor taxes, save the Argylls, running-in please pass.
Mr Praline: Excuse me, I would like to buy a fish licence, please. (the attendant indicates the next grille; to camera) The man's sign is incorrect. I have in the past noticed a marked discrepancy between these post office signs and the activities carried on beneath. But soft. let us see how Dame Fortune smiles upon my next postal adventure.
(a letter following a British Navy presentation by pepperpots) Voice Over: As an admiral who came up through the ranks more times than you've had hot dinners, I wish to join my husband O.W.A. Giveaway in condemning this shoddy misrepresentation of our modern navy. The British Navy is one of the finest and most attractive and butchest fighting forces in the world. I love those white flared trousers and the feel of rough blue serge on those pert little buttocks... Presenter: I'm afraid we are unable to show you any more of that letter.
Merchant Banker: (on phone) Hello? Ah, Mr Victim, yes, I'm glad to say I've got the go-ahead to lend you the money you require, yes. Uh, we will, of course, need as security the deeds to your house, of your aunt's house, of your second cousin's house, of your wife's parents' house, and of your granny's bungalow - and we will, in addition, need a controlling interest in your new company, uh, unrestricted access to your private bank account, the deposit into our vaults of your three children as hostages, and a full legal indemnity against any acts of embezzlement carried out by any members of our staff during the normal course of their duties.
Narrator: It was a day like many another, and Mr and Mrs Samuel Brainsample were a perfectly ordinary couple leading perfectly ordinary lives. The sort of people to whom nothing extraordinary ever happened - and not the kind of people to be the center of one of the most astounding incidents in the history of mankind... So let's forget about them and follow instead the destiny of this man...
Angus Podgorney: But what about the forty-eight million kilts and the galaxy of Andromeda? Detective Inspector: I'm afraid that's just one of his stories. You must understand that a blancmange impersonator and cannibal has to use some pretty clever stories to allay suspicion. Angus Podgorney: Then you mean... Detective Inspector: Yes. Angus Podgorney: But... ? Detective Inspector: How? Angus Podgorney: Yes. Detective Inspector: Well... Angus Podgorney: Not... ! Detective Inspector: I'm afraid so. Angus Podgorney: Why? Detective Inspector: Who knows? Angus Podgorney: Do you think... ? Detective Inspector: Could be. Angus Podgorney: But... Detective Inspector: I know. Angus Podgorney: She was... Detective Inspector: Yes. Angus Podgorney: Oh, man.
Interviewer: Good evening. Tonight I have with me Mr Norman St. John Polevaulter who, for the last few years, has been contradicting people. St. John Polevaulter, why do you contradict people? Norman St. John Polevaulter: I don't! Interviewer: But... You told me that you did. Norman St. John Polevaulter: I most certainly did not! Interviewer: (comprehending) Oh! I see. I'll start again. Norman St. John Polevaulter: No, you won't. Interviewer: Shh! I understand you *don't* contradict people. Norman St. John Polevaulter: Yes, I do! Interviewer: And when *didn't* you start contradicting them? Norman St. John Polevaulter: I did! In 1952. Interviewer: 1952? Norman St. John Polevaulter: 1947! Interviewer: 23 years ago. Norman St. John Polevaulter: No!
Eric Voice Over: And now for ten seconds of sex. (a clock ticks for ten seconds) Eric Voice Over: All right, you can stop now.
Señor Biggles: Miss Bladder, take a letter. Miss Bladder: Yes, Señor Biggles. Señor 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!"
Biggles: Here they are, lord. Ximinez: Now, old lady - you have one last chance. Confess the heinous sin of heresy, reject the works of the ungodly - *two* last chances. And you shall be free - *three* last chances. You have three last chances, the nature of which I have divulged in my previous utterance. Dear Old Lady: I don't know what you're talking about. Ximinez: Right! If that's the way you want it - Cardinal! Poke her with the soft cushions!
Jacques Montgolfier: Don't forget we have a special guest coming this evening. Joseph Montgolfier: Huh? Jacques Montgolfier: Don't tell me you have forgotten already. The man who is giving us thousands of francs for our experiments. Joseph Montgolfier: What man? Jacques Montgolfier: Louis XIV! Joseph Montgolfier: Isn't he dead? Jacques Montgolfier: Evidently not.
(repeated randomly) Viking: Anyway.
