I want you to be my helpmate. As Tarzan had his Jane, as Napoleon had his Josephine, as Frankie Laine had whoever he had, I want you to help me in my plan to dominate the world!
I’ve had more gala lunches than you’ve had hot dinners, my lad, and don’t you forget it!
I mean, it’s a little confusing for me when you say “dog kennel” if you want a mattress. Why not just say “mattress”?
Good evening and welcome, ladies and gentlemen. At this time we’d like to up the tempo a little, change the mood. We’ve got a number requested by Pip, Pauline, Nigel, Tarquin, and old Spotty - Tarquin’s mother - a little number specially written for the pubescence of ex-King Zog of Albania, and it’s entitled “Art Gallery.” Hope you like it.
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My senses, as though an anteater I’d seen
A nasty long-nosed brute
With furry legs and sticky darting tongue
I seem to feel its cruel jaws
Crunch crunch, there go my legs
Snap snap, my thorax too
My head’s in a twain, there goes my brain
Swallow, swallow, swallow, slurp
One day Rikki the magic Pixie
went to visit Daisy Bumble in
her tumbledown cottage, He
found her in the bedroom.
Roughly he grabbed her shoulders
pulling her down on to the
bed and hurriedly ripping off
her thin…
44©1995, Python (Monty) Pictures, Ltd. Produced under license by Cornerstone Communications, Inc.
“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…”
At last! A call, a cry of distress! This could be the sign that leads us to the Holy Grail! Brave, brave Concorde! You shall not have died in vain!
The Poems of Ewen McTeagle
Upon Reading Chapman’s ‘Homer’
in Selfridges’
Owe gie to me a shillin for some fags
And I’ll pay you back on Thursday.
But if you can wait till Saturday
I’m expecting divvy from the
Harpenden Building Society.
©1995, Python (Monty) Pictures, Ltd. Produced under license by Cornerstone* Communications, Inc.
Right.
Yes, we find that 9 out of 10 British housewives can’t tell the difference between Whizzo Butter and a dead crab.
Ni!
Venezuelan beaver cheese?
Nnnnnnnno.
We’ve been mentioned on telly!
Did you say, “ex-leper?”
Well, it’s a difficult decision. But in accordance with our traditional principles of free enterprise and healthy competition I’m going to ask the two of you to fight to the death for it.
At this time, a friend shall lose his friend’s hammer, and the young shall not know where lieth the things possessed by their fathers that their fathers put there only just the night before, about eight o’clock.
I love that this thread is never quite dead.
There is NO rule six!
A Corpse-Haakon Production.