Luxury!
A shrubbery!
A herring!
Albatross!
It’s…!
S. Frog.
Ar. Exactly. Birds is the key to the whole problem. It’s my belief that these sheep are laborin’ under the misapprehension that they’re birds. Observe their behavior. Take for a start the sheeps’ tendency to 'op about the field on their back legs. Now witness their attempts to fly from tree to tree. Notice that they do not so much fly as…plummet. Observe for example that ewe in that oak tree. She is clearly trying to teach her lamb to fly. Talk about the blind leading the blind.
About one, call it none.
Now, here’s the meaning of life.
Well, one day I was sitting at home threatening the kids, and I looked out of the hole in the wall and sees this tank drive up and one of Dinsdale’s boys gets out and he comes up, all nice and friendly-like, and says Dinsdale wants to have a talk with me. So he chains me to the back of the tank and takes me for a scrape 'round to Dinsdale’s. And Dinsdale’s there in the conversation pit with Doug and Charles Paisley, the baby crusher, and a couple of film producers and a man they called “Kierkegaard,” who just sat there biting the heads off whippets, and Dinsdale said, “I hear you’ve been a naughty boy, Clement,” and he splits me nostrils open and saws me leg off and pulls me liver out, and I said, “My name’s not Clement,” and then he loses his temper and nails me head to the floor.
Why are we here?
The blancmanges are really Australians trying to get the rights of the pelota rules from the Czech publishers!
From Harold. He’s that sheep there over under the elm. He’s that most dangerous of animals, a clever sheep. He’s the ring-leader. He has realized that a sheep’s life consists of standing around for a few months and then being eaten. And that’s a depressing prospect for an ambitious sheep. He’s patently hit on the idea of escape.
What’s life all about?
My nipples explode with delight!
Are you suggesting we eat my mother?
Er, tell you what, afterwards we’ll dig a grave and you can throw up in it.
And now for something completely different. A man with three buttocks!
But last year, the Government spent less on the Ministry of Silly Walks than it did on National Defense!
I’m just learning my lines, you know. “Oh, Mr. Belpit, your legs…”
And now, number three, the larch.