If I injure myself, my immediate response is “I’ve 'ad Worse!”
when I have a headache, I use the “My Brain Hurts” line
whenever a machine fails diagnostics, or an ordered repair part fails to fix the machine… “Predictable really, I suppose, act of purest optimism to have posed the question in the first place”
A failed computer is not “dead”, it’s either resting, or pining for the Fijords (sometimes both)
Seeing the word spam automatically makes me think of Terry Jones in drag.
Whenever a friend or family complains about tummy-ache, I intone “IT WAS…THE SALMON MOUSSE!” in my best Grim Reaper accent.
That and saying “Ooh, look, Howard’s being eaten!” whenever I pass a fish tank in a restaurant, like at my favourite Thai place.
And when I worked in an office and someone bitched about a job, I was known to say, in the Old Lady voice, “Well, at least I’m not working for Jews!”. Only one friend would have the background to follow up with a quick French-accented “I had no idea we had a Rascist working here!”, and the rest of the staff would wonder why we were rolling on the floor.
Most of the ones I thought of have been said except “pooftahs” (sp?)
And “Rule 6”. There isn’t one.
Penguins - There’s a penguin on the telly.
Lumberjack - The lumberjack song where they finish the song.
A cartoon foot - They step on everything.
A big fat lady - They guy keeps dropping out of the air and bouncing off the prostrate fat lady.
Spam - I will also think of the Spam skit before junk mail unlike the generations that missed Monty Python.
The gentleman loves Monty Python. I sing in the rather large choir of an Episcopal Church. While a lot of the service reminds him of Monty Python, what particularly comes to mind, when we’re processing up the aisle in our robes, is “Dies ie requiem!” :thud:
Hovercraft (is it full of eels?)
Brian
“Well, I wasn’t expecting that!” starts a round of Inquisition from the family.
‘I wish to make a complaint!’
Confuse-a-cat. Except in our house, it’s Confuse-a-corgi.
Whenever the Gospel reading at church is about the Beatitudes I start giggling. “Blessed are the Cheesemakers”.
Our congressman’s name is Dennis Moore, so you can imagine how often that song is running through my head.
And just the other day I was thinking about how fun it would be to have a bicycle repair shop called “The Bicycle Repairman”, where all the employees have to wear Superman t-shirts.
“I’m not dead yet!” in a cheesy English accent. (In response to “How ya doing?”)
Chartered accountancy.
My francophone GF (never having been directly exposed to Python) mechanically responds to offers of second helpings with a gruff, “Fuck off, I’m full.” She picked that charming habit up from me.
Griping about work usually brings on “I never wanted to be a ______. I wanted to be a lumberjack… &C”
Whenever I have to interact with housing developers, I think about rotating knives. (No reason.)
I listen to NPR while I commute. Every time I hear a story that mentions diplomat John Bolton (which was pretty often for a while there) I have to fight the urge to say, “Notlob!”
The comfy chair!
I cannot say “My theory . . .” without doing it in falsetto.
“Burma”
This has made talking about the recent cyclone difficult.
Whenever I see a wild hare I think of the Killer Rabbit! Oh it’s just a harmless little bunny, isn’t it? (I have the shirt for when I paying my D&D character, Bunny)