The Story of the Film So Far


Doug and Bob are metropolitan policemen with a difference. Doug likes
nothing more than slipping into little cocktail frocks, while Bob bouffants
his hair for a night on duty. Still, as the art immace, no one gives their
last names.


The *Real* Story of the Film So Far:

Pucky Reginald Vas Deferens is a nuclear scientist in love with mafia boss
Enrico Marx, who is himself married to Conchito Macbeth, a lively belly-dancer
at the Belgian disco whose manager, Burly Ivan Crapp, has a naked daughter
Janice engaged to J.J. Spinman, New York private detective, employed by
elegant Laura Herron to trace the missing million-pound bidet that Hitler
gave to Eva Brown as a bar mitzvah present during a state visit to Crufts, and
which remained hidden until a World Cup referee, Horse Jenkenson, was found
hanged in a New Jersey tenement with the plans of a Russian secret weapon
partially tatooed on his elbow.

In Brisbon, the Brain brothers, Nicky and Vance, torture a Mayfair
psychologist, who reveals to Dora Brain in a tender and emotional death scene
that his hair is not his own.

Meanwhile, the Kent Touring Eleven have trapped husky Matilda Tritt on a
sticky near Hastings, and she reveals all before enforcing the follow army.

Peter Niesewand and Cyril Garfunkel arrive just in time with the Welsh Police,
and the Harry Orchestra, and proceed to sing a love song which allows Dr.
Indira McNorton *just* enough time to cross the alps into Geneva, where he
meets Kon Rapp, a kung fu fanatic and cat lover, who frivilously shoots him,
but not before introducing him to lively intelligent Norweigan widow Lanny
Krimt, who shows him her inner thighs, where he finds the address of a good
French restaurant, and unexpectedly meets Gabriello Machismo, an ex-Korean
plastic surgeon whose frankly blond assistant Sally Lesbitt is now the
half-brother of a distant cousin of Ray Vorn Ding-ding-a-dong, the Eurovision
song, and *owner* of the million-pound bidet given by Hitler to Eva Brown as a
bar mitzvah present during a state visit to Crufts, and which remained hidden,
etc. etc. etc.

This they now do.

Meanwhile, Harold and Victor Medway III discover a newfound love for each
other in an flashback near Devon, where they meet up with Doug and Bob, the
metropolitan policemen who suprisingly turn out to be in this film at all, who
kill everyone, and live happily ever after.

The opening scene from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"


The film begins. Out of a dense fog trots Arthur, accompanied on two
empty coconut halves by his trusty servant, Patsy. They approach a
castle. Suddenly a guard appears atop a high rampart.

Guard: Halt! Who goes there?
Arthur: It is I, Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, from the castle of Camelot.
King of the Britons, defeater of the Saxons, sovereign of all England!
Guard: Who's the other one?
Arthur: I am, and this is my trusty servant Patsy. We have ridden the length
and breadth of the land in search of knights who will join me in my
court at Camelot. I must speak with your lord and master.
Guard: What, ridden on a horse?
Arthur: Yes.
Guard: You're using coconuts!
Arthur: What?
Guard: You've got two empty 'alves of coconuts and you're bangin' 'em
together!
Arthur: So? We have ridden since the snows of winter covered this land.
Through the kingdom of Mercia, through...
Guard: Where'd you get the coconuts?
Arthur: (somewhat taken aback) We found them.
Guard: Found them? In Mercia? The coconut's tropical!
Arthur: What do you mean?
Guard: This is a temperate zone!
Arthur: The swallow may fly south with the sun, or the house maarten or the
plummer may seek warmer climes in winter, but these are not strangers
to our land!
Guard: Are you suggesting that coconuts migrate?
Arthur: Not at all! They could be carried.
Guard: (indcredulous) What, a swallow, carrying a coconut?
Arthur: It could grip it by the husk!
Guard: It's not a question of where 'e grips it! It's a simple question of
weight ratios! A five-ounce bird could *not* carry a one-pound
coconut!
Arthur: (exasperated)
Well it doesn't matter! Will you go and tell your master that Arthur
from the court of Camelot is here!