Mr Boniface: ("It's the Mind: A Weekly Magazine of Things Psychiatric") Good evening. Tonight on "It's the Mind", we examine the phenomenon of déjà vu, that strange feeling we sometimes get that we've lived through something before, that what is happening now has already happened tonight on "It's the Mind" we examine the phenomenon of déjà vu, that strange feeling we sometimes get that we've... (looks puzzled) Anyway, tonight on "It's the Mind", we examine the phenomenon of déjà vu, that strange - ("It's the Mind" opening titles again, then back to Mr Boniface, shaken) Good evening. Tonight on "It's the Mind", we examine the phenomenon of déjà vu, that strange feeling we someti... mes get... that... we've lived through something - ("It's the Mind" opening titles again, then back to Mr Boniface, visibly shaken) Good... good evening. Tonight on "It's the Mind", we examine the phenomenon of d-d-d-d-d-déjà v-v-v-v-v-vu. That extraordinary feeling... quite extraordinary... (trails off; the phone rings and he picks it up) No, fine thanks, fine. (a hand reaches in and sets a glass on the desk; Boniface drinks and the hand exits) Oh thank you. That strange feeling we sometimes get that we've lived through something before. (phone; he picks it up) No, fine thank you, fine. (hand comes in as before; he jumps) Thank you. That strange feeling we... (phone) No, fine thank you, fine. (hand with glass) Thank you. (jumps and yelps) Look, something's happening to me. I-I-um, I think I'd better go and see someone. Good night. (exits and boards the psychiatrist milk float outside) Milkman: Oi, haven't I seen you somewhere before? Mr Boniface: No, doctor, no. Something very funny's happening to me. ("It's the Mind" opening titles again, then back to Boniface in the studio, nervously biting his nails. He sees the camera, screams with terror, and runs outside to the float) Milkman: Oi, haven't I seen you somewhere before? Mr Boniface: No, doctor, no. Something very funny's happening to me. (a few minutes later, outside Dr Cream's office, Boniface jumps off and runs inside) Dr Cream: Ah, come in. Now what seems to be the matter? Mr Boniface: I have this terrible feeling of déjà vu. (outside, he jumps off the float, looks about, puzzled, and runs inside) Dr Cream: Ah, come in. Now, what seems to be the matter? Mr Boniface: I have this terrible feeling of déjà vu. (outside, he jumps off the float, more shaken, and runs in) Dr Cream: Ah, come in. Now what seems to be the matter? Mr Boniface: I have this terrible feeling of déjà vu. (outside, he jumps off the float, looks about, scared, and runs inside as the show ends)
Mr Vibrating: Come in. Man: Um, 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: Oh, 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 quite clear. I most definitely told you.
Inspector Praline: Mr Milton, you are sole proprietor and owner of the Whizzo Chocolate Company? Mr Milton: I am. Inspector Praline: Superintendent Parrot and I are from the hygiene squad. We want to have a word with you about your box of chocolates entitled the "Whizzo Quality Assortment." Mr Milton: Ah, yes. Inspector Praline: 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. Mr Milton: Agreed. Inspector Praline: Next, we have number four - "Crunchy Frog." Mr Milton: Ah, yes. Inspector Praline: Am I right in thinking there's a real frog in here? Mr Milton: Yes, a little one. Inspector Praline: What sort of frog? Mr Milton: A dead frog.
Announcer: (reading) ... and shove them off the face of the earth - (yelling) Mash the dirty red scum! Kick 'em in the teeth where it hurts! Kill! Kill! Kill! Filthy bastards! Commies! I hate 'em, I hate 'em! Aaaah! Aaaah! Female voice offstage: Tea is ready! Announcer: Coming, dear!
Spreaders: It's Being-hit-on-the-head lessons in here. Man: What a stupid concept!
BBC Interviewer: The activity you see behind me is part of the preparations for the new Naval Expedition to Lake Pahoe. The man in charge of this expedition is Vice Admiral Sir John Cunningham. Sir, John, hello there. Vice Admiral Sir John Cunningham: Ah, hello. Well, first of all I'd like to apologize for the behaviour of certain of my colleagues you may have seen earlier, but they are from broken homes, circus families and so on and they are in no way representative of the new modern improved British Navy. They are a small vociferous minority... and may I take this opportunity of emphasizing that there is no cannibalism in the British Navy. Absolutely none, and when I say none, I mean there is a certain amount, more than we are prepared to admit, but all new ratings are warned that if they wake up in the morning and find tooth marks at all anywhere on their bodies, they're to tell me immediately so that I can immediately take every measure to hush the whole thing up. And, finally, necrophilia is *right out*.
