Monty Python's Flying Circus

BBC Announcer:
We interrupt this program to annoy you and make things generally irritating.

Hermit:
It's...

Clerk:
You are Alexander Yalt?

Alexander Yalt:
[in a Derek Nimmo voice] Oh I am.

Clerk:
Skip the impersonations.

Alexander Yalt:
I am.

Clerk:
Mr Yalt you are charged that on the second day of January 1970 you wilfully, deliberately and with malice aforethought published an English-Hungarian Phrasebook with intent to cause a breach of the peace. How do you plead?

Alexander Yalt:
Not guilty.

Clerk:
You live at 46 Horton Terrace?

Alexander Yalt:
I do live at 46 Horton Terrace.

Clerk:
You are the president of a publishing company?

Alexander Yalt:
I am the president of a publishing company.

Clerk:
Your company publishes phrasebooks?

Alexander Yalt:
My company does publish phrasebooks.

Clerk:
You did say 46 Horton Terrace?

Alexander Yalt:
Yes

Clerk:
[bangs gong ? la Michael Miles] Aha! Got him!

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!

'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 it 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.

Carol Cleveland:
But it's my only line!

TV Presenter:
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]

TV Presenter:
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. Oooh!

Announcer:
And now for something completely different.

Arthur Name:
What's brown and sounds like a bell? Dung!

Arthur Name:
She your wife?

Victor:
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]

Arthur Name:
I heard this hilarious joke at the pub today: What's brown and sounds like a bell?

Victor:
I beg your pardon?

Arthur Name:
What's brown and sounds like a bell?

[Iris shakes head in confusion]

Arthur Name:
Dung!

Victor:
Look, get out, all of you. Go on. Get out! Get out!

Mr. Equator:
I beg your pardon?

Victor:
I'm turning you all out! I'm not having my house filled with filthy perverts. Now look, I'm giving you just half a minute then I'm going to call the police, so get out!

Mr. Equator:
I don't much like the tone of your voice.

[man whispers into Doctor's ear]

Blood Bank Doctor:
No. I'm sorry, but, no.

[man whispers again]

Blood Bank 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.

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:
[in a silly Northern accent] Ooh, I like a nice dance - you're forced to.

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.

Alan 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?

[recurring at random points]

Viking:
Lemon curry?

[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.

[repeated line]

Spiny Norman:
Dinsdale?

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.

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.

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!

Se?or Biggles:
Miss Bladder, take a letter.

Miss Bladder:
Yes, Se?or Biggles.

Se?or Biggles:
Don't call me "Se?or!" 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 "Se?or!"

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 d?j? 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 d?j? vu, that strange feeling we sometimes get that we've... [looks puzzled] Anyway, tonight on "It's the Mind", we examine the phenomenon of d?j? 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 d?j? 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-d?j? 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 d?j? 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 d?j? 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 d?j? 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.

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*.

[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]

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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]

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.

Doctor:
Now I know some hospitals where you get the patients lying around in beds.

Hungarian:
[reading from a English-Hungarian dictionary] I vill not buy this record, it is scratched.

Tobacconist:
Sorry?

Hungarian:
I vill not buy this record, it is scratched.

Tobacconist:
Uh, no, no, this... uh... tobacconist.

Hungarian:
Ah! I vill not buy this *tobacconist*, it is sratched.

Tobacconist:
Uh, no, no, tobacco... um... cigarettes.

Hungarian:
Ja! "Ci-ga-ret-ta"! Uh... My hovercraft if full of eels. [pause] My hovercraft [motions "cigarettes"] is full of eels. [motions "matches"]

Tobacconist:
Oh! Matches! Matches.

Hungarian:
Ja! Ja, ja. Uh... do you *WA*nt... do you *WA*nt to come back to my place? Bouncy, bouncy!

Tobacconist:
I don't think you're using that right.

Hungarian:
You great poohft.

Tobacconist:
Uh, that will be 66 please.

Hungarian:
If I said you had beautiful body, vould you hold it against me? I... I am no longer infected.

Tobacconist:
M-may I?

Hungarian:
Ja! Ja! [gives book to Tobacconist]

Tobacconist:
Costs 6 and 6... costs 6 and... ah, here we are!

[Tobacconist says something in Hungarian, causing the Hungarian to punch him in the face. A police officer comes rushing into the store]

Police Officer:
What's going on here then?

Hungarian:
[to police officer] You have beautiful thighs.

Police Officer:
What?

Tobacconist:
He hit me!

Hungarian:
Drop your panties, Sir William, I cannot wait till lunch time.

Police Officer:
[angry] RIGHT!

[Hungarian dragged away by police officer]

Hungarian:
My nipples explode with delight!

An Art Critic:
[Repeated line] What a Terrible Joke!

Carol Cleveland:
[Crying] But its my only line!

Customer:
Hello? I wish to register a complaint. Hello, miss?

Pet Shop Owner:
[coming up from the desk] What do you mean, "miss"?

Customer:
I'm sorry, I have a cold.

Raymond Luxury-Yacht:
No, no. It's spelt Raymond Luxury-Yacht but it's pronounced Throat-Wobbler Mangrove!

Narrator:
What makes these young Scotsman so keen to kill themselves?

Scottsman #1:
The money's good.

Scottsman #2:
And the water skiing.

BBC Announcer:
[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]

BBC Announcer:
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]

BBC Announcer:
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]

BBC Announcer:
And of course there'll be sport. The Classics series

[cut to engraving of London and caption:
"The Classics"]

BBC Announcer:
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]

BBC Announcer:
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"]

BBC Announcer:
with Jim Laker

[cut to photo of Laker]

BBC Announcer:
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]

BBC Announcer:
as his wife. And of course there'll be sport. "Panorama" will be returning, introduced

[cut to "Panorama" caption with photo of Tony Jacklin]

BBC Announcer:
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]

BBC Announcer:
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]

BBC Announcer:
And for those of you who don't like television there's David Coleman.

[cut to picture of him smiling]

BBC Announcer:
And of course there'll be sport. But now for something completely different - sport.

BBC Voiceover:
And now, a plea for sanity by the Reverend Arthur Belling.

Rev. Arthur Belling:
[Cut to studio. A vicar sitting facing camera. He has an axe in his head] You know, there are many people in the country today who, through no fault of their own, are sane. Some of them were born sane. Some of them became sane later in their lives. It is up to people like you and me who are out of our tiny little minds to try and help these people overcome their sanity. You can start in small ways with ping-pong ball eyes and a funny voice and then you can paint half of your body red and the other half green and then you can jump up and down in a bowl of treacle going 'squawk, squawk, squawk... ' And then you can go 'Neurhhh! Neurhh!' and then you can roll around on the floor going 'pting pting pting'...

[he rolls around on the floor]

BBC Voiceover:
The Reverend Arthur Belling is Vicar of St. Looney-Up-The-Cream-Bun-And-Jam.

[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.

High Court Judge #1:
Ooh I've 'ad such a morning in the High court. I could stamp me little feet the way those QCs carry on.

High Court Judge #2:
Don't I know it love.

High Court Judge #1:
Objection 'ere, objection there. And that nice policeman giving his evidence so well, lovely speaking voice. Anyway, in the end I just banged me little gavel.

High Court Judge #2:
You what love?

High Court Judge #1:
I banged me gavel. Did the 'ole silence in court bit. Ooh if looks could kill that prosecuting counsel would be in for 30 years. How did your summing up go?

High Court Judge #2:
I was quite pleased actually. I tried me butch voice. You know 'what the jury must understand' and I could see that foreman eying me.

High Court Judge #1:
Really?

High Court Judge #2:
Yes, cheeky devil!

High Court Judge #1:
Was 'e the tall one with the very big...

High Court Judge #2:
Anyway, I must finish. So I said 'the maximum punishment is barely suitable for their ghastly crimes' and I waggled my wig, just a little bit but it was a great effect.

High Court Judge #1:
Ooh I bet it was, like that time I wore the stripy robe in the magistrate's court.

'Eggs Diamond' Narrator:
Yes, in those days, a man's life wasn't worth the paper it was printed on.

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]

Lady Presenter:
Little arrows that will ...

[the phone rings; she answers it]

Lady Presenter:
Hello? Evidently I'm not Leapy Lee. I thought I probably wouldn't be. Thank you, I'll tell them.

[hangs up]

Lady Presenter:
Hello, Denis Compton here. No, no, I should have written it down.

[rummeges through her bag, talking to herself]

Lady Presenter:
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]

Lady Presenter:
Hello, Sir Len Hutton here. Could you tell me please... oh, am I? Oh, thank you.

[hangs up and addresses us]

Lady Presenter:
Good evening. I'm Mrs What Number Are You Dialling Please.

[a boxer comes in and punches her out]

Merchant Banker:
What is my incentive to give you the Pound?

Mr Ford:
Well, the incentive is to make the orphans happy.

Merchant Banker:
Happy? You quite sure you've got this right?

Mr Ford:
Yes, lots of people give me money.

Merchant Banker:
What, just like that?

Mr Ford:
Yes.

Merchant Banker:
Must be sick. Uh, I don't suppose you could give me a list of their names and addresses.