(pause)

Guard: Listen. In order to maintain air-speed velocity, a swallow needs to
beat its wings forty-three times every second, right?

Arthur: Please!
Guard: (patiently) Am I right.
Arthur: I'm not interested!

( A second guard appears on the rampart. )

G2: It could be carried by an African swallow!
G1: Oh, yeah, an African swallow, maybe, but not a European swallow, that's
my point.
G2: Oh, yeah, I agree with that.
Arthur: (extremely exasperated) Will you ask your master if he wants to join
my court at Camelot!!

(pause)

G1: But then of course, African swallows are non-migratory.
G2: Oh yeah...

(Arthur and Patsy give up and trot away)

G1: So they couldn't bring a coconut back anyway.
G2: Wait a minute! Supposing *two* swallows carried it together!
G1: Nooo..... They'd have to have it on a line...
G2: Well, simple! They'd just use a strand of creeper!
G1: What, held under the dorsal guiding feathers?
G2: Well, why not?

The Witch scene

Bedevere stands on a stage in front of a large crowd of wild villagers.

Villager: We have found a witch, may we burn her?
Crowd: BURN!! BUUUURN HER!
Bedevere: But how do you *know* she is a witch?
Villager: She looks like one!
Other Villagers: Yeah! She looks like one!!!
Bedevere: Bring her forward.

(a young woman is pushed through the crowd of villagers to the platform. She
is dressed all in black, has a carrot tied around her face on top of her nose,
and a black paper hat on her head. She talks funny because her nose is
closed by the carrot.)

Witch: I'm not a witch, I'm not a witch!
Bedevere: Er,...but you are dressed as one.
Witch: THEY dressed me up like this.
Villagers: No! nooo! We didn't! We didn't!
Witch: And this isn't my nose, it's a false one!

(Bedevere lifts up the carrot to reveal the woman's real nose, which is in
fact rather small.)

Bedevere: Well?
One Villager: Well, we did do the nose.
Bedevere: The nose?
Villager: And the Hat. But she's a witch!
Villagers: Yeah! Burn her! Burn! Burn her!
B: Did you dress her up like this?
Villagers: NO! No, no, no, no, no, no...
One Villager: yes.
Villagers: yes. yes. yes. A bit. yes. a bit. a bit.
Another Villager: (hopefully) She has got a wart...
B: What makes you think she is a witch?
Villager: Well, She turned me into a newt!!

(pause)

Bedevere: a newt?

(long pause)

Villager: I got better...
Villagers: BURN HER anyway! BURN! BURN! BURN HER!
B: Quiet, quiet, quiet, QUIETA There are ways of *telling* whether she
is a witch!
Villagers: Are there? What? Tell us, then! Tell us!
B: Tell me. What do you do with witches?
V: BUUUURN!!!!! BUUUUUURRRRNN!!!!! You BURN them!!!! BURN!!
B: And what do you burn apart from witches?
Villager: More Witches!
Other Villager: Wood.
B: So. Why do witches burn?

(long silence)
(shuffling of feet by the villagers)

Villager: (tentatively) Because they're made of.....wood?
B: Goooood!
Other Villagers: oh yeah... oh....
B: So. How do we tell whether she is made of wood?
One Villager: Build a bridge out of 'er!
B: Aah. But can you not also make bridges out of stone?
Villagers: oh yeah. oh. umm...
B: Does wood sink in water?
One Villager: No! No, no, it floats!
Other Villager: Throw her into the pond!
Villagers: yaaaaaa!

(when order is restored)

B: What also floats in water?
Villager: Bread!
Another Villager: Apples!
Another Villager: Uh...very small rocks!
Another Villager: Cider!
Another Villager: Uh...great gravy!
Another Villager: Cherries!
Another Villager: Mud!
Another Villager: Churches! Churches!
Another Villager: Lead! Lead!
King Arthur: A Duck!
Villagers: (in amazement) ooooooh!
B: exACTly!
B: (to a villager) So, *logically*...
Villager: (very slowly, with pauses between each word)
If...she...weighs the same as a duck......she's made of wood.
B: and therefore...

