No, no, no! I’m Brian!
Top-hole. Bally Jerry, pranged his kite right in the how’s your father. Hairy blighter, dicky-birdied, feathered back on his Sammy, took a waspy, flipped over on his Betty Harper’s and caught his can in the Bertie.
We’ve come for your liver.
Blimey! The real quote is,
“Hallo! Uh, can we have your liver?”
And be sure to bring in the machine that goes “Ping!”
The editors would like to hear women with large, floppy breasts.
Or just anyone who likes editors.
I’d like to tax Raquel Welch… and I have a feeling she’d tax me!
Toad sexing for fun and profit
Dinsdale!
Well, at least the poet’s been installed then!
It’s the Atilla The Hun Show!
Wainscotting… wainscotting.
Has a nice, woody sound to it.
Mr. Nesbitt has learned the first lesson of not being seen: not to stand up. However, he has chosen a very obvious piece of cover.
This is suposed to be a happy occaision. Let’s not bicker and argue over who killed who.
And if you think you got a nasty taunting this time, you ain’t heard nothing yet!
Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time.
It’s certainly uncontaminated by cheese.
Can I have £50 to mend the shed?
I’m right on my uppers.
I can pay you back
When I get this postal order from Australia.
Honestly.
Hope the bladder trouble’s getting better.
Love, Ewen?
One thing is for sure: a sheep is not a creature of the air.