Monty Python's Flying Circus, Series 2

Interviewer:
Minister, in your plan, "A Better Britain For Us", you promised to build 88 thousand million billion houses a year in the greater London area alone. In fact, you've built only three in the last 15 years.

Vince:
One day, I was sitting at home, threatening the kids, when this tank drives up. One of Dinsdale's boys gets out all nice and friendly like, and says Dinsdale wants to have a talk with me. So, he chains me to the back of the tank, and takes me for a scrape round to Dinsdale's place. Dinsdale's there in the conversation pit with Doug, Charles Paisley the Baby Crusher, a couple of film producers and a man they called Kierkegaard, who just sat there biting the heads of whippets . And Dinsdale says 'I hear you've been a naughty boy, Clement', and he splits me nostrils open, saws me leg off and pulls me liver out. And I tell him 'My name's not Clement', and then he loses his temper and nails my head to the floor.

Interviewer:
Was there anything unusual about Dinsdale?

Woman:
Certainly not! He was perfectly normal in every way! Except... inasmuch as he thought he was being followed by a giant hedgehog named Spiny Norman.

Interviewer:
Doug and Dinsdale Piranha were born on probation in this house Kipling Road,Suffolk the eldest sons in a family of sixteen.Their father, Arthur Piranha, a scrap metal dealer and local T.V. Quizmaster, was known by the police and a devout Catholic

Reg:
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!

[Three men in red uniforms burst through the door]

Cardinal Ximinez:
Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!

It's" Man:
I would tax Raquel Welch. I have a feeling she'd tax me.

Judge Kilbraken:
[referring to his death sentence for contempt of court] Blimey! I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition.

[The whole court expectantly looks towards the door. Cut to the Inquisition running out of a house in suburbia and leaping onto a bus]

Ximinez:
Two, er, three to the Old Bailey please.

[Credits start]

Biggles:
Look, they've started the credits.

Ximinez:
Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.

Biggles:
Come on, hurry. Hurry!

Ximinez:
There's the lighting credit, only five left. Hell, it's the producer-quick!

[The Inquistion leaps off the bus and bursts through into the courtroom]

Ximinez:
Nobody expects the Spa... [Smash cut to a frame saying "The End"] Oh bugger!

Doctor:
[emerging from under a Scotsman's kilt] Look, would you please go away? I'm trying to examine this man! It's all right, I'm a doctor... actually I'm a gynaecologist, but this is my lunch hour.

Psychiatrist Milkman:
Mrs. Ratbag, if you don't mind me saying so, you're badly in need of an expensive course of psychiatric treatment. Now, I'm not going to say that a trip to our dairy will cure you, but it will give hundreds of lower-paid workers a good laugh.

Mr. Wiggin:
This is a 12-story block combining classical neo-Georgian features with the efficiency of modern techniques. The tenants arrive here and are carried along the corridor on a conveyor belt in extreme comfort, past murals depicting Mediterranean scenes, towards the rotating knives. The last twenty feet of the corridor are heavily soundproofed. The blood pours down these chutes and the mangled flesh slurps into these...

Client 1:
Excuse me.

Mr. Wiggin:
Yes?

Client 1:
Did you say 'knives'?

Mr. Wiggin:
Rotating knives, yes.

Client 2:
Do I take it that you are proposing to slaughter our tenants?

Mr. Wiggin:
...Does that not fit in with your plans?

Client 1:
Not really. We asked for a simple block of flats.

Padre:
Sorry I'm late, head master. I've been wrestling with Plato.

Head Master:
What you do in your own time, padre, is written on the wall in the vestry!

Man:
Good morning, I'd care to purchase a chicken, please.

Vendor:
Don't come here with that posh talk, you nasty, stuck-up twit!

Man:
I beg your pardon?

Vendor:
A chicken, sir? Certainly. Here we are.

Man:
Thank you. And how much does that come to per pound, my good fellow?

Vendor:
Per pound, you slimy trollop? What kind of a ponce are you?

Man:
I'm sorry?