(pause)

Villager: A Witch!
All Villagers: A WITCH!

(they do consequently weigh her across from a duck on Bedevere's largest
scale, and she does indeed weigh the same as the duck.)

Witch: (to camera) It's a fair cop.

Thereafter follows the knighting of Bedevere and the reading of the list of
other knights:

Sir Bedevere the Wise
Sir Lancelot the Brave
Sir Galahad the Pure
Sir Robin, the Not So Brave As Sir Launcelot,
who had nearly fought the Dragon of Angor
who had nearly stood up to the vicious Chicken of Bristol
and who had personally wet himself at the Battle of Badon Hill.
and the aptly named
Sir Not Appearing In This Film.

The Airline Pilots sketch

The Cast Captain: John Cleese
First Officer: Graham Chapman
Steward: Michael Palin

(The sketch opens in an aeroplane cockpit.
The Captain and the First Officer are whistling idly.
They are obviously very bored.)

C: I spy with my little eye something beginning with S.
FO: Sky.
C: Mm-hm.
FO I spy with my little eye something beginning with C.
C: Cloud.
FO: Yeah.
Oh God, I'm so bored.
C: I'm fed up with that game. Let's play another game.
I know what..
FO: What?

(The Captain picks up a microphone.)

C: (over intercom) "Hello, this is your Captain speaking.
There is absolutely no cause for concern."
That'll get them thinking.

(The First Officer reaches for the microphone.)

C: No, no, no, no. Not yet, not yet. Let it sink in.
They'll be thinking, er, 'What is there no cause for alarm
about? Are the wings on fire?'
(over intercom) "The wings are not on fire."
Now they're thinking, er, 'why should he say that?'
So we say...

(The Steward enters.)

FO: Oh, how are we doing?
S: (looks down the aisle) They've stopped eating;
Looking a bit worried...
C: Good.
S: Hang on, one of them is going to the washroom.
C: Is he there yet?
S: He's just closing the door... NOW!
C: One... Two... Three..
FO: (over intercom) "Please return to your seats and fasten your
seat-belts immediately."
S: Yes... here he comes, going up the aisle like the clappers.
I'll do the worried walk now.

(He leaves.)

FO: Right. Safety regulations.
C: (agreeing) Safety regulations.
FO: (over intercom) "Please listen carefully. I want you, I want
to remind you of some of the safety regulations.
In the case of emergency it is vitally important to..."

(The Captain makes a radio-static type noise.)

FO: "as the warning buzzer sounds."
C: "Bzzzz"

(They both laugh.)

C: Oh, that's got them rattled.
S: (enters) Great, great! (exit)

C: Hey, I've got an idea!
"Hello, you will find your life-jackets under your seats."
FO: No, they're on the racks.
C: Sh, shh, let them scrabble a bit.
"I'm sorry, you will ind them on the racks above your heads."
FO: Aaah!
S: (back again) Great, great, that was marvellous!
FO: Right. Gobbledegook.
C: Oh, yes.
FO "The scransons above your heads are now ready to flange.
Please unfasten your safety belts and press the emergency
photoscamps on the back of the seats in front of you."
S: (looks out) Marvellous, milling about, climbing over the seats.
FO: "Please find the emergency sprill in the washroom at the back
and release it..."
C: "but do not unfasten your safety belts."
S: That got them back to their seats.
FO: "The emergency sprill MUST be released..."
C: "but do not leave your seats."
FO: "Do not panic."
C: "Tea will now be served."
FO: "Inflate your life-jackets"
C: "and extinguish all cigarettes."
FO: "Please remove the luggage from the racks above your heads and
place it on the racks on the other side of the aircraft."
C: "Except for hand luggage..."
FO: "which you should sit on."