Lumberjack: (singing) I cut down trees, I skip and jump, I like to press wild flow'rs... I put on women's clothing and hang around in bars.
'BDDWH' Presenter: Hello, good evening and welcome to another edition of "Blood, Devastation, Death, War & Horror". And later we'll be talking to a man who DOES gardening. But our first guest tonight is a man who talks entirely in anagrams. Hamrag Yatlerot: Taht si crreoct. 'BDDWH' Presenter: Do you enjoy this? Hamrag Yatlerot: I stom certainly od. Revy chum so. 'BDDWH' Presenter: And what is your name? Hamrag Yatlerot: Hamrag, Hamrag Yatlerot. 'BDDWH' Presenter: Well Graham, nice to have you on the show. Now where do you come from? Hamrag Yatlerot: Bumcreland. 'BDDWH' Presenter: Cumberland? Hamrag Yatlerot: Staht sit sepreicly. 'BDDWH' Presenter: And I believe you're working on an anagram version of Shakespeare? Hamrag Yatlerot: Sey sey, taht si crreoct, er. Ta the mnemot I'm wroking on "The Mating Of The Wersh." 'BDDWH' Presenter: "The Mating Of The Wersh". By William Shakespeare? Hamrag Yatlerot: Nay, by Malliwi Rapesheake. 'BDDWH' Presenter: And, erm, what else? Hamrag Yatlerot: "Two Netlemeg Of Verona", "Twelfth Thing", "The Chamrent Of Venice"... 'BDDWH' Presenter: Have you done "Hamlet"? Hamrag Yatlerot: Be ot or bot ne ot, tath si the nestquie. 'BDDWH' Presenter: And what is your next project? Hamrag Yatlerot: Ring Kichard the Thrid. 'BDDWH' Presenter: I'm sorry? Hamrag Yatlerot: A shroe! A shroe! My dingkome for a shroe! 'BDDWH' Presenter: Ah, King Richard, yes... but surely that's not an anagram, that's a spoonerism. Hamrag Yatlerot: If you're going to split hairs, I'm going to piss off. (he leaves)
(BBC rolling globe logo on screen) Announcer: And now... one more minute of "Monty Python's Flying Circus". (BBC rolling globe logo continues for 60 seconds in silence)
Vikings: (singing) Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam! Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam! Lovely Spam, wonderful Spam!
Veronica Smalls: Hello, last week on "Party Hints" I showed you how to make a small plate of goulash go round 26 people, how to get the best out of your canapés, and how to unblock your loo. This week I'm going to tell you what to do if there is an armed communist uprising near your home when you're having a party. Well obviously it'll depend how far you've got with your party when the signal for Red Revolt is raised. If you're just having preliminary aperitifs - Dubonnet, a sherry or a sparkling white wine - then the guests will obviously be in a fairly formal mood and it will be difficult to tell which are the communist agitators. So the thing to do is to get some cloth and some bits of old paper, put it down on the floor, and shoot everybody. This will deal with the Red Menace on your own doorstep. If you're having canapés, as I showed you last week, or an outdoor barbecue, then the thing to do is set fire to all the houses in the street. This will stir up anti-communist hatred and your neighbours will be right with you as you organize counter-revolutionary terror. So you see, if you act promptly enough, any left-wing uprising can be dealt with by the end of the party. Bye!
Mr Pither: You are Rear Admiral Sir Dudley Compton? Chinaman: No. He die. He have heart attack and fell out of window onto exploding bomb, and was killed in shooting accident.
T.F. Gumby: Doctor? Doctor? DOCTOR! (he bangs on a bell violently, eventually smashing it, as well as the desk and everything on it) DOCTOR! DOCTOR! DOCTOR! Dr Gumby: (enter Dr Gumby) Hello! T.F. Gumby: Are you the brain specialist? Dr Gumby: (thinks for a moment) Hello! T.F. Gumby: Are you the brain specialist? Dr Gumby: No. No, I am not the brain specialist. No I am not. Yes! Yes I am! T.F. Gumby: My brain hurts! Dr Gumby: Well, let's take a look at it, Mr Gumby. (begins to lift Gumby's sweater) T.F. Gumby: No, no, no, my brain in my head. Dr Gumby: (thumps him on the head) It will have to come out. T.F. Gumby: What? Out of my head? Dr Gumby: Yes. All the bits of it.