Vendor:
Four and six a pound, sir. Nice and ready for roasting.

Man:
I see. And I'd care to purchase some stuffing in addition, please.

Vendor:
Use your own, you great poofy poll-nagger!

Man:
What?

Vendor:
Certainly, sir, some stuffing.

Man:
Oh, thank you.

Vendor:
Oh, "thank you", says the great queen, like a la-di-da pooftah!

Man:
I beg your pardon?

Vendor:
That's alright, sir, call again!

Man:
Excuse me...

Vendor:
What is it now, you great pillock?!

Man:
I can't help but notice that you insult me, and then you're polite to me, alternately.

Vendor:
Oh, I'm terribly sorry to hear that, sir!

Man:
Oh, that's all right. It doesn't really matter.

Vendor:
Tough titty if it did, you nasty, spotted prancer!

Announcer:
And we move to Bristol where they have a special, Very Silly candidate...

Election Offical:
Malcolm Peter-Brian-Telescope-Adrian-Umbrella Stand-Jasper-Wednesday-[pop]-Stoat Gobbler-John-Raw Vegetable-[bark]-Arthur-Norman-Michael-[honk]-Featherstone-Smith-[whistle]-Northgot-Edwards-Harris-[bang]-WOOOOOO-Mason-chuffchuffchuffchuff-Frampton-Jones-Fruit Bat-Gilbert-we'll keep a welcome in the-[bang bang bang]-Williams-If I could Walk That Way-Jenkin-[vvvt vvt vvvt vvvvewwww]-Tiger Drawers-Pratt-Thompson-Raindrops keep falling on my head-Darcy-Carter-[honk]-Pussycat-Don't sleep in the subway-Barton-Mannering-[squeek]-mmmmm-Smith...

Anouncer:
Very Silly Party.

Election Offical:
Two votes.

Cyril:
In the debate, a spokesman accused the goverment of being silly and doing not at all good things. The member accepted this in the spirit of healthy criticism, but denied that he had ever been naughty with a choir boy. Angry shouts of 'What about the watermelon then?' were ordered then by the speaker to be stricken from the record and put into a brown paper bag in the lavvy. Any further interruptions would be cut up and distributed amongst the poor. For the Government, a front-bench spokesman said the Agricultural Tariff would have to be raised, and he fancied a bit. Futhermore, he argued, this would give a large boost to farmers, and a great deal of fun to him, his friends, and Miss Moist of Knightsbridge. From the back benches there were opposition shouts of 'Postcards for sale' and a healthy cry of 'Who likes a sailor then?' from the Minister Without Portfolio. Replying, the Shadow Minister said he could no longer deny the rumors, but he and the Dachshund were very happy. And in any case, he argued, rhubarb was cheap, and what was the harm in a sauna bath?

Hank Spim:
I love animals, that's why I like to kill 'em.

Reverend Arthur Belling:
There are a great many people in the country today, who through no fault of their own, are sane. Some of them were born sane, while others became sane later in their lives. It is up to people like you and me, who are out of our tiny little minds, to help them overcome their sanity. You can start in small ways, with ping pong ball eyes and a funny voice, and then perhaps paint half of your body red and their other half green, and then stand in a bowl of treacle going "SQWAK SQWAK SQWAK!" Finally, you can roll around on the floor going "p'ting p'ting p'ting!"

Announcer:
The Reverend Arthur Belling is vicar at the St. Loony Up the Cream Bun and Jam.

Bruce:
Rule 1 - no pooftahs. Rule 2 - no member of the faculty is to maltreat the abos in any way whatsoever if there's anyone watching. Rule 3 - no pooftahs. Rule 4 - I don't want to catch any of you not drinking after lights out. Rule 5 - no pooftahs. Rule 6 - there is NO Rule 6. Rule 7 - no pooftahs!

Fourth Bruce:
Bruce, I call upon you to close our meeting with a prayer.

First Bruce:
Oh Lord, we beseech thee etc., etc., etc., Amen.

All Bruces:
Amen!

First Bruce:
Right. Now let's get some Sheilas.

