Monty Python's Flying Circus, Series 4

Antoinette:
Oh, Joseph! All you think about is balloons. All you talk about is balloons. Your beautiful house is full of bits and pieces of balloons. Your books are all about balloons, every time you sing a song, it is in some way obliquely connected with balloons... Everything you eat has to have "balloon" incorporated in the title. Your dogs are all called Balloono. You tie balloons to your ankles in the evenings!

Joseph Montgolfier:
I don't do that!

Antoinette:
Well, no, you don't do that. But you do duck down and shout, "Hey! Balloons!" when there are none about. Your whole life is becoming obsessively balloonic, you know... Oh-h-h! Why do I have to hang from this bloody gas bag all day?

[Joseph Montgolfier bursts out of his bath, wearing only a towel, to confront the fake Louis XIV]

Joseph Montgolfier:
Just a moment! That man is not Louis XIV!

Jacques Montgolfier:
Joseph, are you out of your mind?

Joseph Montgolfier:
I've been looking it up in my bath. Louis XIV died in 1717 - it's now 1783! Answer me that!

Louis XIV imposter:
Did I say Louis XIV? I'm sorry, I meant Louis XV.

Joseph Montgolfier:
He died in 1774!

Louis XIV imposter:
[menacingly] All right, I'm Louis XVI! Listen to me, smart-ass, when you're the King of France, you've got better things to do than go around all day remembering your bloody number!

Mother:
What have you got now?

Chris:
I bought an ant, mother.

Mother:
What d'you want one of them for! I'm not going to clean it out. You said you'd clean the tiger out, but do you? No, I suppose you've lost interest in it now. Now it'll be ant ant ant for a couple of days, then all of a sudden, 'oh, mum, I've bought a sloth' or some other odd-toed ungulate like a tapir.

Chris:
It's really different this time, mum. I'm really going to look after this ant.

Mother:
That's what you said about the sperm whale... now your papa's having to use it as a garage.

Chris:
Well, you didn't feed it properly.

Mother:
Where are we going to get 44 tons of plankton from every morning? Your dad was dead vexed about that. They thought he was mad in the deli.

Chris:
Well at least he's got a free garage.

Mother:
That's no good to him... his Hillman smells all fishy. [growl from the tiger] Oh blimey, that's the tiger. He'll want his mandies.

Chris:
Are you giving that tiger drugs?

Mother:
'Course I'm giving it drugs!

Chris:
It's illegal.

Mother:
You try telling that to the tiger.

Chris:
I think it's dangerous.

Mother:
Listen, before he started fixing, he used to get through four Jehovah's witnesses a day. And he used to eat all of them, except the pamphlets.

Chris:
Well, he's not dim.

Private Shirley:
Sir!

General Shirley:
Yes?

Private Shirley:
News from the Western Front, sir!

General Shirley:
Yes, what is it?

Private Shirley:
The enemy attacked at dawn, sir.

General Shirley:
Yes, how was it?

Private Shirley:
Well... the enemy were all wearing little silver halos, sir. And they had fairy wands with big stars on the end, and...

General Shirley:
They what?!

Private Shirley:
They had spiders in matchboxes, sir!

General Shirley:
Good God! How did our chaps react?

Private Shirley:
Well, they... they were jolly interested, sir! Some of them, I think it was the Fourth Armoured Brigade, they...

General Shirley:
Yes?

Private Shirley:
Well, they went and had a look at the spiders, sir!

Peter Woods:
We interrupt show jumping to bring you a news flash. The Second World War has now entered a sentimental stage. The morning on the Ardennes Front, the Germans started spooning at dawn, but the British Fifth Army responded by gazing deep in their eyes, and the Germans are reported to have gone 'all coy'.

Mr Gabriello:
Wasn't he great, my boy?

Eric:
He was great, Mr Gabriello.

Mr Gabriello:
The way he kept fighting after his head came off!

Eric:
He was better when the head came off, Mr Gabriello. He was really dodging the guy.

Mr Gabriello:
Yeah, I reckon that if he could've lasted till the end of that first minute, he would've had the Killer worried.

Eric:
Sure, Mr Gabriello.

Mr Gabriello:
Oh he was great. Did you see his left arm?

Eric:
No.

Mr. Gabriello:
OK, we'll look around the hall after everybody's gone.

Mr Neutron:
I want you to be my helpmate. As Tarzan had his Jane, as Napoleon had his Josephine, as Frankie Laine had whoever he had. I want you to help me in my plan to dominate the world!

Mrs Scum:
Oh, Mr N! That I should be so lucky!

Mr Neutron:
You're not Jewish, are you?

Vendor:
A strong hive of bees contains approximately 75,000 bees. Each honey bee must make 154 trips to collect one teaspoon of honey. Hello, sir.

Dad:
What do you want?

Vendor:
Would you like to buy some of our honey, sir?

Mother:
What you doing in here?

Vendor:
Which would you like, the Californian Orange Blossom, the Mexican, the New Zealand, or the Scottish Heather?