'Life and Death Struggles' Narrator:
The unsuspecting breakfast glides ever closer, and the royal pantomime person is poised for the kill. She raises her harpoon and fires! Bang, right in the toast. They struggle, and all is over. Poor breakfast.

[last lines]

'Life and Death Struggles' Narrator:
Here you see some English comic actors engaged in a life or death struggle with a rather weak ending. This is typical of the zany madcap world of the irresistible kooky funsters. The English pantomime horse wins and so is assured of a place in British history, and a steady job at a Merchant Bank. Unfortunately, before his pension rights are assured, he catches bronchitis and dies. Another victim of the need to finish these shows on time.

Title Card:
ETH NED

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.

'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]

Minister of Silly Walks:
[to his receptionist] Mrs. Two-Lumps, would you please bring us in two coffees.

Receptionist:
Yes, Mr. Teabag.

Minister of Silly Walks:
[pause] Out of her mind.

Face the Press' Interviewer:
Tonight on Face the Press, we're going to examine two different views of contemporary things. On my left is the Minister for Home Affairs who is wearing a striking organza dress in pink tulle with matching pearls and a dear Monte Carlo necklace. The shoes are in brushed pigskin with gold clasps by Maxwell of Bond Street. The hair is by Roger and the whole ensemble is crowned by a spectacular array of Christmas Orchids. And on my right putting the case against the government is a small patch of brown liquid, which could be creosote or some extract used in industrial varnishing. Good evening. Minister, may I put the question to you. In your plan 'A Better Britain for Us,' you claimed that you would build 88 thousand million billion houses a year in the greater London area alone. In fact, you've only built three in the past 15 years. Are you a bit disappointed with this result?

Minister for Home Affairs:
No, no. I would like to answer this question, if I may, in two ways. Firstly, in my normal voice, and then in a kind of silly high-pitched whine.

Minister of Silly Walks:
[evaluating the man's silly walk] It's not particularly silly, is it. I I mean the right leg isn't silly at all, and the left leg merely does a forward aerial half-turn every alternate step.

The Announcer:
When the Pyrannas left school they were called up, but were found by an Army board to be too mentally unstable, even for national service. Denied the opportunity to use their talents in the service of their county, they began to operate what they called The Operation. They would select a victim, and then threaten to beat him up if he paid them the so called protection money. Four months later they started another operation, which they called The Other Operation. In this racket they selected another victim, and threaten *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 if he didn't pay them they would beat him up. This, for the Pyrannas Brothers, was the turning point.

Second Interviewer:
Stig, I've been told that Dinsdale Pyranna nailed your head to the floor.

Stig O'Tracey:
No! No never, never. He was a smashing bloke. He used to give his mother flowers and that. He was like a brother to me.

Second Interviewer:
But the police had film of Dinsdale actually nailing your head to the floor.

Stig O'Tracey:
Oh yeah, well he did that, yeah.

Second Interviewer:
Why?

Stig O'Tracey:
Well he had to, didn't he? I mean be fair, there was nothing else he could do. I mean I had transgressed the unwritten law.

Second Interviewer:
What had you done?

Stig O'Tracey:
Uh... well he never told me that. But he gave me his word 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. There's nothing Dinsdale wouldn't do for you.

Second Assistant:
There's a 'Bridget - Queen of the Whip'.

Porn Shop Customer:
Yes...

Second Assistant:
Or 'Naughty Nora'... or there's this one: 'Doug, Bob and Gordon Visit the Ark Royal'. Or there's 'Sister Teresa: The Spanking Nun'.

Porn Shop Customer:
Mmmm, I see. You don't have anything specially about Devon and Cornwall?

Second Assistant:
No, I'm afraid not, sir.

Porn Shop Customer:
The one I was really after was Arthur Hotchkiss's 'Devonshire Country Churches'.

Second Assistant:
Well how about this, sir: 'Bum Biters'?

Porn Shop Customer:
No, not really. I don't suppose you have any general surveys of English church architecture?

Second Assistant:
No, it's not really our line, sir.

Porn Shop Customer:
No, I see. Well, never mind I'll just take the 'Lord Lieutenant in Nylons' then, and trade in these two copies of 'Piggie Parade'. Thank you.

Superintendent Gaskell:
Look. This is the last time. I'm warning you, I'm not Sir Philip-bleeding-Sidney. I am Superintendent Harold Gaskell and this is a raid.

Second Assistant:
[to a customer, ignoring Gaskell] That'll be 540 quid, sir.

Man with Pile of Books:
Oh, I'll just have this one then.

Superintendent Gaskell:
Maddox! [Turns to all in shop] Look, this is a raid... Honestly!

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]

Roger Last:
Professor?

[no response]

Roger Last:
Prebendary?

[no response]

Roger Last:
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.

Voice Over:
[and caption] The Free Repetition of Doubtful Words Skit, Spoof, Jape or Vignette, By a Very Underrated Writer.

[a Post Office counter window with "Telegram Enquiries" over the top, seen through an ornate vignette. The clerk is behind the counter and Mr. Peepee enters. They speak very stiltedly]

Mr. Peepee:
I've come for some free repetition of doubtful words on an inland telegram.

Clerk:
Have you got the telegram in question?

Mr. Peepee:
I have the very thing here.

Clerk:
Well, slip it to me my good chap and let me eye the contents.

Mr. Peepee:
At once, Mr Telegram Enquiry Man.

Clerk:
[taking the telegram and opening it] Thank you Mr Customer Man. Aha! "Parling I glove you. Clease clome at bronce, your troving swife, Pat." Which was the word you wanted checking?

Mr. Peepee:
Pat.

Clerk:
Pat?

Mr. Peepee:
My wife's name is not Pat at all.

Clerk:
No?

Mr. Peepee:
It's Bat. With a B.

Clerk:
And therefore I will take a quick look in the book.

[Caption:
One Quick Look in the Book Later]

Clerk:
You're quite right, old cock. There *has* been a mistake.

Mr. Peepee:
I thought as much. What really does it say?

Clerk:
It say "Go away you silly little bleeder. I am having another man. Love, Bat". Quite some error.

Mr. Peepee:
Yes. She wouldn't call herself Pat, it's silly.

Clerk:
Daft, I call it.

Mr. Peepee:
Well it has been a pleasure working with you.

Clerk:
For me also it has been a pleasure. [to camera] And that concludes our little skit.

[the two men slightly hold a final pose, with string quartet music playing. Camera pulls back to reveal a string quartet playing the music]

Voice Over:
[and caption] The Free Repetition of Doubtful Words Thing, by a Justly Underrated Writer. The End.

Dr. E. Henry Thripshaw:
I see, but recently you have been having this problem with your word order?

Mr. Burrows:
Absolutely. What makes it worse is that sometimes at the end of a sentence, I'll come out with the wrong fuse box.

Dr. E. Henry Thripshaw:
Fuse box?

Mr. Burrows:
And the thing about saying the wrong word is that, 'A' I don't notice it, and 'B' sometimes orange water given a bucket of plaster.

Dr. E. Henry Thripshaw:
Yes, tell me more about your problem.

Mr. Burrows:
Well as I say well just be talking and out with the wrong word, and ash tray's your uncle. I won't be strawberry about it.

Dr. E. Henry Thripshaw:
Enough said.

Mr. Burrows:
It's so embarrassing when my wife and I go to an orgy.

Dr. E. Henry Thripshaw:
A party?

Mr. Burrows:
No, an orgy. We live in East Shire.

Dr. E. Henry Thripshaw:
Of course.

Dr. E. Henry Thripshaw:
At present I'm working on a new disease, which I am hoping to make into a musical.

Second Hermit:
Hello, are you a hermit by any chance?

Frank the Hermit:
Yes that's right. Are you a hermit?

Second Hermit:
Yes, I certainly am.

Frank the Hermit:
Well I never. What are you getting away from?

Second Hermit:
Oh you know, the usual - people, chat, gossip, you know.

Frank the Hermit:
Oh I certainly do - it was the same with me. I mean there comes a time when you realize there's no good frittering your life away in idleness and trivial chit-chat. Where's your cave?

Second Hermit:
Oh, up the goat track, first on the left.

Frank the Hermit:
Oh they're very nice up there, aren't they?

Second Hermit:
Yes they are, I've got a beauty.

Frank the Hermit:
A bit drafty though, aren't they?

Second Hermit:
No, we've had ours insulated.

Frank the Hermit:
Oh yes.

Second Hermit:
Yes, I used birds' nests, moss and oak leaves round the outside.

Frank the Hermit:
Oh, sounds marvellous.

Second Hermit:
Oh it's a treat, it really is, 'cos otherwise those stone caves can be so grim.

Frank the Hermit:
Yes they really can be, can't they? They really can.

Second Hermit:
Oh yes. [Third hermit passes by]

Norman the Hermit:
Morning Frank.

Frank the Hermit:
Morning Norman. Talking of moss, er you know Mr Robinson?

Second Hermit:
With the, er, green loin cloth?

Frank the Hermit:
Er no, that's Mr Seagrave. Mr Robinson's the hermit who lodges with Mr Seagrave.

Second Hermit:
Oh I see, yes.

Frank the Hermit:
Yes well he's put me onto wattles.

Second Hermit:
Really?

Frank the Hermit:
Yes. Swears by them. Yes.