Judge: Michael Norman Randall, you have been found guilty of the murder of Arthur Reginald Webster, Charles Patrick Trumpington, Marcel Agnes Bernstein, Lewis Anona Rudd, John Malcolm Kerr, Nigel Sinclair Robinson, Norman Arthur Potter, Felicity Jayne Stone, Jean Paul Reynard, Rachel Shirly Donaldson, Stephen Jay Greenblatt, Karl Heinz Muller, Belinda Anne Ventham, Juan Carlos Fernandez, Thor Olaf Stensgaard, Lord Kimberley of Pretoria, Lady Kimberley of Pretoria, The Right Honourable Nigel Warmsley Kimberley, Robert Henry Noonan, and Felix James Bennett, on or about the morning of the 19th December 1972. Have you anything to say before I pass sentence? Mr Randall: Yes, sir. I'm very sorry.
Man: That was not five minutes just now. Mr Vibrating: I told you I'm not allowed to argue with you unless you've paid. Man: I just paid. Mr Vibrating: No you haven't. Man: Yes I have. Mr Vibrating: No you haven't. Man: Look, I don't want to argue about this. Mr Vibrating: Well you didn't pay. Man: Aha! If I didn't pay, why are you arguing?See, I've got you. Mr Vibrating: Not necessarily. I could be arguing in my spare time. Man: I've had enough of this. Mr Vibrating: No you haven't.
Alan: Well last week, we showed you how to become a gynaecologist. And this week on "How to Do It" we're going to show you how to play the flute, how to split an atom, how to construct a box girder bridge, how to irrigate the Sahara Desert and make vast new areas of land cultivatable, but first, here's Jackie to tell you all how to rid the world of all known diseases. Jackie: Hello, Alan. Alan: Hello, Jackie. Jackie: Well, first of all, become a doctor and discover a marvellous cure for something, and then, when the medical profession really starts to take notice of you, you can jolly well tell them what to do and make sure they get everything right so there'll never be any diseases ever again. Alan: Thanks, Jackie, great idea. How to play the flute. (produces a flute) Well here we are. You blow there and you move your fingers up and down here. Noel: Great, great, Alan. Well, next week we'll be showing you how black and white people can live together in peace and harmony, and Alan will be over in Moscow showing us how to reconcile the Russians and the Chinese. So until next week, cheerio! All: Bye!
Cardinal Ximinez: Nobody expects the Sp - ("THE END" appears on screen) Oh, bugger!
Inspector Tiger: This house is surrounded. I'm afraid I must not ask anyone to leave the room. (pause) No, I must ask nobody... no, I must ask everybody... I must not ask anyone to leave the room. No one must be asked by me to leave the room. No, no one must ask the room to leave I. I ask the room, shall by someone be left, not. Ask nobody the room somebody leave shall I. Shall I leave the room? Everyone must leave the room... as it is... with them in it. Understand?
Chief Superintendent Lookout: (Inspector Tiger has been murdered) This house is surrounded. I must ask that no-one leave the room. I'm Chief Superintendent Lookout. Lady Velloper: Lookout? Chief Superintendent Lookout: (jumps) What, where? Oh, me, Lookout. Lookout of the Yard. Lady Velloper: Why, what would we see? Chief Superintendent Lookout: I'm sorry? Lady Velloper: What would we see if we look out of the yard? Chief Superintendent Lookout: ... I'm afraid I don't follow that at all. Aha. The body. So the murderer must be somebody in this room. Unless he had very long arms. Say thirty or forty feet. I think we can discount that one. (starts laughing) Lookout of the Yard! Very good. Right, now we'll reconstruct the crime. I'll sit down here. Constable, you turn off the lights. (lights out) Good. Now then, there was a scream, aaahhhhhhhhhh! Then just before the lights went up, there was a shot. (a shot, lights on. Lookout has an arrow through his neck, poison in his lap, and bullet in his head) Assistant Chief Constable Theresamanbehindyer: All right... all right, the house is surrounded and nobody leave the room and all the rest of it. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Assistnat Chief Constable Theresamanbehindyer. All: Theresamanbehindyer? Assistant Chief Constable Theresamanbehindyer: Ah, you're not going to catch me with an old one like that. Right, let's reconstruct the crime. Constable, you be Inspector Tiger. Policeman: Right, sir. Nobody leave the room ask shall. Somebody I leave nobody in the room body shall. Take the tablets Tigerbody. (clapping from the others) Alself me to myduce introlow left body in the roomself. Assistant Chief Constable Theresamanbehindyer: Good, very good. Just sit down there. Right, now we'll pretend the lights have gone out. Constable, you scream. (constable screams) Somebody shoots you... (shoots constable point-blank) and the door opens... Chief Constable Fire: Nobody move. I'm Chief Constable Fire. All: Fire? Chief Constable Fire: (jumps) Where? Where?
