Church Bells sketch


(Sound: Church bells, lots of them, ringing.)

Man: I wish those bloody bells would stop.
Wife: Oh, it's quite nice dear, it's Sunday, it's the church.
M: What about us atheists? Why should we 'ave to listen to that
sectarian turmoil?
W: You're a lapsed atheist, dear.
M: The principle's the same. The Mohmedans don't come 'round here
wavin' bells at us! We don't get Buddhists playing bagpipes in our
bathroom! Or Hindus harmonizing in the hall! The Shintus don't
come here shattering sheet glass in the shithouse, shouting slogans-
W: All right, don't practice your alliteration on me.
M: Anyway, when I membership card and blazer badge back from the
League of Agnostics, I shall urge the executive to lodge a protest
against that religious racket! Pass the butter knife!
W: WHAT??
M: PASS THE BUTTER KNIFE!! (pause) THANK YOU! IF ONLY WE HAD SOME
KIND OF MISSILE!
W: 'OLD ON, I'LL CLOSE THE WINDOW.
M: WHAT?!
W: I SAID, I'LL CLOSE THE WINDOW!

(Sound: Window closing, bells get faint, but are still there)

M: If only we had some kind of missile, we could take the steam out
of those bells.
W: Well, you could always use the number 14-St. Joseph-the-somewhat-
divine-on-the-hill ballistic missile. It's in the attic.
M: What ballistic missile would this be, then?

(Sound: Bells begin to get increasingly louder)

W: I made it for you, it's your birthday present!
M: Just what I wanted, 'ow nice of you to remember, my pet.
'ERE!
W: WHAT?
M: THOSE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER!
W: WHAT?
M: THOSE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER!!
W: THE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER! OOOH, LOOK!
M: WHAT?
W: THE CHURCH, IT.. ITS COMING CLOSER! ITS COMING DOWN THE 'ILL!
M: WHAT A LIBERTY!
W: ITS TURNING INTO OUR LANE! WELL, YOU BETTER GO PUT IT OUT OF
IT'S MISERY.
M: WHERE'S THIS MISSILE, THEN?
W: IT'S IN THE ATTIC. PRESS THE BUTTON MARKED CHURCH!
M: 'OW DO I AIM IT?
W: IT AUTOMATICALLY HOMES IN ON THE NEAREST PLACE OF WORSHIP!
M: BUT THAT'S ST. MARKS!
W: IT ISN'T NOW, LOOK!! OH, ITS OP'NING THE GATE.
M: WHAT? USE THE MEGAPHONE!
W: IT'S OP'NING THE GATE!! 'HURRY UP, ITS TRAMPLING OVER THE AZALIAS!

(Sound: Missle launch, explosion, bells diminish)

M: Did I 'it it?
W: Yes, right up the aisle.
M: Well I've always said, There's nothing an agnostic can't do if
he really doesn't know whether he believes in anything or not.

Bicycle Repair Man sketch


CHARACHTERS:
Voiceover (V)
Boy (SB)
Bicycle repair man (B)
Supermen (S1...3)
Superman in need (SIN)

V: This man is no ordinary man. This is Mr. H G Superman. To all
appearances, he looks like any other law-abiding citizen. But Mr F G
Superman has a secret identity. When trouble strikes at any time, at
any place, he is ready to become... BICICLE REPAIR MAN!

SB: Hey, there's a bicycle broken, up the road.

B: <Hmmmmm. This sounds like a job for.. BRM.... but how to change
without revealig my secret identity?>

S1: If only BRM were here!

B: Yes, wait, I think I know where I can find him. Look over there!

Caption: FLASH!

S1-3: BRM, but how?

S1: Oh look... is it a stockbroker?

S2: Is t a quantity Surveyor?

S3: Is it a church warden?

S1-3: NO! It's BRM!

SIN: MY! BRM! Thank goodness you've come! Look! <Oooh Err - SR>

Caption: Clink!
Screw!
Bend!
Inflate!
Alter Saddle!

S2: Why, he's mending it with his own hands!

S1: See how he uses a spanner to tighten that nut!

SIN: Oh, Oh BRM, how can I ever repay you?

B: Oh, you don't need to guv. It's all in a days work for... BRM!