(They are in fits of laughter.)

C: Now have a look.
S: (looks) Hang on... hang on... they've all jumped out!

(They laugh, pointing downwards and looking out of the windows.
After a while the laughter dies away.
There is a lengthy pause.)

C: You know, I wouldn't be surprised if there was some trouble
about this.

(They burst out laughing again. The sketch ends.)

The man who speaks in anagrams


Palin: Hello, good evening and welcome to another edition of Blood Devastation
Death War and Horror, and later on we'll be meeting a man who *does*
gardening. But first on the show we've got a man who speaks entirely in
anagrams.
Idle: Taht si crreoct.
Palin: Do you enjoy it?
Idle: I stom certainly od. Revy chum so.
Palin: And what's your name?
Idle: Hamrag - Hamrag Yatlerot
Palin: Well, Graham, nice to have you on the show. Now, where do you come
from?
Idle: Bumcreland.
Palin: Cumberland?
Idle: Stah't it sepricely.
Palin: And I believe you're working on an anagram version of Shakespeare?
Idle: Sey, sey - taht si crreoct, er - ta the mnemot I'm wroking on "The
Mating of the Wersh".
Palin: "The Mating of the Wersh"? By William Shakespeare?
Idle: Nay, by Malliwi Rapesheake.
Palin: And what else?
Idle: "Two Netlemeng of Verona", "Twelfth Thing", "The Chamrent of Venice"....
Palin: Have you done "Hamlet"?
Idle: "Thamle". 'Be ot or bot ne ot, tath is the nestquoi.'
Palin: And what is your next project?
Idle: "Ring Kichard the Thrid".
Palin: I'm sorry?
Idle: 'A shroe! A shroe! My dingkom for a shroe!'
Palin: Ah, Ring Kichard, yes... but surely that's not an anagram, that's a
spoonerism.
Idle: If you're going to split hairs, I'm going to piss off. (Exit)

The Architects sketch


Scene: A large posh office. Two clients, well-dressed city gents, sit facing
a large table at which stands Mr. Tid, the account manager of the
architectural firm.

(original cast: Mr Tid, Graham Chapman; Mr Wiggin, John Cleese; City Gent One,
Michael Palin; Client 2:, Terry Jones; Mr Wymer, Eric Idle)

Mr. Tid (Graham Chapman): Well, gentlemen, we have two architectural designs
for this new residential block of yours and I
thought it best if the architects themselves
explained the particular advantages of their
designs.

There is a knock at the door.

Mr. Tid: Ah! That's probably the first architect now. Come in.

Mr. Wiggin enters.

Mr. Wiggin (John Cleese): Good morning, gentlemen.
Clients: Good morning.
Mr. Wiggin: This is a 12-storey block combining classical neo-Georgian feature s
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.
Mr. Wiggin: Oh. I hadn't fully divined your attitude towards the tenants. You
see I mainly design slaughter houses.
Clients: Ah.
Mr. Wiggin: Pity.
Clients: Yes.
Mr. Wiggin: (indicating points of the model) Mind you, this is a real beaut.
None of your blood caked on the walls and flesh flying out of the
windows incommoding the passers-by with this one.
(confidentially) My life has been leading up to this.
Client 2: Yes, and well done, but we wanted an apartment block.
Mr. Wiggin: May I ask you to reconsider.
Clients: Well....
Mr. Wiggin: You wouldn't regret this. Think of the tourist trade.
Client 1: I'm sorry. We want a block of flats, not an abattoir.
Mr. Wiggin: ...I see. Well, of course, this is just the sort of blinkered
philistine ignorance I've come to expect from you non-creative
garbage. You sit there on your loathsome spotty behinds squeezing
blackheads, not caring a tinker's cuss for the struggling artist.
You excrement, you whining hypocritical toadies with your colour TV
sets and your Tony Jacklin golf clubs and your bleeding masonic
secret handshakes. You wouldn't let me join, would you, you
blackballing bastards. Well I wouldn't become a Freemason if you
went down on your stinking knees and begged me.
Client 2: We're sorry you feel that way but we did want a block of flats,
nice though the abattoir is.
Mr. Wiggin: Oh sod the abattoir, that's not important.
(He dashes forward and kneels in front of them.)
But if any of you could put in a word for me I'd love to be a
mason. Masonry opens doors. I'd be very quiet, I was a bit on
edge just now but if I were a mason I'd sit at the back and not get
in anyone's way.
Client 1: (politely) Thank you.
Mr. Wiggin: ...I've got a second-hand apron.
Client 2: Thank you.