Lionel the Hermit:
[Fourth hermit passes by] Morning Frank.

Frank the Hermit:
Morning Lionel. Well he says that moss tends to fall off the cave walls during cold weather. You know you might get a really bad spell and half the moss drops off the cave wall, leaving you cold.

Second Hermit:
Oh well, Mr Robinson's cave's never been exactly nirvana has it?

Frank the Hermit:
Well, quite, that's what I mean. Anyway, Mr Rogers, he's the, er, hermit...

Second Hermit:
...on the end.

Frank the Hermit:
...up at the top, yes. Well he tried wattles and he came out in a rash.

Second Hermit:
Really?

Frank the Hermit:
Yes, and there's me with half a wall wattled, I mean what'll I do?

Second Hermit:
Well why don't you try birds nests like I've done? Or else, dead bracken.

Han the Hermit:
[calling from a distance] Frank!

Frank the Hermit:
Yes Han?

Han the Hermit:
Can I borrow your goat?

Frank the Hermit:
Er, yes that'll be all right. Oh leave me a pint for breakfast will you?... [to hermit] You see, you know that is the trouble with living half way up a cliff - you feel so cut off. You know it takes me two hours every morning to get out onto the moors, collect my berries, chastise myself, and two hours back in the evening.

Second Hermit:
Still there's one thing about being a hermit, at least you meet people.

Frank the Hermit:
Oh yes, I wouldn't go back to public relations.

Second Hermit:
Oh well, bye for now Frank, must toddle.

The Colonel:
Now, I've noticed a tendency for this programme to get rather silly. Now I do my best to keep things moving along, but I'm not having things getting silly. Those two last sketches I did got very silly indeed, and that last one about the bed was even sillier. Now, nobody likes a good laugh more than I do... except perhaps my wife and some of her friends... oh yes and Captain Johnston. Come to think of it most people likes a good laugh more than I do. But that's beside the point. Now, let's have a good clean healthy outdoor sketch. Get some air into your lungs. Ten, nine, eight and all that.

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!

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!

Bed salesman:
Did someone say "mattress" to Mr Lambert?

Private Watkins:
I'd like to leave the Army please, sir.

The Colonel:
Good heavens man, why?

Private Watkins:
It's dangerous!

Dino Vercotti:
[swaggering in] Morning Colonel.

The Colonel:
Good morning gentlemen, now what can I do for you?

Luigi Vercotti:
You've ah, you've got a nice Army base here, Colonel.

The Colonel:
Yes?

Luigi Vercotti:
We wouldn't want anything to happen to it...

The Colonel:
What?

Dino Vercotti:
What my brother means is, it would be a shame if ah [throws a knick knack to the floor shattering it] aw, sorry Colonel.

[first lines]

Hamlet:
[on couch] It's just that where ever 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...

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]

Archbishop Gumby:
I believe in peace... and bashing two bricks together.

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.

Second City Gent:
Well, I've been in the city for twenty years, and I must admit...I'm lost.

Fourth City Gent:
Well, I've been in the city for thirty years and I've never once regretted being a nasty, greedy, cold-hearted, avaricious money-grubber... [correcting himself] Conservative!

Fifth City Gent:
Well, I've been in the city for twenty-seven years, and I'd like to see the reintroduction of flogging. Every Thursday, round at my place.

Gavin Millarrrrrrrrrr:
Some people have made the mistake of seeing Shunt's work as a load of rubbish about railway timetables, but clever people like me who talk loudly in restaurants see this as a deliberate ambiguity, a plea for understanding in a mechanized world. The points are frozen, the beast is dead. What is the difference? What indeed is the point? The point is frozen, the beast is late out of Paddington. The point is taken. If La Fontaine's elk would spurn Tom Jones the engine must be our head, the dining car, our esophagus, the guards van, our left lung, the cattle truck, our shins, the first class compartment, the piece of skin at the nape of the neck, and the level crossing, an electric elk called Simon. The clarity is devastating. But where is the ambiguity? It's over there in a box. Shunt is saying the 8:15 from Gillingham, when in reality he means the 8:13 from Gillingham. The train is the same, only the time is altered. Ecce homo, ergo elk. La Fontaine knew his sister and knew her bloody well. The point is taken, the beast is molting, the fluff gets up your nose. The illusion is complete, it is reality, the reality is illusion and the ambiguity is the only truth. But is the truth, as Hitchcock observes, in the box? No, there isn't room, the ambiguity has put on weight. The point is taken, the elk is dead, the beast stops at Swindon, Chabrol stops at nothing, I'm having treatment and La Fontaine can get knotted.

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?

Voice-over:
[and animated title] How to Recognise Different Parts of the Body.

[the infamous Monty Python foot steps on the ground]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at foot] Number one - the foot.

[Cut to statue of Venus]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at shoulder] Number two - the shoulder.

[Cut to a picture of the same Monty Python foot being used as a cigarette ashtray]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at foot] Number three - the *other* foot.

[Cut to side profile of unknown person]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at nose] Number four - the bridge of the nose.

[Cut to picture of man wearing nothing but Bermuda shorts]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at shorts] Number five - the naughty bits.

[Cut to picture of arm bending]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at elbow] Number six - just above the elbow.

[Cut to close-up of another man wearing same Bermuda shorts]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at middle of shorts] Number seven - just two inches to the right of a *very* naughty bit indeed.

[Cut to shot of a knee of one of the characters in the next sketch]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at knee] Number eight - the kneecap.

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.

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.

[close-up of one of the Bruces' ears]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at ear] Number nine - the ear.

[cut to picture of big toe]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at big toe] Number ten - the big toe.

[cut to picture of another man wearing Bermuda shorts]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at shorts] Number eleven - more naughty bits.

[cut to full-length shot of a lady in Bermuda shorts and Bermuda bra]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow on each side of her body, one pointing at the bra, one pointing at the shorts] Number twelve - the naughty bits of a lady.

[cut to picture of a horse wearing Bermuda shorts]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at shorts] Number thirteen - the naughty bits of a horse.

[cut to picture of a tiny ant]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed enormous arrow pointing at ant] Number fourteen - the naughty bits of an ant.

[cut to picture of Reginald Maudling with Bermuda shorts placed over his suit]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at shorts] Number fifteen - the naughty bits of Reginald Maudling.

[cut to close-up of a false hand sticking out of a sleeve]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at false hand] Number sixteen - the hand.

The Announcer:
[while stroking a pig] And so on and so on and so on. And now...

[Cut to picture of the Pope. Slight pause, so we think it might be something to do with the Pope. An arrow suddenly comes in above him pointing down at his head]

Voice-over:
Number seventeen - the head.

[Cut to picture of a waist with a feather sticking out]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at feather] Number eighteen - the feather... rare.

[Cut to profile of Raymond Luxury-Yacht, from next sketch, who has an enormous false polystyrene nose]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at false nose] Number nineteen - the nose.

[Animation of a racing car moving over a naked lady, passing a sign saying "Pit Stop". Close-up of armpits. Superimposed little white arow]

Voice-over:
Number twenty - the armpits.

[Cut to picture of the back of a person]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at the back of the neck] Number twenty-one - the bottom two thirds of the nape of the neck.

[Cut to close-up of an old-fashioned radio]

Voice-over:
Number twenty-two - the nipple.

[Superimposed arrow points at the tuning dial]

[after a penguin explodes on the TV set]

First Pepperpot:
[referring to the TV Announcer] How did he know that was going to happen?

TV Announcer:
It was an inspired guess. And now...

[Cut to picture of shin]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at shin] Number twenty-three - the shin.

[Cut to picture of Reginald Maudling]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at shin] Number twenty-four - Reginald Maudling's shin.

[Cut to an open-head picture]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing at brain] Number twenty-five - the brain.

[Cut to picture of Margaret Thatcher]

Voice-over:
Number twenty-six - Margaret Thatcher's brain.

[Superimposed arrow points at Margaret Thatcher's knee]

[Cut to a fairly wide still picture of cricket match in progress. Batsman, bowler, ring of fielders all have polka-dotted Bermuda shorts. Little arrows point to each pair of Bermuda shorts]

Voice-over:
Number twenty-seven - more naughty bits.

[Cut to picture of the cabinet at a table. Arrows point down below the table to their naughty bits]

Voice-over:
Number twenty-eight - the naughty bits of the Cabinet.

[Cut to studio shot of the next set]

Voice-over:
[with superimposed arrow pointing from the top] Number twenty-nine - the interior of a country house.

Mrs. #1:
Well, what's on the television then?

Mrs. #2:
Looks like a penguin.

Mrs. #1:
No no no no, I didn't mean what's on the television set, I meant what program...

Mrs. #2:
Oh [goes over and turns the set on, sits back down] Funny that penguin being there, isn't it. What's it doing there?

Mrs. #1:
Standin'!

Mrs. #2:
I can see that!

Mrs. #1:
If it lays an egg, it will fall down the back of the television set.

Mrs. #2:
We'll have to watch that... Unless it's a male.

Mrs. #1:
Whew, I never thought of that.

Mrs. #2:
Yes. It looks fairly butch.

Mrs. #1:
Per'aps it comes from next door.

Mrs. #2:
[yelling] PENGUINS DON'T COME FROM NEXT DOOR, THEY COME FROM THE ANTARCTIC!

