It’s just a flesh wound.
Hang on a tick. This redistribution of wealth’s trickier than I thought.
Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore, he’s not in this bit.
Bloody sharks.
This is Captain MacPherson welcoming you aboard East Scottish Airways. You’ll have had your tea. Our destination is Glasgow. There is no need to panic.
Well, he did say “Jehovah.”
And now, the sound of John Denver being strangled.
How much do you hate the Romans?
This is zany madcap humour.
We are struggling together!
Be quiet – I order you to be quiet!
Speaking as a public opinion poll, I’ve had enough of the permissive society.
I didn’t really call you, “Eddie, baby,” did I, sweetie?
Dear Sir, I wish to complain in the strongest possible terms about the song which you have just broadcast, about the lumberjack who wears women’s clothes. Many of my best friends are lumberjacks, and only a few of them are transvestites. Yours faithfully, Brigadier Sir Charles Arthur Strong (Mrs.)
P.S. I have never kissed the editor of the Radio Times.
Oh you’re no fun anymore.
I’ve got ninety thousand pounds in my pajamas.
What a strange person.
And now for something completely different. A man with three buttocks!
Yes, but I’ve had the excess nipples woppled to remove tamping.
Well, we interviewers are more than a match for the likes of you, ‘Two Sheds’. Get your own Arts programme, you fairy!