(Mr. Wiggin hurries to the door but stops...)
Mr. Wiggin: I nearly got in at Hendon.
Client 1: Thank you.

Mr. Wiggin exits. Mr Tid rises.

Mr. Tid: I'm sorry about that. Now the second architect is Mr. Wymer of Wymer
and Dibble.

(Mr. Wymer enters, carrying his model with great care. He places it on the
table.)

Mr. Wymer: Good morning gentlemen. This is a scale model of the block, 28
stories high, with 280 apartments. It has three main lifts and two
service lifts. Access would be from Dibbingley Road.

(The model falls over. Mr Wymer quickly places it upright again.)

The structure is built on a central pillar system with...

(The model falls over again. Mr Wymer tries to make it stand up, but it won't,
so he has to hold it upright.)

...with cantilevered floors in pre-stressed steel and concrete.
The dividing walls on each floor section are fixed by recessed
magnalium-flanged grooves.

(The bottom ten floors of the model give way and it partly collapses.)

By avoiding wood and timber derivatives and all other inflammables
we have almost totally removed the risk of....

(The model is smoking. The odd flame can be seen. Wymer looks at the city
gents.)

Frankly, I think the central pillar may need strengthening.
Client 2: Is that going to put the cost up?
Mr. Wymer: I'm afraid so.
Client 2: I don't know we need to worry too much about strengthening
that. After all, these are not meant to be luxury flats.
Client 1: Absolutely. If we make sure the tenants are of light build and
relatively sedentary and if the weather's on our side, I think we
have a winner here.
Mr. Wymer: Thank you.

(The model explodes.)

Client 2: I quite agree.
Mr. Wymer: Well, thank you both very much.
(They all shake hands, giving the secret Mason's handshake.)

Cut to Mr. Wiggin watching at the window.
Mr. Wiggin (turning to camera): It opens doors, I'm telling you.

The Argument sketch

A man walks into an office.

Man: Good morning, I'd like to have an argument, please.
Receptionist: Certainly, sir. Have you been here before?
Man: No, this is my first time.
Receptionist: I see, well we'll see who's free at the moment.
Mr. Bakely's free, but he's a little bit concilliatory. No.
Try Mr. Barnhart, room 12.
Man: Thank you.

He enters room 12.

Angry man: WHADDAYOU WANT?
Man: Well, Well, I was told outside that...
Angry man: DON'T GIVE ME THAT, YOU SNOTTY-FACED HEAP OF PARROT DROPPINGS!
Man: What?
A: SHUT YOUR FESTERING GOB, YOU TIT! YOUR TYPE MAKES ME PUKE! YOU VACUOUS
STUFFY-NOSED MALODOROUS PERVERT!!!
M: Yes, but I came here for an argument!!
A: OH! Oh! I'm sorry! This is abuse!
M: Oh! Oh I see!
A: Aha! No, you want room 12A, next door.
M: Oh...Sorry...
A: Not at all!
A: (under his breath) stupid git.

The man goes into room 12A. Another man is sitting behind a desk.