Mrs. #1:
[even louder] BURMA! [they both stop short, looking around]

Mrs. #2:
Why'd you say Burma?

Mrs. #1:
I panicked.

Mrs. #2:
Oh. Per'aps it's from the zoo.

Mrs. #1:
Which zoo?

Mrs. #2:
[angrily] How should I know which zoo, I'm not Doctor bloody Bernofsky!

Mrs. #1:
'ow does Doctor Bernofsky know what zoo it came from?

Mrs. #2:
He knows everything.

Mrs. #1:
Oooh, I wouldn't like that, it would take the mystery out of life... Anyway, if came from the zoo, it'd have "property of the zoo" stamped on it.

Mrs. #2:
No it wouldn't! They don't stamp animals "property of the zoo"! You couldn't stamp a huge lion!

Mrs. #1:
[confidently] They stamp them when they're small.

Announcer:
[reading] Yes, wherever bicycles are broken, or menaced by International Communism, Bicycle Repair Man is ready! Ready to smash the communists, wipe them up, and shove them off the face of the earth...

[yelling]

Announcer:
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:
Norman! Tea's ready!

Announcer:
Coming, dear!

Mr. Nudge:
[Leers, Grinning] Your wife interested in err... [Waggles Head, Leans across] photographs, eh? Know what I mean? Photographs, 'he asked him knowingly'.

Man at Pub:
Photography?

Mr. Nudge:
Yes. Nudge, nudge. Snap, snap. Grin, grin. Wink, wink, say no more?

Man at Pub:
Holiday snaps?

Mr. Nudge:
Could be, could be taken on holiday. Could be yes - swimming costumes. Know what I mean. Candid photography. Know what I mean, nudge nudge.

Man at Pub:
No, no we don't have a camera

Mr. Nudge:
Oh. Still [slaps hand lightly twice] Whoa! Eh? Wo-oah! Eh?

Man at Pub:
Look, are you insinuating something?

Mr. Nudge:
Oh... no... no... Yes.

Man at Pub:
Well?

Mr. Nudge:
Well, I mean like you've er... you've done it... I mean like, you know you've... er... you've slept... with a lady.

Man at Pub:
Yes.

Mr. Nudge:
[quickly replying] What's it like?

Storyteller:
Hello, children. Hello. Here is this morning's story. Are you ready? Then we'll begin.

[He opens the book and begins reading]

Storyteller:
"One day, Ricky the magic pixie went to visit Daisy Bumble in her tumble-down cottage. He found her in the bedroom. Roughly, he grabbed her heavy shoulders, pulling her down onto the bed and ripping off her..."

[He is understandably shocked. He flips past two pages of the book, then resumes reading]

Storyteller:
"Old Nick the sea captain was a rough, tough, jolly sort of fellow. He loved the life of the sea, and he loved to hang out down by the pier, where the men dressed as ladies..."

[He is again shocked. He flips past two more pages, slower than before. He is nudged by a stick from offstage, and resumes reading]

Storyteller:
"Rumpletweezer ran the dinky-tinky shop in the foot of the magic oak tree by the wobbly dum-dum bush in the shade of the magic glade down in Dingly Dell. Here he sold contraceptives and..."

[Shocked, he begins flipping through the book without bothering to read it]

Storyteller:
Discipline... naked... with a melon?

Judge:
Mr Larch, you heard the case for the prosecution. Is there anything you wish to say before I pass sentence?

Harold Larch:
Well... I'd just like to say, m'lud, I've got a family... a wife and six kids... and I hope very much you don't have to take away my freedom... because... well, because m'lud freedom is a state much prized within the realm of civilized society.

[Becomes passinate, as if he were reciting Shakespeare]

Harold Larch:
It is a bond wherewith the savage man may charm the outward hatchments of his soul, and soothe the troubled breast into a magnitude of quiet. It is most precious as a blessed balm, the saviour of princes, the harbinger of happiness, yea, the very stuff and pith of all we hold most dear. What frees the prisoner in his lonely cell, chained within the of rude walls, far from the owl of Thebes? What fires and stirs the woodcock in his springe or wakes the drowsy apricot betides? What doth the storm toss'd mariner offer her most tempestuous prayers to? Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!

Judge:
It's only a bloody parking offence.

Storytime presenter:
Hello children, hello. Here is this morning's story. Are you ready? Then we'll being.

[opens book]

Storytime presenter:
One day, Ricky the Magic Pixie went to visit Daisy Bumble in her tumbled down cottage. He foud her in the bedroom. Roughly he grabbed her heaving shoulders pulling her down onto the bed and ripping off her...

[shocked, skips ahead a few pages]

Storytime presenter:
Old Nick, the sea captain, was a rough, tough, jolly sort of fellow. He loved the life of the sea, and he loved to hang out down by the pier where the men dressed as ladies...

[reads silently to himself until he's poked by the stick]

Storytime presenter:
OH! Uh... Rumpletweezer ran the Dinky Tinky Shop in the foot of the magic oak tree by the wobbly dum-dum bush in the shade of the magic glade down in Dingly Dell. There he sold contraceptives... contraceptives?

[skips ahead]

Storytime presenter:
Discipline?

[and again]

Storytime presenter:
Naked... with a melon?

T.F. Gumby:
[in Gumby mode] I'd like to meet somebody of superior intelligence!

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 back to my place?

[another pause]

Policeman:
Yeah, all right.

Surgeon:
Ah come in, please take a seat. My colleague who has a similar office has explained your case to me. Mr. Notlob, as you know I am a leading Harley Street surgeon as seen on television. [Puts needle down on gramophone; "Dr. Kildare" theme begins playing] I'm afraid I'm going to have to operate. It's nothing to worry about, although it is extremely dangerous. I shall be juggling with your life, I shall be playing ducks and drakes with your very existence, I shall be running me mitts over the pith of your marrow. Yes! These hands, these fingers, these sophisticated organs of touch, these bunches of five, these maulers, these German bands that have pulled many a moribund unfortunate back from the very brink of Lazarus's box. No, it was Pandora's box wasn't it? Well anyway, these mitts have earned yours truly a lot of bread. So if you'll just step through here I'll slit you up a treat.

Man:
What?

Surgeon:
Mr. Notlob, there's nothing wrong with you that an expensive operation can't prolong.

[repeated line]

Various Characters:
Albatross!

Douglas:
Please excuse my wife, she may not be very beautiful, and she may have no money, and she may be a little talentless, boring and dull, but on the other hand...

Douglas:
Sorry, I can't think of anything.

[first lines]

Announcer:
Hello, good evening, and welcome to, "It's A Living." The rules are 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 total. 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 Line-up." Well, those are the rules, that's the game. We'll be back again same time next week; 'til then, bye-bye!

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.

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.

Raymond Luxury Yacht:
Ah, ha! Anti-Semitism!

Interviewer:
Not at all. It's not even a proper nose.

[the Interviewer removes Raymond's nose]

Interviewer:
It's polystyrine.

Raymond Luxury Yacht:
Give me my nose back!

Interviewer:
You can collect it at reception. Now go away.

Raymond Luxury Yacht:
I want to be on television!

Interviewer:
Well you can't.

First Man:
Excuse me, I'd like to get married.

Registrar:
I'm afraid I'm already married.

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.

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 -k?rstlich -himbleeisen -bahnwagen -gutenabend -bitte -eine -n?rnburger -bratwustle -gerspurten -mit -zweimache -luber -hundsfut -gumberaber -sh?nendanker -kalbsfleisch -mittler -raucher von Hautkopft of Ulm?

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.

Inspector Praline:
Well, where's the pleasure in that?

Policeman:
It's the uniform that puts 'em off. That and my bad breath.

Indian:
Me heap big fan Cicily Cordnich.

Man sitting next to the Indian:
Yes, yes she's very good...

Indian:
She fine actress. She make interpretation heap subtle. She heap good diction and timing. She make part really live for indian and brave.

Man sitting next to the Indian:
Yes, yes she marvelous.

Indian:
My father, Chief Running Stack, lead all of mighty Red Foot tribe. Him, he peed on Michael Tennison and Elsie Grey.

Man sitting next to the Indian:
Um, do you go to the theater a lot?

Indian:
When moon high over prairie, when wolf howl over mountain, when mighty wind roar through yellow valley, we go Lila Head Rep, upper circle, whole tribe get in on 3 and 6 each.

Man sitting next to the Indian:
That's very good.

Indian:
Stage manager Stan Wilson. Heap good friend Red Foot tribe. After show we go pow wow, speakum with director Sandy Camp.

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!']

Sir William:
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]

Sir William:
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!]

Sir William:
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]

Sir William:
Silly! I suppose it is, a bit. What have we been doing wasting our lives with all this nonsense? Right, meeting adjourned for ever.

Boxing Critc:
Obviously boxing must have its limits, but providing they're both perfectly fit I can see nothing wrong with one healthy man beating the living daylights out of a little schoolgirl.

Vet:
I'm afraid I'm not personally qualified to confuse cats, but I can recommend an extremely good service.

Vet:
What seems to be the problem? I'm a vet you know, you can tell me...

Encyclopedia salesman:
[rings doorbell] Burglar! [rings again] Burglar!

