I’ve noticed a tendency for this programme to get rather silly. Now, I do my best to keep things moving along, but I’m not having things getting silly. Those two last sketches I did got very silly indeed, and that last one about the bed was even sillier. Now, nobody likes a good laugh more than I do… except perhaps my wife and some of her friends… oh yes and Captain Johnston. Come to think of it, most people like a good laugh more than I do. But that’s beside the point.
Yes, it’s Attila the Nun.
A simple country girl who took a vow of eternal brutality.
You see that? That’s where I was born. You know, one day, my… my mother, she put me on her knee and she said to me: “Gaston, my son, the world is a beautiful place. You must go into it and love everyone, try to make everyone happy, and bring peace and contentment everywhere you go.” And so, I became a waiter. Well, it’s… it’s not much of a philosophy, I know… but, well… fuck you! I can live my own life in my own way if I want to! Fuck off, don’t come following me!
Immanuel Kant was a real piss-ant who was very rarely stable,
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar who could drink you under the table,
David Hume could out-consume Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel,
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine who was twice as sloshed as Schlegel.
There’s nothing Nietzsche couldn’t teach yer 'bout the raising of the wrist,
Socrates himself was permanently pissed.
Well the real hang-up was with the bread man but when the top brass pigs came through we got it together in a couple of moons. Commodore Betty Grable, who’s a real sub-aqua head, has got it together diving wise and like the whole gig’s been a real gas man.
Nasty little piece of work, he is. I hate him!
Splitter!
Lovely spam, wonderful spam
Spam, spam, spam, spam
In 1970, the british empire lay in ruins, foreign nationals frequented the streets - many of them hungarians (not the streets - the foreign nationals). Anyway, many of these hungarians went into tobacconist’s shops to buy cigarettes
My nipples explode with delight!
No, no. I’d like to answer this question if I may in two ways. Firstly, in my normal voice, and then in a kind of silly high-pitched whine.
Is it true that the police are using dachshunds to combat the crime wave? And can the head of the Vice Squad turn himself into an albatross whenever he wants to? Just what are the police up to?
Hoo hoo hoo ho. The little wascal has spiwit!
I meant, Your Majesty, that uh, like a doughnut your arrival gives us pleasure and your departure merely makes us hungry for more. Right, Your Majesty is like a stream of bat’s piss.
Well, you have to know these things when you’re a king, you know.
That’s all right - you can put the dead Indian in the spare room on top of the dung.
Splunge!
No pooftahs!
Better get a bucket - I’m gonna throw up.
We use choicest juicy chunks of fresh Cornish ram’s bladder, emptied, steamed, flavoured with sesame seeds, whipped into a fondue and garnished with lark’s vomit.