Man: Is this the right room for an argument?
Other Man:(pause) I've told you once.
Man: No you haven't!
Other Man: Yes I have.
M: When?
O: Just now.
M: No you didn't!
O: Yes I did!
M: You didn't!
O: I did!
M: You didn't!
O: I'm telling you, I did!
M: You didn't!
O: (breaking into the developing argument) Oh I'm sorry, is this a five minute
argument, or the full half hour?
M: Ah! (taking out his wallet and paying) Just the five minutes.
O: Just the five minutes. Thank you.
Anyway, I did.
M: You most certainly did not!
O: Now let's get one thing perfectly clear: I most definitely told you!
M: Oh no you didn't!
O: Oh yes I did! ___
M: Oh no you didn't! ›
O: Oh yes I did! ›
M: Oh no you didn't! ›
O: Oh yes I did! ›
M: Oh no you didn't! ›
O: Oh yes I did! ›
M: Oh no you didn't! ›
O: Oh yes I did! > very fast
M: Oh no you didn't! /
O: Oh yes I did! /
M: No you DIDN'T! /
O: Oh yes I did! /
M: No you DIDN'T! /
O: Oh yes I did! /
M: No you DIDN'T! /
O: Oh yes I did! ___/
M: Oh look, this isn't an argument!

(pause)

O: Yes it is!
M: No it isn't!

(pause)

M: It's just contradiction!
O: No it isn't!
M: It IS!
O: It is NOT!
M: You just contradicted me!
O: No I didn't!
M: You DID!
O: No no no!
M: You did just then!
O: Nonsense!
M: (exasperated) Oh, this is futile!!

(pause)

O: No it isn't!
M: Yes it is!
(pause)
I came here for a good argument!
O: AH, no you didn't, you came here for an *argument*!
M: An argument isn't just contradiction.
O: Well! it CAN be!
M: No it can't!
An argument is a connected series of statement intended to establish a
proposition.
O: No it isn't!
M: Yes it is! 'tisn't just contradiction.
O: Look, if I *argue* with you, I must take up a contrary position!
M: Yes but it isn't just saying "no it isn't".
O: Yes it is!
M: No it isn't!
O: Yes it is!
M: No it isn't!
O: Yes it is!
M: No it ISN'T! Argument is an intellectual process. Contradiction is just
the automatic gainsaying of anything the other person says.
O: It is NOT!
M: It is!
O: Not at all!
M: It is!

>DING!< The Arguer hits a bell on his desk and stops.

O: Thank you, that's it.
M: (stunned) What?

O: That's it. Good morning.
M: But I was just getting interested!
O: I'm sorry, the five minutes is up.
M: That was never five minutes!!
O: I'm afraid it was.
M: (leading on) No it wasn't.....

(pause)
O: (dirty look) I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to argue any more.
M: WHAT??
O: If you want me to go on arguing, you'll have to pay for another five
minutes.
M: But that was never five minutes just now!
(pause... the Other Man raises his eyebrows)
Oh Come on!
Oh this is...
This is ridiculous!
O: I told you...
I told you, I'm not allowed to argue unless you PAY!
M: Oh all right. (takes out his wallet and pays again.) There you are.
O: Thank you.
M: (clears throat) Well...
O: Well WHAT?
M: That was never five minutes just now.
O: I told you, I'm not allowed to argue unless you've paid!
M: Well I just paid!
O: No you didn't!
M: I DID!!!
O: YOU didn't!
M: I DID!!!
O: YOU didn't!
M: I DID!!!
O: YOU didn't!
M: I DID!!!
O: YOU didn't!
M: (unable to talk straight he's so mad) I don't want to argue about it!
O: Well I'm very sorry but you didn't pay!
M: Ah HAH!! Well if I didn't pay, why are you arguing??? Ah HAAAAAAHHH!
Gotcha!

O: (pause) No you haven't!
M: Yes I have!
If you're arguing, I must have paid.
O: Not necessarily.
I *could* be arguing in my spare time.