Radio Announcer:
That was Part 2 of the death of Mary Queen of Scots; adapted for the radio. And now, Radio Four will explode. [interval music plays until the radio suddenly combusts]

Pepperpot 1:
We'll have to watch the telly then.

Pepperpot 2:
Yes.

Pepperpot 1:
Well, what's on the television then?

Pepperpot 2:
Looks like a penguin.

Pepperpot 1:
No, no, no, no! I didn't mean 'what's on the television set?' I meant 'what program?'

Pepperpot 2:
Oh.

Pepperpot 2:
Funny that penguin being there, isn't it? What's it doing there?

Pepperpot 1:
Standing.

Pepperpot 2:
I can see that!

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

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

Pepperpot 1:
Ooh, I hadn't thought of that.

Pepperpot 2:
Yes. Looks fairly butch.

Pepperpot 1:
Perhaps it comes from next door.

Pepperpot 2:
Penguins don't come from next door; they come from the Antarctic!

Pepperpot 1:
BURMA!

Pepperpot 2:
Why'd you say 'Burma'?

Pepperpot 1:
I panicked.

Pepperpot 2:
Perhaps it's from the zoo.

Pepperpot 1:
Which zoo?

Pepperpot 2:
How should I know which zoo? I'm not Dr. Bloody Bronowski!

Pepperpot 1:
How does Dr. Bronowski know which zoo it came from?

Pepperpot 2:
He knows everything.

Pepperpot 1:
Ooh, I wouldn't like that. It'd take all the mystery out of life. Anyway, if it came from the zoo, it'd have 'Property of the Zoo' stamped on it.

Pepperpot 2:
No it wouldn't. They don't stamp animals 'Property of the Zoo'! You couldn't stamp a huge lion!

Pepperpot 1:
They stamp them when they're small.

Pepperpot 2:
What happens when they moult?

Pepperpot 1:
Lions don't moult!

Pepperpot 2:
No, but penguins do. There! I've run rings around you, logically.

Pepperpot 1:
Oh, intercourse the penguin!

. . .

TV Announcer:
It's just gone eight o'clock and time for the penguin on top of your television set to explode.

[The penguin explodes]

Pepperpot 1:
How did he know that was going to happen?

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

Vanilla Hoare:
Look, you crumb bum, I'm a star. Star, star, star! I don't get a million dollars to act out of a trench. I played Mrs. St John the Baptist in a trench, and I played Mrs. Napoleon Bonaparte in a trench, and I played Mrs. Alexander Fleming in a furrow, so if you want this scene played out of a trench, well you just get yourself a goddamn stuntman! I played Mrs. Galileo in a groove and I played Mrs. Jesus Christ in a geological syncline!

Mr. Last:
You've got a pet halibut?

Mr. Praline:
Yes. I chose him out of a thousand. I didn't like the others; they were all too flat.

Mr. Last:
You're a loony!

Mr. Praline:
I AM NOT A LOONY! Why should I be tarred with the epithet "loony" merely because I have a pet halibut? I've heard tell that Sir Gerald Nabarro has a pet prawn called Simon, and you wouldn't call Sir Gerald a loony, would you? Furthermore, Dawn Pelforth, the lady show jumper, had a clam called Sir Stefford after the late Chancellor, Allen Bullock has two pikes, both called Norman, and the late, great Marcel Proust had a haddock! If you're calling the author of À la recherche du temps perdu a loony, I shall have to ask you to step outside!

Fourth City Gent:
Well, I've been in the city for 30 years and I've never once regretted being a nasty, greedy, cold-hearted, avaricious money-grubber... er, Conservative!

Reverend Gumby:
I believe in peace, and bashing two bricks together!

Silly Reverend:
We at the Church of the Divine Loony believe in the power of prayer to turn the face purple!

Narrator:
In 1970 the British Empire lay in ruins, foreign nationals frequented the streets, many of them Hungarians (not the streets-the foreign nationals). Anyway, many of these Hungarians went into tobacconists shops to buy cigarettes...

Hungarian:
My hovercraft is full of eels.