S1-3: Our Hero!

V: Yes! whenever bicyxles are broken, or menaced by international
communism, BRM is ready!

The Dead Bishop on the Landing sketch

Mother: (turning off radio) liberal rubbish! Klaus!
Klaus: Yeah?
M: Whaddaya want with yer jugged fish?
K: 'Alibut.
M: The jugged fish IS 'alibut!
K: Well, what fish 'ave you got that isn't jugged?
M: Rabbit.
K: What, rabbit fish?
M: Uuh, yes...it's got fins....
K: Is it dead?
M: Well, it was coughin' up blood last night.
K: All right, I'll have the dead unjugged rabbit fish.

Voice over: One dead unjugged rabbit fish later:

K: (putting down his knife and fork) Well, that was really 'orrible.
M: Aaw, you're always complainin'!
K: Wha's for afters?
M: Rat cake, rat sorbet, rat pudding, or strawberry tart.
K: (eyes lighting up) Strawberry tart?
M: Well, it's got *some* rat in it.
K: 'Ow much?
M: Three. A lot, really.
K: Well, I'll have a slice without so much rat in it.

Voice over: One slice of strawberry tart without so much rat in it later:

K: (putting down fork and knife) Appalling.
M: Naw, naw, naw!
Son: (coming in the door) 'Ello Mum. 'Ello Dad.
K: 'Ello son.
S: There's a dead bishop on the landing, dad!
K: Really?
M: Where's it from?
S: Waddya mean?
M: What's its diocese?
S: Well, it looked a bit Bath and Wells-ish to me...
K: (getting up and going out the door) I'll go and have a look.
M: I don't know...kids bringin' 'em in here....
S: It's not me!
M: I've got three of 'em down by the bin, and the dustmen won't touch 'em!
K: (coming back in) Leicester.
M: 'Ow d'you know?
K: Tattooed on the back o' the neck. I'll call the police.
M: Shouldn't you call the church?
S: Call the church police!
K: All right. (shouting) THE CHURCH POLICE !!

(sirens racing up, followed by a tremendous crash)
(the church police burst in the door)

Detective What's all this then, Amen!
M: Are you the church police?
All the police officers: (in unison) Ho, Yes!
M: There's another dead bishop on the landing, Vicar Sargeant!
Detective: Uh, Detective Parson, madam. I see... suffrican, or diocisian?
M: 'Ow should I know?
D: It's tatooed on the back o' their neck.
(spying the tart) 'Ere, is that.... *rat tart*?
M: yes.
(pause)
D: Disgusting! Right! Men, the chase is on! Now we should all kneel!
(they all kneel)
All: O Lord, we beseech thee, tell us 'oo croaked Leicester!
(thunder)
Voice of the Lord: The one in the braces, 'e done it!
Klaus: It's a fair cop, but society's to blame.
Detective: Agreed. We'll be charging them too.
K: I'd like you to take the three by the bin into consideration.
D: Right. I'll now ask you all to conclude this harrest with a hymn.
All: All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The church has nigged them all.
Amen.

!Blackmail!

(Music up-- wild applause and cheers from the audience)

Announcer:

Hello! Hello! Hello! Thank you,thank you.
Hello good evening and welcome, to BLACKMAIL! Yes, it's another edition of
the game in which you can play with *yourself*. (applause)
And to start tonight's show, let's see our first contestant, all the way from
Manchester, on the big screen please: MRS. BETTY TEAL!
(applause, which suddenly stops when the clap track tape breaks)
'Ello, Mrs. Teal, lovely to have you on the show. Now Mrs. Teal, if you're
looking in tonight, this is for 15 pounds: and is to stop us from revealing
the name of your LOVER IN BOLTON!! So, Mrs. Teal, send us 15 pounds, by
return of post please, and your husband Trevor, and your lovely children
Diane, Janice, and Juliet, need never know the name... of your LOVER IN
BOLTON!

(applause; organ music. Shot of the organist, who has an afro and is stark
naked.)