House wife:
[opens door part way] Yes?

Encyclopedia salesman:
Burglar, madam.

House wife:
Whatchu want?

Encyclopedia salesman:
I want to come in and steal a few things, madam.

House wife:
Are you an encyclopedia salesman?

Encyclopedia salesman:
No madam, I'm a burglar, I burgle people.

House wife:
I think you're an encyclopedia salesman.

Encyclopedia salesman:
Oh I'm not. Open the door and let me in, please.

House wife:
If I let you in, you'll sell me encyclopedias...

Encyclopedia salesman:
I won't madam, I just want to come in and ransack the flat, honestly.

House wife:
Promise no encyclopedias?

Encyclopedia salesman:
None at all.

House wife:
Alright. [unchains the door]

Encyclopedia salesman:
[stepping in] Mind you, I don't know whether you've ever really considered the advantages of owning a really fine set of encyclopedias, ya know. It can do you a really wonder...

First Store Assistant:
I think you would remember him, sir.

Customer:
Why do you say that?

First Store Assistant:
Well, would you remember a man 6 foot 9 inches high, 40ish, and he's got a scar from here to here, and absolutely no nose?

Customer:
Oh... I think I do remember somebody like that.

First Store Assistant:
Ah well, that's not Michael Ellis.

Customer:
What do you feed them on?

Second Store Assistant:
Blancmange.

Customer:
Blancmange?

Second Store Assistant:
I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. Ah no, you don't feed them at all.

Customer:
What do they live on?

Second Store Assistant:
They don't, they die.

Customer:
They die?

Second Store Assistant:
Of course they do, if you don't feed them.

Second Store Assistant:
So sir that is, if I may say so, 184 pounds 1 and a half pea, sir.

Customer:
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.

Customer:
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.

[last lines]

'End of Show Department' Assistant:
How 'bout a sudden ending.

Scrap Man:
[about his wife's relatives] They're a couple of little bastards. I hate 'em. They've got eyes like little pigs, just like their mother. She's a disaster... a really horrible-looking person, she is. I thought that one would stay on the shelf, but along comes this stupid dentist git. He's a real creepy little bastard, he is. I hate 'im.

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.

Captain Carpenter:
That's incredible!

Mr. Neutron:
Mrs. S., there is something I have to tell you.

Mrs. Scum:
Yes Mr. N.?

Mr. Neutron:
I have won a Kellogg's Corn Flake competition.

Narrator:
At this stage Mr. Norris was faced with two major divergent theories concerning his Servatin ancestors. Did they take the Kingston Bypass turning left at Barnes, or did they strike west up the A308 via Normanton to Hampton Wick? Both these theories run up against one big obstacle, the Thames. Lying on the silver turn between Richmond and Isel. [stopped at edge of the river right next to a bridge] This was a major set back. How could they possibly cross the river?

[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:
The big brown table down at the police station?

All:
Assaulting a police officer!

Prosecuting Counsel:
Call Police Constable Pan-Am.

[Pan-Am enters, randomly beating people with his truncheon]

Prosecuting Counsel:
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]

Police Constable Pan-Am:
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]

Police Constable Pan-Am:
I was proceeding in a northerly direction up Alitalia Street when I saw the deceased

[indicates Erik]

Police Constable Pan-Am:
standing at an upstairs window, baring her bosom at the general public. She then took off her - wait a tick. Wrong story.

Police Constable Pan-Am:
[leafs through notebook] Oh yes. There were three nuns in a railway station and the ticket inspector says to one of them ...

[superintendent gestures]

Police Constable Pan-Am:
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]

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.

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.

Judge:
[Very impatient] Well let's get a move-on. I've got a Gay Lib meeting at six o' clock. Superintendent, will you please read the charge?

Superintendent:
Is a charge strictly necessary, m'lud?

Judge:
[Heavy aside] The press is here...

Superintendent:
Oh! Sorry... Right, you are hereby charged: One, that you did conspire to publicize a North London borough in the course of a BBC saga; two, that you were willfully 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 was the best we could find, m'lud. And five, all together now...

All:
Assaulting a police officer!

RSM Teaching Self-Defense:
You, Mr. Tinned Peach!

Mr. Thompson (Tinned Peach):
Thompson.

RSM Teaching Self-Defense:
Mr. Thompson, take this raspberry and come on! Be as vicious as you like with it!

Mr. Thompson (Tinned Peach):
No.

RSM Teaching Self-Defense:
Why not?

Mr. Thompson (Tinned Peach):
You'll shoot me.

RSM Teaching Self-Defense:
I won't.

Mr. Thompson (Tinned Peach):
You shot Mr. Harrison.

RSM Teaching Self-Defense:
That was self-defense!

Second Man in Self-defense class:
[about the Self-Defense topic] Can't we do something else for a change?

Fourth man who is interested in pointed sticks:
Like if someone attacks you with a pointed stick?

RSM Teaching Self-Defense:
Pointed stick? Oh, oh, oh. We want to learn how to defend ourselves against pointed sticks, do we? Gettin' all high and mighty, eh? Fresh fruit not good enough, eh? Oh, oh, oh, oh. WELL, I'LL TELL YOU SOMETHING, MY LAD! When you're walking home tonight and some homicidal maniac comes after you with a bunch of loganberries, don't come cryin' to ME!

RSM Teaching Self-Defense:
[as the two remaining students are stalking him with raspberrys] Now, the first thing to do when you're being stalked by an ugly mob with raspberrys is to release the tiger! [Pulls a lever releasing a tiger after the students; RSM continues to speak] The great advantage of the tiger in unarmed combat is that not only does he eat the raspberry-laden foe, but also the raspberry. The tiger, however, does not relish the peach. The peach assailant should be attacked with a crocidile.

Brigadier N. F. Marwood-Git:
[awkward attraction moment] I don't suppose there much we can do about it?

Cardinal:
Not on television...

[last lines]

Cricket Commentator:
And so, with the tension colossal, we come to the last ball. That's all from us.

[first lines]

Announcer:
Ladies and gentlemen, I'm not simply going to say, and now for something completely different this week, because I do not think it fit. This is a particularly auspicious occasion for us this evening, as we have been told that Her Majesty the Queen will be watching part of this show tonight. We don't know exactly when Her Majesty will be tuning in. We understand that at the moment she is watching The Virginian. We have been promised that we will be informed the moment that she changes the channel. Her Majesty would like everyone to behave quite normally, but her Equerry has ask me to request all of you at home to stand when the great moment arrives. Although we here in studio will be carrying on with our humorous vignettes and spoofs in the ordinary way. Thank you. And now without any more ado and completely as normal, here are the opening titles.

Foreman:
Oh, most magnificent and merciful majesty, master of the universe, protector of the meek, who's nose we are not worthy to pick, and whose very feces are an untrammeled delight, and whose peacocks keep us awake all hours of the night with their noisy love making. We beseech thee, tell thy humble servants the name of the section between the triglyphs in the frieze section of a classical Doric entablature.

Royal:
[wearing sign FRIGHTFULLY IMPORTANT] No idea, sorry.

Second Sailor:
What's the matter with Johnson, sir?

First Sailor:
Well, he's not kosher...

Third Sailor:
Depends how we kill him, sir.

First Sailor:
Yes yes, I see that, but um, well to be quite frank, I like my meat a little more lean. I'd rather eat Hodges.

Second Sailor:
Oh well, alright!

Third Sailor:
Nah, I still prefer to eat Johnson.

Fifth Sailor:
I wish you'd all stop bickering and eat me.

Second Sailor:
Look, I tell you what, why don't those of us who want to, eat Johnson, then you sir can eat my leg, and then we can make some of the Captain, and then after that we can eat the rest of Johnson for supper.

First Sailor:
Good thinking, Hodges.

Fourth Sailor:
And we can finish off with the peaches. [holds up a can]

Third Sailor:
And we can start off with the Avocados. [holding up ripe avocados]

First Sailor:
Oh waitress. [waitress appears outside the boat] Waitress, we've decided now. We're going to have...

Mortician:
We can bury her or burn her.

Bereaved:
Oh, well which do you recommend?

Mortician:
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. Then we give you a hand full of ashes, which you can pretend were her. Or if we bury her, she gets eaten up by a bunch of weevils and nasty maggots, which as I said before is a bit of a shock if she's not quite dead.

Biggles:
[dictating] Dear King Harkoff.

Secretary:
Of Norway, is that?

Biggles:
Just put down what I say.

Secretary:
Do I put *that* down.

Biggles:
Of course you don't put that down!

Secretary:
Well, what about *that*?

Biggles:
Look, don't put that down, just put down - wait a minute, wait a minute - now when I've got these antlers on I *am* dictating, and when I take them off I'm *not* dictating.

Secretary:
[typing] I'm - not - dictating.

Biggles:
What? [putting the antlers back on] Read that back.

Secretary:
Dear King Harkoff, I'm not dictating. What?

Biggles:
No, no, no, no, no, you loopy brothel inmate!

Mr. Mousebender:
[entering cheese shop] Good morning, um, I was sitting in the public library on Servon Street just now, skimming through Rogue Harries by Horace Walpole, when I sort came over all peckish.

Clerk:
Peckish, sir?

Mr. Mousebender:
Eseriant, ay?

