Good Lord! The Crimson Permanent Assurance!
I’m not oppressing you Stan - you haven’t got a womb! Where’s the fetus gonna gestate, you gonna keep it in a box?
Right. I had to get up in the morning at ten o’clock at night half an hour before I went to bed, drink a cup of sulphuric acid, work twenty-nine hours a day down mill, and pay mill owner for permission to come to work, and when we got home, our Dad and our mother would kill us and dance about on our graves singing Hallelujah.
I’ll turn the lights back on for a pound.
And for those of you at home who want to play it the hard way, stick your head in a bucket of piranha fish.
Don’t give me that, you snotty-faced heap of parrot droppings!
Good. Nibbling the earlobe… kneading the buttocks, and so on and so forth. So, we have all these possibilities before we stampede towards the clitoris.
The Queen’s a good Sheila and not at all stuck up.
Sorry, loves, sorry the show is too long this week and this scene’s been cut.
Follow the gourd!! The Holy Gourd of Jeruslem!!
Well, er, yes Mr Anchovy, but you see your report here says that you are an extremely dull person. Our experts describe you as an appallingly dull fellow, unimaginative, timid, lacking in initiative, spineless, easily dominated, no sense of humor, tedious company and irrepressibly drab and awful. And whereas in most professions these would be considerable drawbacks, in chartered accountancy they are a positive boon.
I waggled me wig!
And Oliver has run himself over! What a great twit.
And Saint Attila raised the hand grenade up on high, saying, ‘O Lord, bless this Thy hand grenade that, with it, Thou mayest blow Thine enemies to tiny bits in Thy mercy.’ And the Lord did grin, and the people did feast upon the lambs and sloths and carp and anchovies and orangutans and breakfast cereals and fruit bats and large chu–
And the Lord spake, saying, ‘First shalt thou take out the Holy Pin. Then, shalt thou count to three. No more. No less. Three shalt be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, nor either count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the third number, be reached, then, lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch towards thy foe, who, being naughty in My sight, shall snuff it.’
Not at all, Vicar. You’re our best customer [for sherry], after North America.
Maitre D: And finally, monsieur, a wafer-thin mint.
Mr Creosote: No.
Maitre D: Oh sir! It’s only a tiny little thin one.
Mr Creosote: No. Fuck off - I’m full… [Belches]
Maitre D: Oh sir… it’s only wafer thin.
Mr Creosote: Look - I couldn’t eat another thing. I’m absolutely stuffed. Bugger off.
Maitre D: Oh sir, just… just one…
Mr Creosote: Oh all right. Just one.
Maitre D: Just the one, sir… voila… bon appetit…
Mongo- Remember… never kill a customer.
Minstrel
Bravely bold Sir Robin
Rode forth from Camelot.
He was not afraid to die,
O brave Sir Robin.
He was not at all afraid
To be killed in nasty ways.
Brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Robin.
He was not in the least bit scared
To be mashed into a pulp.
Or to have his eyes gouged out,
And his elbows broken.
To have his kneecaps split
And his body burned away,
And his limbs all hacked and mangled
Brave Sir Robin.
His head smashed in
And his heart cut out
And his liver removed
And his bowls unplugged
And his nostrils raped
And his bottom burnt off
And his pen–
Sir Robin
That’s… that’s enough music for now, lads.
If I could walk that way I wouldn’t need aftershave…
…Ah. A toilet requisite-t-t-t-t-t-t-t.
“All brontosauruses are thin at one end, much, much thicker in the middle, and then thin again at the far end.”