Thank you Onan! And now: a letter, a hotel registration book, and a series of
photographs, which could add up to divorce, premature retirement, and possible
criminal proceedings for a company director in Bromsgrove. He's a freemason,
and a conservative M.P., so that's 3,000 pounds please Mr. S... thank you...
to stop us from revealing:
Your name,
The name of the three other people involved,
The youth organization to which they belonged,
and The shop where you bought the equipment!

(organ music)

But right now, yes everyone is the moment you've all been waiting for; it's
time for our Stop the Film spots! As you know, the rules are very simple. We
have taken a film which contains compromising scenes and unpleasant details
which could wreck a man's career. (gasp) But, the victim may 'phone me at
any moment, and stop the film. But remember the money increases as the film
goes on, so-o-o-o: the longer you leave it, the *more* you have to pay!
Tonight, Stop the Film visits the little Thames-side village of Thames Ditton.

(music--announcer's voice over)

Well, here we go, here we go now, let's see...where's our man.
Oh yes, there he is behind the tree now....
Mm, boy, this is fun, this is good fun....
He looks respectable, so we should be in for some real...real chucks here....
A member of the government, could be a brain surgeon, they're the worst....
wHOW! Look at the *size* of that.....briefcase.
Aah, yes, he's, he's up to the door, rung the doorbell now....
O-oh, who's the little number with the nightie and the whip, eh? Heh-heh.
Doesn't look like his mother....could be his sister....
If it is he's in real trouble....
And just look at that, they're upstairs already... whoah, boy, this is fun!
A very brave man, our contestant tonight.
Who-ho-ho!! This is no Tupperware party!
Very brave man, they don't usually get this far...
What's--what's that, what's she's doing to his.....is that a CHICKEN up
there? No, no, it's just the way she's holding the grapefruit... Whoah, ho
ho...

('Phone rings; buzzer goes off; film stops. Applause)

(picking up 'phone)
Hello sir...yes...aha-ha-ha...yes, just in time, sir, that was...what?
No, no, sir, it's alright, we don't morally censor, we just want the
money. Thank you sir, yes,....what? You.....okay....Thank you for playing the
game, sir, very nice indeed, okay....okay, see you tonight, Dad, bye-bye.

Well, that's all from this edition of Blackmail. Join me next week, same
time, same channel....Join me, two dogs, and a vicar, when we'll be playing
"Pedorasto", the game for all the family.
Thank you, thank you, thank you....

How Your Body Works by A. Nother doctor


The human body is indeed a wonderul thing. Its infinitely complex way of
functioning would take a computer, working flat out, day and night, excluding
Bank Holidays and Christmas, 3,971 years to work out. The slightest flicker of
the eyelid, the smallest movement of the big toe, involves such extraordinarily
complex processes that the average man, working flat out, excluding Bank
Holidays and Christmas, but *including* weekends, would take 84,643 light years
to work it out. If you can imagine an Airedale terrier jumping in and out of a
watering can once every 7 minutes for 12 years you have some idea how long that
would take. And that's only one light year.

Even the most simple process that the body can perform -- like paying the
doctor -- would take a piece of asbestos over 9 billion years to work out. If
you can imagine a man at a cocktail party congratulating the hostess on the
avocado dip 40,000 times every second for 2 1/2 hours twice a week for 28,000
years you can begin to realise what an extraordinarily wonderful thing the
human body is.

To put it even more simply, if you can imagine a doctor leaving his lucrative
Harley St. practice to a younger partner, and cruising round the world 4 times
a year, drinking 3 bottles of champagne with a friend's wife every afternoon,
and writing an article on How Your Body Works once every 96 days, you'll get
some idea of why I was struck off the register. Good evening.