Milkman: Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man. Good morning, madam, I'm a psychiatrist. Mrs Pim: You look like a milkman to me. Milkman: (ticks a box on his clipboard) Good, I am in fact dressed as a milkman... you spotted that. Well done. Mrs Pim: Go away. Milkman: Now then, madam, I'm going to show you three numbers and I want you to tell me if you notice any similarity between them. (holds up a card with the number "3' on it three times) Mrs Pim: They're all number three. Milkman: No. Try again. Mrs Pim: They're *all* number three? Milkman: No. They're *all* number three. (writes) Right. Now, I'm going to say a word and I want you to say the first thing that comes into yout head. How many pints do you want? Mrs Pim: Er... three? Milkman: Yoghurt? Mrs Pim: Er... no. Milkman: Cream? Mrs Pim: No. Milkman: Eggs? Mrs Pim: No. Milkman: (writes) Right. Well, you're quite clearly suffering from a repressive libido complex, probably the product of an unhappy childhood, coupledwith acute insecurity in adolescence, which has resulted in an attenuation of the libido complex. Mrs Pim: You *are* a bloody milkman! Milkman: Don't you shout at me, madam, don't come that tone. Now then, I must ask you to accompany me down to the dairy and do some aptitude tests. Mrs Pim: I've got better things to do than come down to the dairy! Milkman: Mrs Ratbag! If you don't mind my saying so, you are badly in need of an expensive course of psychiatric treatment. Now I'm not going to say that a trip down to our dairy will cure you, but it will give hundreds of lower-paid workers a good laugh. Mrs Pim: All right... but how am I going to get home? Milkman: I'll run you there and back in my psychiatrist's float. Mrs Pim: ... All right.
BBC Voiceover: (along with caption) And now an appeal on behalf of the National Trust. (but the caption reads "Truss') Lady Presenter: Good evening. My name is Leapy Lee. No, sorry. That's the name of me favourite singer. My name is Mrs Fred Stolle. No, no, Mrs Fred Stolle is the wife of me favourite tennis player. My name is Bananas. No, no, that's me favourite fruit. I'm Mrs Nice Evening Out At The Pictures Then Perhaps A Dance At A Club And Back To His Place For A Quick Cup Of Coffee And A Little Bit Of - no! No, sorry, that's me favourite way of spending a night out. Perhaps I am Leapy Lee? Yes, I must be Leapy Lee! Hello fans! Leapy Lee here! (sings) Little arrows that will - (the phone rings; she answers it) Hello? Evidently I'm not Leapy Lee. I thought I probably wouldn't be. Thank you, I'll tell them. (hangs up) Hello, Denis Compton here. No, no, I should have written it down. (rummeges through her bag, talking to herself) Now where's that number... I'm Mao Tse Tung... I'm P.P. Arnold... I'm Margaret Thatcher... I'm Sir Gerald Nabarro... (picks up the phone) Hello, Sir Len Hutton here. Could you tell me please... oh, am I? Oh, thank you. (hangs up and addresses us) Good evening. I'm Mrs What Number Are You Dialling Please. (a boxer comes in and punches her out)
Ludovic: ('The Great Debate Number 31: TV4 Or Not TV4?') Hello. Should there be another television channel or not? On tonight's programme, the Minister for Broadcasting, The Right Honourable Mr Ian Throat MP. Mr Ian Throat: Good evening. Ludovic: The chairman of the Amalgamated Money TV, Sir Abe Sappenheim. Sir Abe Sappenheim: Good evening. Ludovic: The Shadow Spokesman for Television, Lord Kinwoodie. Lord Kinwoodie: Hello. Ludovic: And a television critic, Mr Patrick Loone. Mr Patrick Loone: Hello. Ludovic: Gentlemen, should there be a fourth television channel or not? Ian? Mr Ian Throat: Yes. Ludovic: Francis? Lord Kinwoodie: No. Ludovic: Sir Abe? Sir Abe Sappenheim: Yes. Ludovic: Patrick? Mr Patrick Loone: No. Ludovic: Well there you have it, two say will, two say won't. We'll be back again next week, and next week's "Great Debate' will be about government interference in broadcasting and will be cancelled mysteriously.