Clerk:
Ay?

Mr. Mousebender:
[Yorkshire Accent] Ee, I were all 'ungry, like.

Clerk:
Ah, hungry.

Mr. Mousebender:
In a nutshell. So I thought to myself, a little fermented curd would 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.

Clerk:
Come again?

Mr. Mousebender:
[Yorkshire Accent] I want to buy some cheese!

Clerk:
Oh! I thought you were complaining about the music.

Post Office Worker:
Are all of your pets called Eric?

Mr. Eric Praline:
There's nothing so odd about that! Kemal Ataturk had an entire menagerie called Abdul.

[last lines]

Announcer:
Well that's about it for tonight ladies and gentlemen. But remember, if you've enjoyed watching the show just half as much as we've enjoyed do it, then we've enjoyed it twice as much as you. Ha ha.

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.

Voiceover:
What exactly are the commercial possibilities for flying sheep?

Announcer:
And now for something completely different: a man with three buttocks!

Kargol:
How many of us can honestly say that at one time or another, he hasn't felt sexually attracted to mice? I know I have.

Kargol:
How many of us can honestly say that at one time or another, he hasn't set fire to some great public building? I know I have.

Vikings:
[singing] Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam! Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam! Lovely Spam, wonderful Spam!

Hungarian Immigrant:
[reading from book] I will not buy this record, it is scratched.

Tobacconist:
No no no, this is a Tobacconist's.

Hungarian Immigrant, Tobacconist:
Ah!

Hungarian Immigrant:
I will not buy this Tobacconist's, it is scratched.

Tobacconist:
No no no no. Tobacco, um... cigarettes. [Holds up pack of cigarettes]

Hungarian Immigrant:
Ah, cig- cigarettes. [looks in book] My hovercraft is full of eels.

Tobacconist:
What?

Hungarian Immigrant:
My hovercraft [mimes holding a cigarette] is full of eels [mimes stricking a match]

Tobacconist:
Oh, matches, matches...

Hungarian Immigrant:
Yah! [looks in book] Do you want... Do you want to come back to my place. Bouncy bouncy!

Tobacconist:
I don't think you're using that right.

Hungarian Immigrant:
You great poof!

Tobacconist:
Uh... That'll be six and six, please.

Hungarian Immigrant:
If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me? I... I am no longer infected.

Tobacconist:
May I see that? [takes book from Hungarian, looks through it] Yander levasa gadenui stravenka. [Hungarian punches him]

Police Officer:
[comes running in] What's goin' on 'ere, then?

Hungarian Immigrant:
Ah! [looks in book] You have beautiful thighs.

Police Officer:
[looks at his thighs, then up again] What?

Tobacconist:
[pointing at Hungarian] He hit me!

Hungarian Immigrant:
Drop your panties, Sir William. [points at Tobacconist] I cannot wait 'til lunchtime.

Police Officer:
Right! [arrests Hungarian]

Hungarian Immigrant:
My nipples explode with delight!

BBC Voiceover:
The English-Hungarian Phrasebook is available through Her Majesty's Stationery Office. Price: A kiss on the bum.

[intro to "Ypres 1914 - Abandoned"]

Voiceover 1:
[and caption] In 1914 the Balance of Power lay in ruins. Europe was plunged into bloody conflict. Nation fought Nation. But no Nation fought Nation morely than the English. Hip hip hooray! Nice nice! Yah boo. Phillips is a German and he have my pen.

Voiceover 2:
[and caption] Start again.

Voiceover 1:
[and caption] In 1914 the Balance of Power lay in ruins...

Voiceover:
Good evening, and welcome to the Arthur Ludlow Memorial Baths, Newport, for this year's finals of the All-England Summarize Proust Competition. As you may remember, each contestant has to give a brief summary of Proust's "A la Recherche du Temps Perdu," once in a swimsuit, and once in evening dress. The field has now narrowed to three finalists, and your judges tonight are: Alec and Eric Bedser, ex-Surrey cricketers; Stewart Surridge, ex-Captain of Surrey; Omar Sharif; Laurie Fishlock, ex-Surry opening batsman; Peter May, the former Surrey and England Captain; and Yehudi Manuhin, the world-famous violinist and the President of the Surrey Cricket Club.

Mr. Smoketoomuch:
Well I saw your advert in the paper and I've been on package tours several times, you see, and I decided that this was for me.

Bounder of Adventure:
Ah, good.

Mr. Smoketoomuch:
Yes, I quite agree with you, I mean what's the point of being treated like a sheep, I mean I'm fed up with going abroad and being treated like a sheep, what's the point of being carted around in buses surrounded by sweaty mindless oafs from Kettering and Boventry 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 and sitting in cotton sun frocks squirting Timothy White's suncream all over their puffy raw swollen purulent flesh 'cause they overdid it on the first day!

Bounder of Adventure:
Yes, absolutely, yes, I quite agree...

Mr. Smoketoomuch:
...and being herded into endless Hotel Miramars and Bellvueses and Bontinentals with their international luxury modern roomettes and their Watney's Red Barrel and their swimming pools full of fat German businessmen pretending to be acrobats and forming pyramids and frightening the children and barging in to the queues and if you're not at your table spot on seven you miss your bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup, the first item on the menu of International Cuisine, and every Thursday night there's a bloody cabaret in the bar featuring some tiny emaciated dago with nine-inch hips and some big fat bloated tart with her hair Brylcreemed down and a big arse presenting Flamenco for Foreigners.

Bounder of Adventure:
Yes, yes, now...

Mr. Smoketoomuch:
...and then surrounded by adenoidal typists from Birmingham with diarrhea and flabby white legs and hairy bandy-legged wop waiters called Manuel, and then, once a week there's an excursion to the local Roman ruins where you can buy cherryade and melted ice cream and bleedin' Watney's Red Barrel, and one night they take you to a local restaurant with local color and coloring and they show you there and you sit next to a party of people from Rhyl who keeps singing 'Torremolinos, Torremolinos' and complaining about the food: 'Oh! It's so greasy isn't it?' and then you get cornered by some drunken greengrocer from Luton with an Instamatic and Dr. Scholl Sandals and last Tuesday's 'Daily Express' and he drones on and on and on about how Mr. Smith should be running this country and how many languages Enoch Powell can speak and then he throws up all over the Cuba Libres.

Bounder of Adventure:
Will you be quiet please?

Mr. Smoketoomuch:
...and sending tinted postcards of places they don't know they haven't even visited: 'To all at Number 22, weather wonderful, our room marked with an "X", wish you were here...

Bounder of Adventure:
Shut up.

Mr. Smoketoomuch:
'... food very greasy but we have managed to find this marvellous little place hidden away in the back streets...

Bounder of Adventure:
Shut up!

Mr. Smoketoomuch:
'... where you can even get Watney's Red Barrel and cheese and onion...

Bounder of Adventure:
SHUT UP!

Mr. Smoketoomuch:
'... 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 Watney's sandwhiches...

Bounder of Adventure:
SHUT YOUR BLOODY GOB! [Mr. Smoketoomuch continues on and on... ]

Mr. Mann:
[in a language laboratory] 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. Mann:
"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.

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 canap?s, 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 canap?s, 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. Equator:
Hello, my name is Equatol. Like the middle of the Earth, only with an L.

[he and his wife laugh hysterically]

Mr. Equator:
This is my wife Audrey, she smells a bit, but inside she has a heart of gold.

[both laugh hysterically again]

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]

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.

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.

Pepperpot:
Well, I object to all this sex on the television! I mean, I keep falling off!

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 comp?re 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!

Man:
[from offstage] He can't come!

Kenny Lust:
Never mind, he's not all he's cracked up to be.

Announcer:
And now for something completely different: a man with a tape recorder up his nose.

[after that]

Announcer:
And now for something completely different: a man with a tape recorder up his brother's nose.

Spanish Dancer, Spanish Guitarist:
[singing] Llamas son mas grandes que las ranas!

Professor:
It's an entirely new strain of sheep, a killer sheep that can not only hold a rifle but is also a first-class shot.

Miss Garter-Oil:
But where are they coming from, Professor?

Professor:
That I don't know. I just don't know. I really just don't know. I'm afraid I really just don't know. I'm afraid even I really just don't know. I have to tell you I'm afraid even I really just don't know. I'm afraid I have to tell you...

[she hands him a glass of water; he takes a drink]

Professor:
Thank you. I don't know.

Professor:
This may be even more serious than even I had at first been imagining. [pause] What a strange, strange line.

Professor:
Look of fear! [pause] Another strange line.

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 a physical state?

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!

Mr. Brando:
Yes, we have quite a number of idiots banking here.

Interviewer:
What kind of money is there in idioting?

Mr. Brando:
Well now a days the really blithering idiot can make anything up to 10,000 pounds a year if he's the head of some big industrial combine. But of course the more old fashion idiot still refuses to take money. He takes bits of string, wood, dead budregards, sparrows, anything. But it does make the cashier's job very difficult.

First City Idiot:
[in bed with some beauties] I may be an idiot, but I'm no fool.

First Lady:
How do you find the vicarage, Reverend?

Dirty Vicar:
I like tits!

Dickie Attenborough:
There can be no finer honor tonight than to welcome into our midst tonight a guest who has not only done more than not anyone for our society, but nonetheless has only done more.

