Now she can’t do without it. Twenty balls of wool a day, sometimes. If she can’t get the wool she gets violent. What can we do about it?
Just remember that you’re standing on a planet that’s evolving
And revolving at nine hundred miles an hour,
That’s orbiting at nineteen miles a second, so it’s reckoned,
A sun that is the source of all our power.
The sun and you and me and all the stars that we can see
Are moving at a million miles a day
In an outer spiral arm, at forty thousand miles an hour,
Of the galaxy we call the ‘Milky Way’.
Our galaxy itself contains a hundred billion stars.
It’s a hundred thousand light years side to side.
It bulges in the middle, sixteen thousand light years thick,
But out by us, it’s just three thousand light years wide.
We’re thirty thousand light years from galactic central point.
We go 'round every two hundred million years,
And our galaxy is only one of millions of billions
In this amazing and expanding universe.
(Prof., this might interest you: Is the Monty Python "Galaxy Song" scientifically accurate? - Factual Questions - Straight Dope Message Board)
But this is not just an old ladies’ town. There are other equally dangerous gangs - such as the baby snatchers.
No, not that moment. Although that moment is not coming, in a moment. The moment I’m talking about is the moment when we present the award for the cast with the most awards award, and this year is no exception.
Smoked Austrian?
It’s the finest in the district.
No, the stars in the paper, you cloth-eared heap of anteater’s catarrh, the zodiacal signs, the horoscopic fates, the astrological portents, the omens, the genethliac prognostications, the mantalogical harbingers, the vaticinal utterances, the fatidical premonitory uttering of the mantalogical omens - what do the bleeding stars in the paper predict, forecast, prophesy, foretell, prognosticate…
[Thanks for the link, EH. I’d seen it before, but it’s good to keep up.]
What I was thinking was, I was going to ask him if he could make me a bit lame in one leg during the middle of the week. You know, something beggable, but not leprosy, which is a pain in the arse, to be blunt.
Bloody Romans.
“A shroe! A shroe! My dingkome for a shroe!”
I mean, you’ve been around a bit, you know, like, you’ve, uh…You’ve “done it”…?
Are you selling something?
Sixty new pence for a bottle of Maltese Claret. Well, I personally think Jean-Paul’s masterwork is an allegory of man’s search for commitment.
Red Windsor?
I like a nice dance; you’re forced to!
We have found a witch. May we burn her?
Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is great.
If a sperm is wasted,
God gets quite irate.
Regards,
Shodan
*The Lionel Blair Dancers would like to thank Dr. John A.G. ‘Honest to God’ Robinson for his help on the choreography.
‘it’s a man’s life taking your clothes off in public’
The authors are anxious to get in touch with compliant ladies under 25 with large breasts, or anybody who just likes authors.