Bounder: 'Morning, I'm Bounder-Of-Adventure. Mr Smoke-Too-Much: Hello, I'm Smoke-Too-Much. Bounder: Well you'd better cut down a little then. Mr Smoke-Too-Much: I'm sorry? Bounder: You'd better cut down a little then. Mr Smoke-Too-Much: Oh oh, I see. Smoke too much, so I better cut down a little then. Bounder: Yes. I expect you get people making jokes about your name all the time, eh? Mr Smoke-Too-Much: No. I've never noticed it before.
Mr Mousebender: Tell me, have you in fact got any cheese here at all? Henry Wenslydale: Yes, sir. Mr Mousebender: Really? Henry Wenslydale: No, not really, sir. Not a scrap. I was deliberately wasting your time, sir. Mr Mousebender: Well I'm sorry but I'm afraid I'm going to have to shoot you. Henry Wenslydale: Right-o then. (Mousebender draws a gun and shoots Wenslydale dead) Mr Mousebender: What a senseless waste of human life.
Roger Last: (chat show set with three guests slumped in their seats) Good evening. Tonight on "Is There?" we examine the question of life after death. And here to discuss it are three dead people. The late Sir Brian Hardacre, former curator of the Imperial War Museum; the late Professor Thynne, until recently an academic, critic, and broadcaster; and putting the view of the Church of England, the very late Prebendary Reverend Ross. Gentlemen, is there a life after death or not? Sir Brian? (silence) Professor? (no response) Prebendary? (no response) Well there we have it, three say no. On "Is There?" next week, we'll be discussing the question "Is there enough of it about?" Until then, goodnight.
Announcer: You probably noticed that I didn't say, "And now for something completely different," just now. This is simply because, I am unable to appear in the show this week. Sorry to interrupt.
Michael Palin: Mount Everest: forbiding, aloof, terrifying. The mountain with the biggest tits in the world.
Brigadier Sir Charles Arthur Strong, Mrs.: Dear Sir, I wish to complain in the strongest possible terms about the song you have just broadcast about the lumberjack who wears women's clothes. Many of my best friends are lumberjacks, and only a few of them are transvestites. Yours faithfully, Brigadier Sir Charles Arthur Strong, Mrs P.S. I have never kissed the editor of the radio times.
Announcer: Yes, mothers, new improved Whizzo Butter, containing 10% more less, is absolutely indistinguishable from a dead crab!
High Court Offical: (first juror is imitating a fish swimming) Bird? Lawyer: Swimmer! High Court Offical: Breast stroke! Prosecuting Counsel: Brian Phelps! High Court Offical: No, no, no! He was a diver! Lawyer: Esther Williams, then! High Court Offical: No, no! Don't be silly! How can you find someone *not* Esther Williams?
Dr Gumby: (normal voice) Glasses. (nurse gives him glasses) Dr Gumby: Moustache. (nurse gives him moustache) Dr Gumby: Handkerchief. (nurse puts Gumby handkerchief on his head) Dr Gumby: (in Gumby voice) I'm going to operater, I'm going to operate... (the other Gumbys join in) T.F. Gumby: (waking up) Hello? Dr Gumby: We forgot the anaesthetic! (Gumby comes crashing through the wall) Gumby: (to T. F. Gumby) I'm going to anaesthetize you! (Gumby hits T. F. Gumby in the head with his anaesthetic tube)
Cardinal Ximinez: Biggles! Fetch the comfy chair! Biggles: The Comfy Chair? (gets chair and sits old lady down in it) Cardinal Ximinez: Now, you will sit in this chair until lunch with nothing but a cup of coffee at 11.
Mr Mousebender: Tell me, do you have any cheese at all? Henry Wenslydale: Yes. Mr Mousebender: Now I'm going to ask you the same question again, and if you say "No", I'm going to shot you in the head. Do you have any cheese? Henry Wenslydale: (contemplates) Um, no. Mr Mousebender: (shots Henry Wenslydale through the head) What a senseless waste of human life.