[A Hungarian man is reading a badly translated Hungarian-to-English phrase book]

Police Officer:
What's going on here?

Hungarian:
You have wonderful thighs.

Police Officer:
What?

Hungarian:
Drop your panties, Sir William! I cannot wait til' lunchtime!

Police Officer:
Right! [arrests the Hungarian]

Hungarian:
My nipples explode with delight!

Mrs Bun:
Have you got anything without Spam?

Waitress:
Well, Spam, egg, sausage, and Spam; that's not got much Spam in it.

Mrs Bun:
I don't want any Spam!

Mr Bun:
Why can't she have egg, bacon, Spam, and sausage?

Mrs Bun:
That's got Spam in it!

Mr Bun:
Not as much as Spam, egg, sausage, and Spam,

Mrs. Bun:
Look, could I have egg, bacon, Spam and sausage, without the Spam?

Waitress:
Bleurgh!

Mrs. Bun:
What do you mean "Ugh?" I don't like Spam!

Vikings:
[singing] Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam... Lovely Spam! Wonderful Spam!

Waitress:
You can't have egg, bacon, Spam and sausage without the Spam.

Mrs. Bun:
Why not?!

Waitress:
Well, it wouldn't be egg, bacon, Spam and sausage, would it?

Mrs. Bun:
I DON'T LIKE SPAM!

Mr. Bun:
No need to kick up a fuss, dear; I'll have your Spam. I love it! I'm having Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, baked beans, Spam, Spam, Spam and Spam!

Waitress:
Baked beans are off.

Mr. Bun:
In that case, can I have Spam instead?

Waitress:
You mean Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, and Spam?

Mr. Bun:
Yes!

Waitress:
Bleurgh!

Sailor 1:
Still no sign of land. How long is it?

Sailor 2:
That's a rather personal question, sir.

Sailor 1:
You stupid git! I meant 'how long have we been in the lifeboat?' You've spoiled the atmosphere!

Sailor 2:
Sorry, sir.

Sailor 1:
Shut up! We'll have to start again. Still no sign of land. How long is it?

Sailor 2:
33 days, sir.

Sailor 3:
33 days?

Sailor 2:
I don't think we can hold out much longer. I don't think I did spoil the atmosphere that time.

Sailor 1:
Shut up!

Sailor 2:
Well, I don't think I did!

Sailor 1:
Of course you did!

Sailor 1:
Do you think I spoiled the atmosphere?

Sailor 3:
Yes, I think you did.

Sailor 1:
Look, shut up! Shut up! Still no sign of land. How long is it?

Sailor 2:
33 days, sir.

Sailor 4:
Have we started again?

Man:
Excuse me, are you suggesting eating my mother?

Undertaker:
Well, yeah. Not raw, cooked!

Man:
What?

Undertaker:
Roasted, few french fries, broccoli, horsheradish sauce. [licks lips]

Man:
Well... I do feel a bit peckish.

Undertaker:
Great!

Man:
Can we have some parsnips?

Undertaker:
[calls out behind the desk] Get some parsnips!

Man:
I really don't think I should...

Undertaker:
Look, we'll eat her, and if you're feeling a bit guilty about it afterwards, we'll dig a grave and you can throw up in it!

He has a wife, you know??

Mrs Simmel:
Kipling Road was a typical sort of East End street, people were in and out of each other's houses with each other's property all day. They were a cheery lot.

Interviewer:
Was it a terribly violent area?

Mrs Simmel:
Oh ho, yes. Cheerful and violent. I remember Doug was very keen on boxing, until he learned to walk, then he took up putting the boot in the groin. Oh, he was very interested in that. His mother had such trouble getting him to come in for his tea. He'd be out there putting his little boot in, you know, bless him. You know kids were very different then. They didn't have their heads filled with all this Cartesian dualism.

Interviewer:
Was there anything unusual about Dinsdale?

Gloria:
Certainly not! He was perfectly normal in every way! Except inasmuch as he thought he was being followed by a giant hedgehog named Spiny Norman.

