Good morning, gentlemen. This is a twelve-storey block combining classical neo-Georgian features with the efficiency of modern techniques. The tenants arrive in the entrance hall here, and are carried along the corridor on a conveyor belt in extreme comfort and past murals depicting Mediterranean scenes, towards the rotating knives. The last twenty feet of the corridor are heavily soundproofed. The blood pours down these chutes and the mangled flesh slurps into these…
Stig: No. Never. He was a smashing bloke. He used to buy his mother flowers and that. He was like a brother to me.
Interviewer: But the police have film of Dinsdale actually nailing your head to the floor.
Stig: (pause) Oh yeah; he did that.
Exciting? No, it’s not. It’s dull. Dull. Dull. My God, it’s dull, it’s so desperately dull and tedious and stuffy and boring and des-per-ate-ly DULL.
Good evening. Tonight on ‘Is There’ we examine the question, ‘Is there a life after death?’. And here to discuss it are three dead people… The late Sir Brian Hardacre, former curator of the Imperial War Museum … the late Professor Thynne, until recently an academic, critic, and broadcaster … and putting the view of the Church of England, the very late Prebendary Reverend Ross. Gentlemen, is there a life after death or not? Sir Brian? (silence) Professor? … Prebendary?.. Well there we have it, three say no. On ‘Is There’ next week we’ll be discussing the question ‘Is there enough of it about?’, and until then, goodnight.
Owe gie to me a shillin for some fags
And I’ll pay yer back on Thursday.
But if you can wait till Saturday
I’m expecting a divvy from the
Harpenden Building Society.
Let that be a warning to you all. You move at your peril, for I have two pistols here. I know one of them isn’t loaded any more, but the other one is, so that’s one of you dead for sure…or just about for sure anyway. It certainly wouldn’t be worth your while risking it because I’m a very good shot. I practice every day…well, not absolutely every day, but most days in the week…I expect I must practice, oh, at least four or five times a week at least…at least four or five, only some weekends…like last weekend, there really wasn’t the time, so that moved the average down a bit…but I should say it’s definitely a solid four days’ practice a week…at least. I mean…I reckon I could hit that tree over there…the one just behind that hillock…not the big hillock, the little hillock on the left.
Yes. And, er, he never showed any inclination towards being a Scotsman before this happened?
**Animal Lovers Column
**
A message for all you animal lovers:
Your practice is illegal and punishable by a heavy fine and up to seven years inprisonment.
Ooh. Ooh. It’s from the BBC. They want to know if I want to be in a sketch on telly.
*Dear Madame Palm,
Our local Building Society Branch Manager
says that insurance is illegal. Can this
be true?
Ron Higgins, Cirencester.*
Dear Ron,
there is absolutely no need to be
ashamed of your body. Sex is a perfectly
natural function that all post-puescent
people indulge in. For sake can’t
we get it out in the open?
Pointed stick? Oh, oh, oh. We want to learn how to defend ourselves against pointed sticks, do we? Getting all high and mighty, eh? Fresh fruit not good enough for you, eh? Well I’ll tell you something my lad. When you’re walking home tonight and some great homicidal maniac comes after you with a bunch of loganberries, don’t come crying to me!
Your Majesty is like a big jam doughnut with cream on the top.
Yes, yes, yes, I do follow, Mr. Anchovy, but you see the snag is… if I now call Mr. Chipperfield and say to him, ‘Look here, I’ve got a forty-five-year-old chartered accountant with me who wants to become a lion tamer’, his first question is not going to be ‘Does he have his own hat?’ He’s going to ask what sort of experience you’ve had with lions.
Now would you please tell me what in God’s name possesed you to paint this with three Christs?!
Well, they can stop following you right now…
Now, stop following my son! You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!
Lively brown furry things with short stumpy legs and great long noses. I don’t know what all the fuss is about, I could tame one of those. They look pretty tame to start with.
No. 1, The Larch. The Larch.
You see, a lion is a huge savage beast, about five feet high, ten feet long, weighing about four hundred pounds, running forty miles per hour, with masses of sharp pointed teeth and nasty long razor-sharp claws that can rip your belly open before you can say ‘Eric Robinson’, and they look like this.
But it wasn’t grandmother who opened it, it was Buzz Aldrin America’s Number 2 spaceman!
A one… two-- A one… two… three… four…
Half a bee, philosophically,
Must, ipso facto, half not be.
But half the bee has got to be
Vis a vis, its entity. D’you see?
But can a bee be said to be
Or not to be an entire bee
When half the bee is not a bee
Due to some ancient injury?