BBC Voiceover:
The BBC would like to apologize for the next announcement.

Mr. Wiggin:
Are you planning to slaughter our tenants?

Second City Gent:
Does that not fit in with your plans?

Voice Over #1:
It is not BBC policy to get easy laughs with words like bum, knickers, botty, or wee-wees.

Man at Less Naughty Chemist's:
I'd like some aftershave.

Less Naughty Chemist:
Certainly sir, walk this way please...

Man at Less Naughty Chemist's:
If I could walk that way I wouldn't need aftershave.

Cardinal Ximenez:
I use two kinds of aftershave lotion: frankincense, myrrh- *three* kinds of aftershave lotion: frankincense, myrrh, sand- *four* kinds of aftershave lotion: frankincense...

Housewife:
[trying to seduce the inspector] It's a nice day, isn't it?

Inspector:
Yes, yes. The weather situation is generally favourable. There's a ridge of high pressure settling in over Ireland, which is moving steadily eastwards bringing cloudy weather to parts of the West Country, Wales, and areas west of the Pennines.

[pulls down a weather map out of nowhere]

Inspector:
On tomorrow's chart, the situation remains the same, with this occluded front bringing drier, warmer weather. Temperature's about average for the time of year; that's 3 degrees Centigrade, 44 degrees Fahrenheit, so don't forget to wrap up well. That's all from me. Good night.

Announcer:
Now on BBC Television, a choice of viewing. On BBC2, a discussion on censorship between Derek Hart, the Bishop of Woolwich, and a nude man, and on BBC1, me telling you this.

Derek Hart:
Nude Man, what did you make of that?

Nude Man:
Well, don't you see? That was exactly the kind of explicit sexual reference I'm objecting to. It is titillation for the sake of it, a deliberate attempt at cheap sensationalism. I don't care WHAT the so-called avant-garde left-wing intellectual namby-pambies say, it is FILTH!

Naughty Chemist:
Who's got the chest rash?

[a woman with large breasts raises her hand]

Naughty Chemist:
Have to get a bigger bottle.

Man at Not at All Naughty Chemist's:
[to the camera] Sorry about this. Normally we try and avoid these little pauses. Longueurs. Only dramatically he's gone down to the basement, you see. 'Course, there isn't really a basement, but he just goes off and we pretend. Actually what happens is he just goes off there, off camera, and just waits there so it looks as though he's gone down to the basement. Actually, I think he's rather overdoing it.

[trying to cue the chemist in]

Man at Not at All Naughty Chemist's:
Ah!

[a camera focuses on the chemist; he jumps and rushes back onto the set]

Police Constable Pan Am:
One more peep out of you and I'll do you for heresy!

Not at All Naughty Chemist:
Heresy? Blimey, I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition.

James:
[growing angry] Would you like me to show you door?

Mr. Pither:
Oh that's really kind of you, but I saw it on the way in...

Mr. Gulliver:
Do you know that we've developed a cheese sandwich that can withstand an impact of up to 4,000 pounds per square inch?

Mr. Pither:
You have?

Mr. Gulliver:
Amazing, isn't it. We've also developed a tomato which can eject itself when an accident is imminent.

Mr. Pither:
What, even when it's in an Egg and Tomato Roll?

Mr. Gulliver:
Anywhere. Even if it's in your stomach, it senses an accident, it'll come up your throat and out of the window. You know what this means?

Mr. Pither:
Safer food!

Mr. Gulliver:
Exactly. No longer will food be smashed, crush, and damaged by the ignorance and stupidity of the driver. Whole picnics will be built to withstand the most enormous forces. Snacks will be safer than ever. Uh, a simple pot of salad dressing, cheese, and olives has been subjected to the impact of a 4,000 pound steam hammer every day for the last 16 years, and has it broken?

Mr. Pither:
Well ah...

Mr. Gulliver:
Of course it has, but rather safer.

General:
[switching from complex Russian] Forgive me if I continue in English to save time...

Jacques Montgolfier:
This is a great moment for us, Joseph.

Joseph Montgolfier:
It is a great moment for France.

Jacques Montgolfier:
Ah, oui!

Joseph Montgolfier:
The first ascent in a hot-air balloon, by the Montgolfier brothers, 1783. I can see us now, just after Montesquieu and just before Mozart.

Jacques Montgolfier:
I think I'll go and wash.

Joseph Montgolfier:
Good luck.

Jacques Montgolfier:
Oh, it's quite easy, really. I just slap a little water on my face, then...

Joseph Montgolfier:
No, no, no. Good luck for tomorrow.

Jacques Montgolfier:
Oh, I see, yes. You too. Yours has been the work.

Joseph Montgolfier:
Let us hope for a safe ascent... and, uh, don't use my flannel.

Jacques Montgolfier:
You know, when you showed me the plans in Paris, I could not believe that we should be the first men who would fly.

Joseph Montgolfier:
Yes, it's wonderful.

Jacques Montgolfier:
I'm so excited I could hardly wash!

Announcer:
Next week on "The Golden Age of Ballooning", we examine the work of Girlsher and Coxwell, the English balloonists who ascended to a height of seven miles in 1862 without washing. There is also a book called "The Golden Age of Ballooning" published by the BBC to coincide with the series. It's in an attractive hand-tooled binding, is priced ?5 and failure to buy it will make you liable to a ?50 fine or three months' imprisonment. There's also a record of someone reading the book of "The Golden Age of Ballooning", a crochet-work bedspread with the words "The Golden Age of Ballooning" on it, available from the BBC, price ?18 or five months' imprisonment, and there are matching toilet-seat covers and courtesy mats with illustrations of many of the balloons mentioned. Also available is a life-size model frog which croaks the words "The Golden Age of Ballooning" and an attractive bakelite case for storing motorway construction plans in, made in the shape of a balloon. And now, another chance to see a repeat of this morning's re-run of last night's second showing of episode two of the award-winning series "The Golden Age of Ballooning".

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?

Jacques Montgolfier:
I'm so excited I can hardly wash.

Joseph Montgolfier:
Yes, I too have had some difficulty washing these past few days...

Jacques Montgolfier:
Still, what is washing when we are on the verge of a great scientific breakthrough.

Joseph Montgolfier:
Jacques.

Jacques Montgolfier:
Yes Joseph?

Joseph Montgolfier:
I... 've not been washing very thoroughly for many years now.

Louis XIV:
Look here smart ass, when you're king of France you've got better things to do than go around all day remembering your bloody number!

Jacques Montgolfier:
Let me put my tongue in your mouth.

Antoinette:
What do you mean?

Jacques Montgolfier:
We're supposed to be French, aren't we?

Mansfield Vermon-Jones, Father:
Intercourse.

Mother:
Later dear.

Mansfield Vermon-Jones, Father:
No no no, the word, intercourse. Good and woody, intercourse.

Mansfield Vermon-Jones, Father:
It's a funny thing, dear, all the naughty words sound woody.

Mother:
Really dear? How about tit.

Man:
I'd like to have an argument, please.

Argument Clinic Recptionist:
Certainly, sir, have you been here before?

Man:
No. This will be my first time.

Argument Clinic Recptionist:
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?

Argument Clinic Recptionist:
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.

Argument Clinic Recptionist:
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.

Patron:
I came here for a good argument.

Sparring Partner:
No you didn't, you came here for an argument.

Patron:
Well an argument is not the same as contradiction.

Sparring Partner:
Can be...

Patron:
No it can't. An argument is a connected series of statements to establish a definite proposition.

Sparring Partner:
No it isn't.

Patron:
Yes it is. It isn't just contradiction.

Sparring Partner:
Look, if I argue with you, I must take up a contrary position.

Patron:
But it isn't just saying "no it isn't".

Sparring Partner:
Yes it is.

Patron:
No it isn't! An argument is an intellectual process. Contradiction is just the automatic gain-saying of anything the other person says.

Sparring Partner:
No it isn't.

Patron:
Yes it is.

Sparring Partner:
Not at all.

Patron:
Now look, I...

Sparring Partner:
[rings the bell] thank you...

Sparring Partner:
I told you, I'm not allowed to argue unless you've paid.

Patron:
I just paid.

Sparring Partner:
No you didn't.

Patron:
I did! I did! I did!

Sparring Partner:
No you didn't.

Patron:
Now I don't want to argue about that!

Sparring Partner:
I'm sorry, you haven't paid.

Patron:
Ah ha! Well if I didn't pay, why are you arguing? Got you.

Sparring Partner:
No you haven't.

Patron:
Yes I have. If you're arguing, I must have paid.

Sparring Partner:
Not necessarily. I could be arguing in my spare time.

Patron:
I've had enough of this.

Sparring Partner:
No you haven't.

Patron:
Oh shut up!

Inspector Fox:
I'm charging you under Section 21 of the Strange Sketch Act.

Patron:
What?

Inspector Fox:
You are hereby charged where you did willfully take part in a strange sketch. That is a skit, spoof, or humorous vignette of an unconventional nature, with intent to cause grievous mental confusion to the Great British public.

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.

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!

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" Act, Four, namely, simply ending every bleedin' sketch by just having a policeman come in and... wait a minute.

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.

