Immanuel Kant was a real pissant who was very rarely stable.
I like that! I like that, I can’t take it any more, and then Rock Hudson says ‘I’m a very rich film producer and I need a lobotomy’ and then Doris Dog says ‘I think you’re very handsome and I’m going to take all my clothes off,’ and then Doris Dog turns into a yak and goes to the bathroom on David Lemming. No, wait, wait! Hello, hello, hello, who are you? You’re an out-of-work writer? Well, you’re fired. Roll the credits!
Go and tell your master that we have been charged by God with a sacred quest. If he will give us food and shelter for the night, he can join us in our quest for the Holy Grail.
Well there you can see the scores now. St Stephen in the lead there with his stoning, then comes King Richard the Third at Bosworth Field, a grand death that, then the very lovely Jean d’Arc, then Marat in his bath - best of friends with Charlotte in the showers afterwards - then A. Lincoln of the U.S of A, a grand little chap that, and number six Genghis Khan, and the back marker King Edward the Seventh. Back to you, Wolfgang.
It’s
I Like traffic lights.
I Like traffic lights.
I Like traffic lights.
I-- Oh, God!
Life’s a piece of shit / when you look at it
No, no, no, you loopy brothel inmate.
Michael Norman Randall, you have been found guilty of the murder of Arthur Reginald Webster, Charles Patrick Trumpington, Marcel Agnes Bernstein, Lewis Anona Rudd, John Malcolm Kerr, Nigel Sinclair Robinson, Norman Arthur Potter, Felicity Jayne Stone, Jean-Paul Reynard, Rachel Shirley Donaldson, Stephen Jay Greenblatt, Karl-Heinz Mullet, Belinda Anne Ventham, Juan-Carlos Fernandez, Thor Olaf Stensgaard, Lord Kimberley of Pretoria, Lady Kimberley of Pretoria, The Right Honourable Nigel Warmsly Kimberley, Robert Henry Noonan and Felix James Bennett, on or about the morning of the 19th December 1972. Have you anything to say before I pass sentence?
A spanking! A spanking!
It’s a fair cop.
We’ve been mentioned on telly!
Well, no, no, but it’s not at all a well cat so as we were going away for a fortnight’s holiday, I thought I’d better bury it just to be on the safe side.
It’s certainly uncontaminated by cheese.
Well it’s not a question of wanting to be a mouse… it just sort of happens to you. All of a sudden you realize… that’s what you want to be.
This is a frightened city. Over these houses, over these streets hangs a pall of fear. Fear of a new kind of violence which is terrorizing the city. Yes, gangs of old ladies attacking defenseless fit young men.
Dorset Blue Vinney?
No, no, don’t tell me - I’m keen to guess.
He who would cross the Bridge of Death must answer me these questions three ere the other side he see.
Any Norwegian Jarlsberger, per chance?