The Word Association sketch
Word Association Football

Tonight's the night I shall be talking about of flu the subject of word
association football. This is a technique out a living much used in the
practice makes perfect of psychoanalysister and brother and one that has
occupied piper the majority rule of my attention squad by the right number one
two three four the last five years to the memory. It is quite remarkable baker
charlie how much the miller's son this so-called while you were out word
association immigrants' problems influences the manner from heaven in which we
sleekit cowering timrous beasties all-American Speke, the famous explorer. And
the really well that is surprising partner in crime is that a lot and his wife
of the lions' feeding time we may be c d e effectively quite unaware of the
fact or fiction section of the Watford Public Library that we are even doing it
is a far, far better thing that I do now then, now then, what's going onward
christian Barnard the famous hearty part of the lettuce now praise famous
mental homes for loonies like me. So on the button, my contention causing all
the headaches, is that unless we take into account of Monte Cristo in our
thinking George the Fifth this phenomenon the other hand we shall not be able
satisFact or Fiction section of the Watford Public Library againily to
understand to attention when I'm talking to you and stop laughing, about human
nature, man's psychological make-up some story the wife'll believe and hence
the very meaning of life itselfish bastard, I'll kick him in the balls upon the
road.

The Barber Shop sketch


Customer: Hello, is this the Barbershop Sketch?
Barber: Y-y-yes sir. B-b-b-be with you in a minute.

(The barber is now washing and re-washing his hands, trying to remove the
obvious blood-stains from them and his coat.)

Barber: H-h-how would you like it sir?
Customer: Just short back and sides.
Barber: How do you do that?
Customer: Oh, you know, just short back and sides.
Barber: It's not a... a razor cut, RAZOR CUT BLOOD ARTERY MURDER SPUrt.. arr...
Customer: No, just ordinary short back and sides, you know...
Barber: It's just s-s-s-scissors then...
Customer: Yes.
Barber: You wouldn't rather forget all about it?
Customer: What?
Barber: You wouldn't prefer to have it just combed?
Customer: Oh, no.. I want something cut off!
Barber: Cut, CUT HEART HITCHCOCK MURDER BLOOD PSYCHO HOMICIDE SPURT ARTERY
TREMOR CORTEX Arrrgg...!

(The barber fakes a few quick snips.)

Barber: There, finished.
Customer: I beg your pardon?
Barber: I've finished cutting, cutting, CUTTING, CUTTING YOUR HAIR!
Customer: Well, you haven't even done any cutting yet.
Barber: All right, I confess I didn't cut your hair. I hate hair. I-I I
can't bear cutting it. I have this uncontrolable fear whenever I see
hair. My mother said I was a fool! She said the only way to
overcome my fear would be to become a barber. I didn't want to be a
barber.

I wanted to be... A *LUMBERJACK*!
(music up)

The "Buying a Bed" sketch

Husband (Terry Jones): Hello, my wife and I would like to buy a bed, please.
Mr Lambert (Graham Chapman): Certainly sir, I'll get someone to help you.
Wife (Carol Cleveland): Thank you.
Lambert: Mr Verity!
Mr Verity (Eric Idle): Can I help you, sir?
Husband: Yes, we'd like a bed, a double bed, and I wondered if you'd got one
for about fifty pounds.
Verity: Oh no, I'm afraid not, sir. Our cheapest bed is eight hundred
pounds, sir.
Husband & Wife: Eight hundred pounds?
Lambert: Excuse me, sir, but before I go, I ought to have told you that Mr
Verity does tend to exaggerate. Every figure he gives you will be
ten times too high.
Husband: I see.
Lambert: Otherwise he's perfectly all right.
Husband: I see. Er... your cheapest double bed then is eighty pounds?
Verity: Eight hundred pounds, yes, sir.
Husband: I see. And how wide is it?
Verity: It's sixty feet wide.
Husband: Yes...
Wife: (whispers) Sixty feet!
Husband: (whispers) Six foot wide, you see.
Wife: (whispers) Oh.
Husband: ...and the length?
Verity: The length is ... er ... just a moment. Mr Lambert, what is the
length of the Comfidown Majorette?
Lambert: Ah. Two foot long.
Husband: Two foot long?
Verity: Yes, remembering of course that you have to multiply everything Mr
Lambert says by three. It's nothing he can help, you understand.
Otherwise he's perfectly all right.
Husband: I see, I'm sorry.
Verity: But it does mean that when he says a bed is two foot long, it is in
fact sixty foot long, all right?
Husband: Yes, I see.
Verity: That's without the mattress, of course.
Husband: How much is that?
Verity: Er, Mr Lambert will be able to tell you that. Lambert! Could you
show these twenty good people the dog kennels, please?
Husband: Dog kennels? No, no, the mattresses!
Verity: I'm sorry, you have to say 'dog kennel' to Mr Lambert, because if you
say 'mattress' he puts a bucket* over his head. I should have
explained. Otherwise he's perfectly all right.
Husband: Oh. Ah. I see. Er, excuse me, could you show us the dog kennels,
please, hm?
Lambert: Dog kennels?
Husband: Yes, we want to look at the dog kennels, hm.
Lambert: Ah yes, well that's the pets' department, second floor.
Husband: No, no, no, we want to see the DOG KENNELS.
Lambert (irritated): Yes, second floor.
Husband: No, we don't want to see dog kennels, it's just that Mr Verity said
that...
Lambert: Oh dear, what's he been telling you now?
Husband: Well, he said we should say 'dog kennels' instead of saying
'mattresses'.