The Bookshop sketch


Customer: (entering the bookshop) Good morning.
Proprietor (John Cleese): Good morning, sir. Can I help you?
C: Er, yes. Do you have a copy of "Thirty Days in the Samarkind Desert with
the Duchess of Kent" by A. E. J. Eliott, O.B.E.?
P: Ah, well, I don't know the book, sir....
C: Er, never mind, never mind. How about "A Hundred and One Ways to
Start a Fight"?
P: ...By?
C: An Irish gentleman whose name eludes me for the moment.
P: Ah, no, well we haven't got it in stock, sir....
C: Oh, well, not to worry, not to worry. Can you help me with "David
Coperfield"?
P: Ah, yes, Dickens.
C: No....
P: (pause) I beg your pardon?
C: No, Edmund Wells.
P: I... *think* you'll find Charles Dickens wrote "David Copperfield", sir....
C: No, no, Dickens wrote "David Copperfield" with *two* Ps. This is
"David Coperfield" with *one* P by Edmund Wells.
P: "David Coperfield" with one P?
C: Yes, I should have said.
P: Yes, well in that case we don't have it.
C: (peering over counter) Funny, you've got a lot of books here....
P: (slightly perturbed) Yes, we do, but we don't have "David Coperfield"
with one P by Edmund Wells.
C: Pity, it's more thorough than the Dickens.
P: More THOROUGH?!?
C: Yes...I wonder if it might be worth a look through all your "David Copper-
field"s...
P: No, sir, all our "David Copperfield"s have two P's.
C: Are you quite sure?
P: Quite.
C: Not worth just looking?
P: Definitely not.
C: Oh...how 'bout "Grate Expectations"?
P: Yes, well we have that....
C: That's "G-R-A-T-E Expectations," also by Edmund Wells.
P: (pause) Yes, well in that case we don't have it. We don't have anything
by Edmund Wells, actually: he's not very popular.
C: Not "Knickerless Knickleby"? That's K-N-I-C-K-E-R-L-E-S-S.
P: (taciturn) No.
C: "Khristmas Karol" with a K?
P: (really quite perturbed) No....
C: Er, how about "A Sale of Two Titties"?
P: DEFINITELY NOT.
C: (moving towards door) Sorry to trouble you....
P: Not at all....
C: Good morning.
P: Good morning.
C: (turning around) Oh!
P: (deep breath) Yesss?
C: I wonder if you might have a copy of "Rarnaby Budge"?
P: No, as I say, we're right out of Edmund Wells!
C: No, not Edmund Wells - Charles Dikkens.
P: (pause - eagerly) Charles Dickens??
C: Yes.
P: (excitedly) You mean "Barnaby Rudge"!
C: No, "Rarnaby Budge" by Charles Dikkens. That's Dikkens with two Ks, the
well-known Dutch author.
P: (slight pause) No, well we don't have "Rarnaby Budge" by Charles Dikkens
with two Ks, the well-known Dutch author, and perhaps to save time I
should add that we don't have "Karnaby Fudge" by Darles Chickens, or
"Farmer of Sludge" by Marles Pickens, or even "Stickwick Stapers" by Farles
Wickens with four M's and a silent Q!!!!! Why don't you try W. H. Smith's?
C: Ah did, They sent me here.
P: DID they.
C: Oh, I wonder...
P: Oh, do go on, please.
C: Yes...I wonder if you might have "The Amazing Adventures of Captain Gladys
Stoutpamphlet and her Intrepid Spaniel Stig Amongst the Giant Pygmies of
Beckles"...volume eight.
P: (after a pause for recovery) No, we don't have that...funny, we've got a lot