Mother:
He can't eat honey. It makes him go plop plops.

Vendor:
Come on, please try some.

Dad:
All right, I'll have some Icelandic Honey.

Vendor:
No, there is no such thing.

Dad:
You mean you don't make any honey at all?

Vendor:
No, no, we must import it all. Every bally drop. We are a gloomy people. It's so crikey cold and dark up there, and only fish to eat. Fish and imported honey. Oh strewth!

Mother:
Well why do you have a week?

Vendor:
Listen buster! In Rejkyavik it is dark for eight months of the year, and it's cold enough to freeze your wrists off and there's only golly fish to eat. Administrative errors are bound to occur in enormous quantities. Look at this - it's all a mistake. It's a real pain in the sphincter! Icelandic Honey Week? My life!

Mother:
Well why do you come in here trying to flog the stuff, then?

Vendor:
Listen cowboy, I got a job to do. IT'S A STUPID, POINTLESS JOB, BUT AT LEAST IT KEEPS ME AWAY FROM ICELAND, ALL RIGHT? The leg of the worker bee has...

[They slam the door on him.]

Second Store Assistant:
So, sir, that is, if I may say so, 184 pounds 1 and 1/2p, sir.

Chris:
Oh, will you take a check?

Second Store Assistant:
Ah yes sir, if you don't mind leaving a blood sample, and uh, a piece of skin off the back of the scalp, just here sir. Sorry, it's just for identification, you know, can't be too careful.

Chris:
I think I'll put it on account.

Second Store Assistant:
I should think so, much less painful.

Complaints manager:
Take a seat. I'm sorry it's on fire....

Hamlet:
[on a psychiatrist's couch] It's just that anywhere I go it's the same old thing. All anyone wants me to say is "to be or not to be".

First Psychiatrist:
That is the question, whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer slings and arrows...

Hamlet:
Yes. It's either that or "Oh, this too too solid flesh"...

First Psychiatrist:
O, that this too too solid flesh would melt/Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!/All the everlasting have not fixed his canon on self-slaughter!

Hamlet:
Yes, all that sort of thing, and I'm just really...

First Psychiatrist:
Do the bit about "Alas poor Yorick"!

Hamlet:
No, I'm sick of it! I want to get away from all that. I want to make something of my life.

First Psychiatrist:
No, I don't know that bit.

Trappre:
[pointing to the dogs] The one on the end, on the right. That's Salad.

Captain Carpenter:
That's a dog.

Trappre:
No, only bits of him.

Captain Carpenter:
What do you mean?

Trappre:
Listen, Teddy Salad's the most brilliant agent the CIA ever had, alright? That's how he made his name, disguise.

Captain Carpenter:
That's incredible!

Trappre:
Yeah. He had to slim-down to one and a half pounds to get into that costume. Eighteen inches off each arm, and over three feet off each leg. The most brilliant surgeon in Europe stuck that tail on.

Captain Carpenter:
What about the head?

Trappre:
All of the head was removed, apart from the eyes and the brain, in order to fit into the costume.

Mr. Vernon:
Hello, madam.

Mrs. Smith:
Yes, you must have come about the...

Mr. Vernon:
...finishing the sentences, yes.

Mrs. Smith:
Well, perhaps you'd like to...

Mr. Vernon:
...come through this way, certainly. Oh, nice place you've got here.

Mrs. Smith:
Yes, well, we...

Mr. Vernon:
...like it?

Mrs. Smith:
Yes, we certainly...

Mr. Vernon:
...do. Good. Now, when did you first start...

Mrs. Smith:
...finding it difficult...

Mr. Vernon:
...to finish sentences, yes.

Mrs. Smith:
Well, it's not me, it's my...

Mr. Vernon:
...husband?

Mrs. Smith:
Yes, he...

Mr. Vernon:
...never lets you finish what you've started?

Mrs. Smith:
Quite. I'm beginning to feel...

Mr. Vernon:
...you'll never finish a sentence again as long as you live?

Mrs. Smith:
Exact...

Mr. Vernon:
...ly. It must be awful.

Announcer:
That was episode three of The Golden Age of Ballooning. May I remind you that there’s still time to get your Golden Age of Ballooning suppositories direct from the BBC, price 4.50 or 19 pound for a set of six.

Norwegian Spokesman:
Good evening. You may think its strange that we should be asking you to vote Norwegian at the next election. But consider the advantages.

Announcer:
Highlights of that broadcast will be discussed later by Lord George-Brown, ex-Foreign Secretary, Mr Sven Olafson, the ex-Norwegian Minister of Finance, Sir Charles Ollendorff, ex-Chairman of the Norwegian Trades Council, Mr Hamish McLavell, the Mayor of Wick, the nearest large town to Norway, Mrs Betty Norday, whose name sounds remarkably like Norway, Mr Brian Waynor, whose name is an anagram of Norway, Mr and Mrs Ford, whose name sounds like Fiord, of which there are a lot in Norway, Ron and Christine Boslo