Interviewer:
How big was Norman supposed to be?

Gloria:
Normally he was wont to be about twelve feet from nose to tail, but when Dinsdale was very depressed Norman could be anything up to eight hundred yards long. When Norman was about, Dinsdale would go very quiet and his nose would swell up and his teeth would start moving about and he'd become very violent and claim that he'd laid Stanley Baldwin. Dinsdale was a gentleman. And what's more he knew how to treat a female impersonator.

Spiny Norman:
Dinsdale?

Doctor:
I'm afraid our regular psychiatrist hasn't come round this morning, and I've got an ego block, which is turn making my wife over-assertive and getting us both into a state of depressive neurosis.

Psychiatrist Milkman:
I see, sir. Who's your regular?

Doctor:
Jersey Cream Psychiatrists.

Psychiatrist Milkman:
Oh, yes, I know them. Right, well, what's your job, then?

Doctor:
I'm a doctor.

Psychiatrist Milkman:
Didn't I see you just now under a Scotsman?

Doctor:
Yes, but I am a doctor. Actually, I'm a gynecologist, but that was my lunch hour.

Psychiatrist Milkman:
[holding up an ink blot] What does this remind you of?

Doctor:
Two pints of cream?

Psychiatrist Milkman:
Right. I should definitely say you're suffering from a severe personality disorder, sir, sublimating itself in a lactic obsession that could get worse, depending on how much money you've got.

Doctor:
Yes, I see. And a pot of yoghurt, please.

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.

Presenter:
Oh, uh, there you are. And you've got the note. Jolly good. Well, um, that's all the items that we have for you this week. And, uh, what a jolly lot of items, too, eh? Um... Well, the same team will be back with you again next week with another menu full of items. Um, I don't know if I shall be introducing the show next week. As I understand, my bits in this show have not been received quite as well as they might. But, uh, never mind. The damage is done. No use crying over spilled milk. I've had my chance. And I've mucked it. Anyway, there we are. I'm not really awfully good with words, you see. I'm more of a visual performer. I have a very funny... If I may say so myself... A very funny, funny walk. I wish I'd been in that show. I'd have done rather well. But anyway, there we are. Show's over, and, uh... We'll all be... They'll all be back with you in the end next week. [He tries not to cry] Sorry. I do beg your pardon, I don't like these... blatant displays of emotion. I wish it would say "The End". [End title card comes up]

Announcer #1:
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.

Announcer #2:
You're a looney.

Announcer #1:
I get so bored. I get so bloody bored.

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

Interviewer:
What kind of money is there in idioting?

Mr. Brando:
Well, nowadays 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 budgerigars, sparrows, anything. But it does make the cashier's job very difficult.

Hegelian Bruce:
Ah, here comes the boss fella now!

Boss Bruce:
[enters with Michael, an Englishman] Ah! G'day, Bruce, hello, Bruce, how are you, Bruce? Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce a chap from Pommyland who'll be joining us this year here in the Philosophy Department of the University of Woolloomooloo.

All:
G'day!

Boss Bruce:
Michael Baldwin, this is Bruce; Michael Baldwin, this is Bruce; Michael Baldwin, this is Bruce.

Classical Bruce:
Is your name not Bruce, then?

Michael:
No, it's Michael.

Hegelian Bruce:
That's going to cause a little confusion.

Neopositivist Bruce:
Mind if we call you "Bruce" to keep it clear?

Boss Bruce:
Well, gentlemen, I think we'd better start the meeting. Before we start, though, I'll ask the padre for a prayer.

Classical Bruce:
[puts on a priest's collar as others bow their heads] Oh Lord, we beseech thee, have mercy on our faculty, Amen.

Boss Bruce:
Amen! Crack the tubes! Right. [Neopositivist Bruce opens beer cans] Er, Bruce, I now call upon you to welcome Mr. Baldwin to the Philosophy Department.

Hegelian Bruce:
I'd like to welcome the pommy bastard to God's own earth, and I'd like to remind him that we don't like stuck-up sticky-beaks here.