of books here...well, I musn't keep you standing here...thank you,--
C: Oh, well do, do you have-- ---›
P: No, we haven't. No, we haven't. |
C: B-b-b-but-- |
P: Sorry, no, it's one o'clock now, we're |
closing for lunch-- |
C: Ah, I--I saw it-- |-------loud arguments
P: I'm sorry-- |
C: I saw it over there! I saw it... |
P: What? What? WHAT?!? ---/
C: I saw it over there: "Olsen's Standard Book of British Birds".
P: (pause; trying to stay calm) "Olsen's Standard Book of British Birds"?
C: Yes...
P: O-L-S-E-N?
C: Yes....
P: B-I-R-D-S??
C: Yes.....
P: (beat) Yes, well, we do have that, as a matter of fact....
C: The expurgated version....
P: (pause; politely) I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that...?
C: The expurgated version.
P: (exploding) The EXPURGATED version of "Olsen's Standard Book of British
Birds"?!?!?!?!?
C: (desperately) The one without the gannet!
P: The one without the gannet-!!! They've ALL got the gannet!! It's a
Standard British Bird, the gannet, it's in all the books!!!
C: (insistent) Well, I don't like them...they wet their nests.
P: (furious) All right! I'll remove it!! (rrrip!) Any other birds you don't
like?!
C: I don't like the robin...
P: (screaming) The robin! Right! The robin! (rrrip!) There you are, any
others you don't like, any others?
C: The nuthatch?
P: Right! (flipping through the book) The nuthatch, the nuthatch, the
nuthatch, 'ere we are! (rrriiip!) There you are! NO gannets, NO robins,
NO nuthatches, THERE's your book!
C: (indignant) I can't buy that! It's torn!
P: (incoherent noise)
C: Ah, I wonder if you have--
P: God, ask me anything!! We got lots of books here, you know, it's a
bookshop!!
C: Er, how 'bout "Biggles Combs his Hair"?
P: No, no, we don't have that one, funny!
C: "The Gospel According to Charley Drake"?
P: No, no, no, try me again!
C: Ah...oh, I know! "Ethel the Aardvark goes Quantity Surveying".
P: No, no, no, no, no,...What? WHAT??????
C: "Ethel the Aardvark goes Quantity Surveying".
P: "Ethel the Aa--" YES!!!YES!!! WE'VE GOT IT!! (throwing books wildly about)
I-I've seen it somewhere!!! I know it!!! Hee hee hee hee hee!!! Ha ha hoo
ho---WAIT!! WAIT!! Is it?? Is it??? (triumphant) YES!!!!!! Here we are,
"Ethel the Aardvark goes Quantity Surveying"!!!!! There's your book!!
(throwing it down) Now, BUY IT!!!
C: (quickly) I don't have enough money.
P: (desperate) I'll take a deposit!
C: I don't have ANY money!
P: I'll take a check!!
C: I don't have a checkbook!
P: I've got a blank one!!
C: I don't have a bank account!!
P: RIGHT!!!! I'll buy it FOR you! (ring) There we are, there's your change,
there's some money for a taxi on the way home, there's your book, now, now..
C: Wait, wait, wait!
P: What? What?!? WHAT?!? WHAT???!!
C: I can't read!!!
P: (staggeringly long pause; very quietly) You can't...read. (pause) RIGHT!!!
Sit down!! Sit down!! Sit!! Sit!! Are you sitting comfortably???
Right!!! (opens book) "Ethel the Aardvark was hopping down the river valley
one lovely morning, trottety-trottety-trottety, when she might a nice little
quantity surveyor..." (fade out)