(Lambert puts bucket on his head)

Husband: Oh dear. Hello? Hello? Hello?
Verity: (approaching) Did you say 'mattress'?
Husband: Well, yes, er...
Lambert: (muffled) I'm not coming out!
Verity: I did *ask* you not to say 'mattress', didn't I?
Husband: But I mean, er...
Lambert: (muffled) I'm not!
Husband: Oh.
Verity: Now I've got to get him to the fish tank and sing.
Husband: Oh.
Verity: (sings) And did those feet, in ancient time...
Another assistant (John Cleese): (walking up, hearing the singing) Oh dear,
did somebody say mattress to Mr Lambert?
Husband: Yes, I did.
(Assistant gives nasty look at Husband)
Verity: (still singing) ...walk upon England's mountains green...
(Assistant joins in) ...and was the Holy Lamb of God...

(Lambert removes bucket; Verity and Assistant immediately stop singing;
assistant leaves.)

Verity: He should be all right now, but don't...you know...*don't*!
Husband: No, no. (to Lambert) Excuse me, could we see the dog kennels please?
Lambert (irritated): Yes, pets department, second floor.
Husband: No, no, no. Those dog kennels, like that. You see?
Lambert: Mattresses?
Husband: (relieved) Yes.
Lambert: But if you want a mattress, why not say 'mattress'?
Husband: (nervously) Ha ha, I mean...
Lambert: I mean, it's a little confusing for me when you say 'dog kennel' if
you want a mattress. Why not just say 'mattress'?
Husband: But you put a bucket over your head last time we said 'mattress'.

(Lambert puts the bucket over his head again)

Verity: (running on the scene again) Oh dear! (sings) And did those feet...
Assistant: (to Husband) We *did* ask!
(duet) ...in ancient times,
walk upon England's mountains green...

(singing continues throughout the next few lines of dialogue)

Yet another assistant (Michael Palin): (running in)
Did somebody say 'mattress' to Mr Lambert?

(Cleese points angrily towards the Husband and Wife)

Verity: *Twice*!
Other Assistant: (shouting throughout the store) Hey, everybody! Somebody
said 'mattress' to Mr Lambert -- *twice*!
(joins in the singing)

(Organ music swells and they carry on singing)

Verity: It's not working, we need more!

(The entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir begins to sing in the background. Sounds
of water splashing; eventually Lambert removes the bucket again and they stop
singing)

Lambert: I'm sorry, can I help you?
Wife: (brightly) We want a mattress!

(Lambert puts the bucket over his head again. Verity, husband and assistants
all groan and glare accusingly at wife)

Wife: But it's my only line!!!

*N.B. In the television version it was a paper bag, on the record it was a
bucket (better sound effects?)