All:
Hear, hear! Well spoken, Bruce!

Boss Bruce:
Now, Bruce teaches classical philosophy, Bruce teaches Hegelian philosophy, and Bruce here teaches logical positivism, and is also in charge of the sheep dip.

Neopositivist Bruce:
What does new Bruce teach?

Boss Bruce:
New Bruce will be teaching political science - Machiavelli, Bentham, Locke, Hobbes, Sutcliffe, Bradman, Lindwall, Miller, Hassett, and Benaud.

Hegelian Bruce:
Those are cricketers, Bruce.

Boss Bruce:
Oh, spit.

Neopositivist Bruce:
Howls! Howls of derisive laughter, Bruce!

Boss Bruce:
Ha-ha! In addition, as he's going to be teaching politics, I've told him he's welcome to teach any of the great socialist thinkers, provided he makes it clear that they were wrong.

All:
[stand up suddenly] Australia! Australia! Australia! Australia! We love you! Amen!

Arthur Crackpot:
This is an example of the sort of abuse we get all the time from ignorant people. I inherited this religion from my father, an ex-used-car salesman and part-time window-box. And I am very proud to be in charge of the first religion with free gifts. You get this luxury tea-trolley with every new enrollment. In addition to this you can win a three-piece lounge suite, this luxury caravan, a weekend for two with Peter Bonetti and tonight's star prize, the entire Norwich City Council.

Priest:
You asked for the coffee machine, so let's see what you've won. You chose Hymn no. 437. [removes a card labelled '437' off the hymn board and reads what's on its back] Oh, Mrs. Collins, you had eyes on the coffee machine. Well you have won tonight's star prize, the entire Norwich City Council!

Mrs. Collins:
I've got one already.

Announcer:
This is Mr E.R. Bradshaw, Napier Court, Black Lion Road, SE5. He cannot be seen. Now I'm going to ask him to stand up. Mr Bradshaw, will you stand up please?

[In the distance, Bradshaw, stands up. After a pause, a gunshot rings out and Bradshaw then falls to the ground]

Announcer:
This demonstrates the value of not being seen.

[The Hungarian gentleman enters with phrase book and meets the tobacconist]

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

Tobacconist:
[confused] Sorry?

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

Tobacconist:
No, no, no. This is tobacconist's.

Hungarian:
Ah! I will not buy this tobacconist's, it is scratched.

Tobacconist:
No, no, no...tobacco...er, cigarettes?

Hungarian:
Yes, cigarettes. My hovercraft is full of eels.

Tobacconist:
[more confused] What?

Hungarian:
[miming matches] My hovercraft is full of eels.

Tobacconist:
Matches, matches? [showing some]

Hungarian:
Yah, yah. [taking cigarettes and matches and pulls out loose change; he consults his book] Er, 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:
You great pouf.

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

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

Tobacconist:
[miming that he wants to see the book; he takes the book] It costs six and six... [mumbling as he searches] Costs six and six...Here we are...Yandelvayasna grldenwi stravenka.

[The Hungarian hits the tobacconist between the eyes. The policeman, walking along the street, suddenly stops and puts his hand to his ear. He starts running down the street, round corner and down another street, round yet another corner and down another street into the shop]

Policeman:
What's going on here?

Hungarian:
[to the policeman] You have wonderful thighs.

Policeman:
[shocked and confused] What?!

Tobacconist:
[points to the Hungarian] He hit me!

Hungarian:
Drop your panties, Sir William! I cannot wait til' lunchtime!

Policeman:
Right! [drags the Hungarian away]

Hungarian:
Ah! My nipples explode with delight!

Mr. Gumby:
GOOD EVENING! FIRST TAKE A BUNCH OF FLOWERS! (He grabs flowers from the table.) PRETTY BEGONIAS, IRISES, FREESIAS AND CRY-MANTHESUMS! THEN! ARRANGE THEM! NICELY! IN A VASE! (he thrusts the flowers head downwards into the vase and stuffs them in wildly; he bangs them with a mallet in an attempt to get them all in) OH GET IN! GET IN!