Spot The Braincell

(Banal intro music)

Ghastly Quizmaster (Cleese): Hello, good evening and welcome to the very final
edition of your favourite television quiz
programme Spot the Braincell. Thirty minutes of
cheerful ritual humiliation of the old and
greedy. And could we have our first contestant,
please!

(Piano chords. Hostess (Chapman in drag) escorts Old ratbag (Jones in drag)
onto stage.)

Quizmaster: Ha ha ha ... ha ha ha. Good evening, Madam! And your name is?
Ratbag: Yes, Michael.
Quizmaster: Ha ha ha! Jolly good -- and what is your name?
Ratbag: I go to church regularly.
Quizmaster: Ha ha ha, I see. And which particular prize do you have eyes for
this evening?
Ratbag: I'd like the blow on the head.
Quizmaster: The blow -- on the head!
Ratbag: Yes, just there, where it hurts.
Quizmaster: Jolly good! Well now Madam your first question for the blow on
the head this evening is: Which great opponent of Cartesian
dualism resists the reduction of psychological phenomena to a
physical state and insists there is no point of contact between the
extended and the unextended?
Ratbag: I don't know that.
Quizmaster: Well -- have a guess!
Ratbag: Oh... Henri Bergson?
Quizmaster: ...is the correct answer! (Piano chords)
Ratbag: Ooh, that was lucky. I never even heard of him.
Quizmaster: Ha ha ha!
Ratbag: I don't like darkies.
Quizmaster: Ha ha ha (maniacal cackle) She doesn't like darkies. Ha ha ha.
Who does? Ha ha ha! Well now, Mrs Scum, your second question for
the blow on the head is: What is the main food eaten by penguins?
What is the principal food that penguins eat?
Ratbag: Pork luncheon meat.
Quizmaster: No.
Ratbag: Spam.
Quizmaster: No, no, no, no. Penguins. Penguins.
Ratbag: Horses.
Quizmaster: No.
Ratbag: Armchairs.
Quizmaster: No, no. All right, take it easy. I'll give you a clue. (Does
fish impression, opening and closing mouth, puffing up face etc.)
Ratbag: Oh, I know, I know, I know! Brian Clough!
Quizmaster: No, ha ha, no.
Ratbag: Brian Johnstone.
Quizmaster: No.
Ratbag: Brian Inglis.
Quizmaster: No.
Ratbag: Brian Forbes.
Quizmaster: No, ha ha.
Ratbag: Nanette Newman.
Quizmaster: No, ha ha (cackles). No, now listen, I'll give you one more clue,
one more clue. What lives in the sea and gets caught in nets?
Ratbag: Goats.
Quizmaster: No.
Ratbag: Underwater goats with snorkels and flippers.
Quizmaster: No, no.
Ratbag: A buffalo with an aqualung.
Quizmaster: No.
Ratbag: Reginald Maudling.
Quizmaster: (Pause) Yes, that's near enough. I'll give you that. (Piano)
Right, now you have won tonight's star prize. Do you still want
the blow on the head?
Ratbag: Oh, yes please, Michael.
Quizmaster: (Deliberate Pause) I'm offering you a poke in the eye...
Ratbag: No no.
Quizmaster: All right then, a punch in the throat.
Ratbag: No.
Quizmaster: My very last offer Mrs Scum -- a knee in the temple and a dagger
up the clitoris! (Piano) (Audience cries of "Take the Money!"
etc)
Ratbag: That's very tempting, I've never had one up there before! No, I'll
still have the blow on the head.
Quizmaster: Right, the blow on the head. Mrs Scum, you have won tonight's
star prize, the blow on the (cackles) (16 ton weight falls on
Ratbag).

The Bruces

Notes from the Transcriber:
"Abbos" is derisive slang for the aborigones.
"Pommeyland" is England.
"Poofters" are homosexuals.


G'day, Bruce!
Oh, Hello Bruce!
How are you Bruce?
A bit crooked, Bruce.
Where's Bruce?
He's not 'ere, Bruce.
Blimey, it's hot in here, Bruce.
Hot enough to boil a monkey's bum!
That's a strange expression, 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 and she smiled quietly
to herself.
She's a good Sheila Bruce, and not at all stuck up.
Here! Here's the boss-fellow now!
'Ow are you, Bruce?
G'day Bruce!
Bruce.
Hello Bruce.
Bruce.
How are you, Bruce?
G'day Bruce.
Gentleman, I'd like to introduce man from Pommeyland who is joinin'
us this year in the philosophy department at the University of
Walamaloo.
(Everyone) G'day!
Hello.
Michael Baldwin, Bruce. Michael Baldwin, Bruce. Michael Baldwin, Bruce.
Is your name not Bruce?
No, it's Michael.
That's going to cause a little confusion.
Mind if we call you "Bruce" to keep it clear?
Gentlemen, I think we better start the faculty meeting. Before we start,
though, I'd like to ask the padre for a prayer.
Oh Lord, we beseech Thee, Amen!!
Amen!
Crack two! (Bottles opening)
Now I call upon Bruce to officially welcome Mr. Baldwin to the
philosophy faculty.
I'd like to welcome the pommey bastard to God's own Earth, and remind
him that we don't like stuck-up sticky-bates here.
(Everyone) Hear, hear! Well spoken, Bruce!
Bruce here teaches classical philosophy, Bruce there teaches Haegelian
philosophy, and Bruce here teaches logical positivism. And is also
in charge of the sheep dip.
What's New-Bruce going to teach?
New-Bruce will be teaching political science, Machiavelli, Benton,
Lockholm, Sackly, Millbo, Hasset, and Bernerd.
Those are all cricketers!
Aww, spit!
Hails of derisive laughter, Bruce!
(Everyone) Australia, Australia, Australia, Australia, we love you
amen!
Another two! (Bottles opening)
Any questions?
New-Bruce, are you a Poofter?
Are you a Poofter?
No!
No. Right, I just want to remind you of the faculty rules:
Rule One! (Everyone) No Poofters!
Rule Two, no member of the faculty is to maltreat the Abbos in any
way at all -- if there's anybody watching.
Rule Three? (Everyone) No Poofters!!
Rule Four, now this term, I don't want to catch anybody not drinking.
Rule Five, (Everyone) No Poofters!
Rule Six, there is NO ... Rule Six.
Rule Seven, (Everyone) No Poofters!!
Right, that concludes the readin' of the rules, Bruce.
This here's the wattle, the emblem of our land. You can stick it in
a bottle, you can hold it in your hand.
Amen!