Mr. Ken Verybigliar:
You don't mind living in a figment of another man's imagination?

Tenant:
Oh, it's much better than where we used to live.

'Probe' Presenter:
Many people in this country are becoming increasingly worried about bullfighting. They say it's not only cruel, vicious and immoral, but also blatantly unfair. The bull is heavy, violent, abusive and aggressive, with four legs and great sharp teeth, where as the bullfighter is only a very small, greasy Spaniard.

'Probe' Presenter:
I think we're getting pictures now from Algon itself, and it looks as though, YES, the satellite has found a bird - the probe has struck crumpet. And she looks pretty good, too.

Man:
Dear Sir. I object strongly to the letters on your programme. They are clearly not written by the general public and are merely included for a cheap laugh. Yours etc., William Knickers.

Undertaker:
Are you nervy, irritable, depressed--tired of life? Keep it up!

Professor R.J. Canning:
The Black Death. Typhus, cholera, consumption, bubonic plague.

[sudden cut to an undertaker]

Undertaker:
Ah, those were the days...

Inspector Tiger:
This house is surrounded. I'm afraid I must not ask anyone to leave the room.

[pause]

Inspector Tiger:
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?

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:
[gamely] 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!

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 dedication to the pope. Our *four*... No... Amongst our weapons... Amongst our weaponry are such elements as fear, sur- I'll come in again. [leaves]

Cardinal Ximinez:
[Just as the episode finishes] NOBODY expects the Spa - oh, bugger.

[the Spanish Inquisition is interrogating an old lady]

Cardinal Ximinez:
Cardinal Fang! Fetch... the Comfy Chair!

[crashing dramatic chord]

Cardinal Fang:
[horrified] The Comfy Chair?

[Fang scuttles off, then returns with the Comfy Chair and sits the old lady down in it]

Cardinal Ximinez:
Now, you will sit in this chair until lunchtime, with nothing but a cup of coffee at 11!

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!

[repeated line]

Cardinal Ximinez:
NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition!

Animated policeman:
I confess!

[sign:
be seated]

[he leans back to sit, but a hand pulls the chair out from under him]

Animated policeman:
ooof! [a snippet of god save the queen plays as he gets up]

Animated policeman:
I confess!

[sign:
be seated]

[the chair is pulled out from under him again]

Animated policeman:
oooof! [god save the queen snippet]

Animated policeman:
I confess!

[sign:
be seated]

[chair pulled away]

Animated policeman:
oooooof! [goes to next animated scene]

The Announcer:
And now for the very first time on the silver screen comes the film from two books which once shocked a generation. From Emily Bront?'s 'Wuthering Heights' and from the 'International Guide to Semaphore Code,' Twentieth Century Vole presents 'The Semaphore Version of Wuthering Heights'.

The Announcer:
[voiceover of stock footage of a Roman chariot race] From the pulsating pages of history, from the dark and furious days of Imperial Rome, we bring you a story that shattered the world! A tale so gripping that they said it could not he filmed! A unique event in cinema history: 'Julius Caesar' On an Aldis Lamp! [cuts to closeup of Caesar walking in a Roman street. A soothsayer runs up to him, wild-eyed, and flashes an Aldis lamp]

Soothsayer:
[flashing Aldis lamp] Beware the Ides of March. [Caesar is stabbed by the assassins, and as he collapses to the ground, he pulls out a very big Aldis lamp, and flashes it]

Caesar:
[flashing his Aldis lamp] Et tu, Brute? [cuts to a Western street, with two cowboys facing each other and holding Morse buzzers]

The Announcer:
From the makers of 'Gunfight at the O.K. Corral in Morse Code.' [the two buzz a bit. One of them collapses to the ground]

Gunman:
[buzzing on his Morse buzzer] AAAAHHH! [Cuts to a Red Indian making smoke signals]

The Announcer:
And the smoke-signal version of 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes'!

Voiceover:
We would like to apologise for the way in which politicians are represented in this programme. It was never out intention to imply that politicians are weak-kneed political time-servers who are concerned more with their personal vendettas and private power struggles than the problems of government, nor to suggest at any point that they sacrifice their credibility by denying free debate on vital matters in the mistaken impression that party unity comes before the well-being of the people they supposedly represent, nor to imply at any stage that they are squabbling little toadies without an ounce of concern for the vital social problems of today. Nor indeed do we intend that viewers should consider them as crabby ulcerous little self seeking vermin with furry legs and an excessive addiction to alcohol and certain explicit sexual practices which some people might find offensive. We are sorry if this impression has come across.

TV Presenter:
The Minister for not listening to people toured Batley today to investigate allegations of victimization in home-loan improvement grants, made last week by the Shadow Minister for judging people at first sight to be marginally worse than they actually are. At the Home Office, the Minister for inserting himself in between chairs and walls in men's clubs, was at his desk after a short illness. He spent the morning dealing with the Irish situation and later in the day had long discussions with the Minister for running upstairs two at a time, flinging the door open and saying 'Ha, ha! Caught you, Mildred'. In the Commons there was another day of heated debate on the third reading of the Trade Practices Bill. Mr Roland Penrose, the Under-Secretary for making deep growling noises grrr, launched a bitter personal attack on the ex-Minister for delving deep into a black satin bag and producing a tube of Euthymol toothpaste. Later in the debate the Junior Minister for being frightened by any kind of farm machinery, challenged the Under-Secretary of State for hiding from Terence Rattigan to produce the current year's trading figures, as supplied by the Department of stealing packets of bandages from the self-service counter at Timothy Whites and selling them again at a considerable profit.

T.F. Gumby:
My brain hurts!

Mrs. Jalin:
There's a man at the door with a mustache.

Mr. Jalin:
Tell him I've already got one.

Sir John Cunningham:
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 I personally admit. But, all new Ratings are warned that if they wake up in the morning and find any toothmarks at all anywhere on their bodies, they are to tell me immediately so that I can immediately take every measure to hush the whole thing up. And finally, necrophilia is right out.

Mr. Badger:
I'll have a whiskey to start with.

Waiter:
A first course, sir?

Mr. Badger:
Aye.

Waiter:
And for main course, sir.

Mr. Badger:
Uh, I'll have a whiskey for main course, and I'll follow that with a whiskey for pudding.

Waiter:
Yes sir. And what would you like with it sir, whiskey?

Mr. Badger:
No, a bottle of wine.

Announcer:
This is the silliest sketch I've ever been in.

Mr. Badger:
Shall we stop it?

Announcer:
Yeah alright [everyone leaves the stage]

[last lines]

Announcer:
This is the silliest sketch I've ever been in.

Mr. Badger:
Shall we stop it?

Announcer:
Yeah alright [everyone leaves the stage]

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.

Voice Over:
In this film we hope to show how not to be seen. This is Mr. E.R. Bradshaw of Napier Court, Black Lion Road London SE5. He can not be seen. Now I am going to ask him to stand up. Mr. Bradshaw will you stand up please. [In the distance Mr Bradshaw stands up. There is a loud gunshot as Mr Bradshaw is shot in the stomach. He crumples to the ground]

Voice Over:
This demonstrates the value of not being seen. [Cut to another location - an empty area of scrubland]

Voice Over:
Voice Over: In this picture we cannot see Mrs. B.J. Smegma of 13, The Cresent, Belmont. Mrs Smegma will you stand up please. [to the right of the area Mrs Smegma stands up. A gunshot rings out, and Mrs. Smegma leaps into the air, and falls to the ground dead] [Cut to another area, however this time there is a bush in the middle]

Voice Over:
Voice Over: This is Mr Nesbitt of Harlow New Town. Mr Nesbit would you stand up please. [after a pause - nothing happens]

Voice Over:
Mr Nesbitt has learned the value of not being seen. However he has chosen a very obvious piece of cover. [the bush explodes and you hear a muffled scream]

Noel:
One of the cross-beams has gone out of skew on the treadle!

Announcer:
Yes, mothers, new improved Whizzo Butter, containing 10% more less, is absolutely indistinguishable from a dead crab!

Nazi:
I vont to know the joke.

Interrogated Officer:
All I can give you is a name, number and a why did the chicken cross the road.

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?

It's Man:
[the very first line of the series] It's...

The Colonel:
All through the winter of '43, we had translators working in joke-proof conditions to try and produce a German version of the joke. They worked on one word each for greater safety. One of them saw two words of the joke and spent several weeks in hospital. But apart from that, things went pretty quickly, and we soon had the joke by January in a form which our troops couldn't understand, but which the Germans could.

Narrator:
In 1945, peace broke out. The jokes were over.

German Radio Voice:
[English translation of the fatal joke] There were zwei peanuts walking down the strasse, und one was assaulted - peanut.

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:
Mr. Sopwith, aren't you in fact a trainspotter?

Spotter:
What?

Interviewer:
Don't you in fact spot trains?

Spotter:
Oh, you're no fun anymore.

Narrator:
It was a day like any other 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 of mankind... so let's forget about them and follow the destiny of this man

[Camera pans to gentleman in suit and bowler hat]

Narrator:
Harold Potter, gardener, and tax official, first victim of the creatures from another planet.

Detective Inspector:
[to a man whose wife has been eaten alive by a blancmange] I think what's happened is terribly, terribly funny... er, tragic!