<And now all four Bruces launch into the Philosopher's song>

Immanuel Kant was a real piss-ant who was very rarely stable.
Heideggar, Heideggar was a boozy beggar who could
think you under the table.
David Hume could out-consume Schopenhauer and Hegel.
And Whittgenstein was a beery swine who was just as sloshed as Schlegel.
There's nothing Nieizsche couldn't teach 'ya 'bout the raising of the wrist.
Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed.
John Stewart Mill, of his own free will, after half a pint of shanty was
particularly ill.
Plato, they say, could stick it away, 'alf a crate of whiskey every day!
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle,
And Hobbes was fond of his Dram.
And Rene Descartes was a drunken fart:
"I drink, therefore I am."
Yes, Socrates himself is particularly missed;
A lovely little thinker, but a bugger when he's pissed.

Buttocks


(From Monty Python's Flying Circus)

Eric Idle: And now for something completely different. A man with
three buttocks!

John Cleese: I have with me Mr Arthur Frampton who... (pause)
Mr Frampton, I understand that you - um - as it were... (pause)
Well let me put it another way. Erm, I believe that whereas most
people have - er - two... Two.

Michael Palin: Oh, sure.

Cleese: Ah well, er, Mr Frampton. Erm, is that chair comfortable?

Palin: Fine, yeah, fine.

Cleese: Mr Frampton, er, vis a vis your... (pause) rump.

Palin: I beg your pardon?

Cleese: Your rump.

Palin: What?

Cleese: Er, your derriere. (Whispers) Posterior. Sit-upon.

Palin: What's that?

Cleese (whispers): Your buttocks.

Palin: Oh, me bum!

Cleese (hurriedly): Sshhh! Well now, I understand that you, Mr
Frampton, have a... (pause) 50% bonus in the region of what you
say.

Palin: I got three cheeks.

Cleese: Yes, yes, excellent, excellent. Well we were wondering,
Mr Frampton, if you could see your way clear to giving us a
quick... (pause) a quick visual... (long pause). Mr Frampton,
would you take your trousers down.

Palin: What? (to cameramen) 'Ere, get that away! I'm not taking
me trousers down on television. What do you think I am?

Cleese: Please take them down.

Palin: No!

Cleese: No, er look, er Mr Frampton. It's quite easy for somebody
just to come along here claiming... that they have a bit to spare
in the botty department. The point is, our viewers need proof.

Palin: I been on Persian Radio, and the Forces' Network!

Burying The Cat


Mrs. Conclusion (Chapman): Hullo, Mrs. Premise.
Mrs. Premise (Cleese): Hullo, Mrs. Conclusion.
Conclusion: Busy Day?
Premise: Busy? I just spent four hours burying the cat.
Conclusion: *Four hours* to bury a cat?
Premise: Yes - it wouldn't keep still.
Conclusion: Oh - it wasn't dead, then?
Premise: No, no - but it's not at all well, so as we were going to be on the
safe side.
Conclusion: Quite right - you don't want to come back from Sorrento to a dead
cat. It'd be so anticlimactic. Yes, kill it now, that's what I
say. We're going to have to have our budgie put down.
Premise: Really - is it very old?
Conclusion: No, we just don't like it. We're going to take it to the vet
tomorrow.
Premise: Tell me, how do they put budgies down, then?
Conclusion: Well, it's funny you should ask that, because I've just been
reading a great big book about how to put your budgie down, and
apparently you can either hit them with the book, or you can shoot
them just there, just above the beak.
Premise: Just there? Well, well, well. 'Course, Mrs Essence flushed hers
down the loo.
Conclusion: No, you shouldn't do that - no, that's dangerous. They *breed* in
the *sewers*!