Dinsdale!
It’s…
One on’t cross beams gone owt askew on treddle.
Look, Cynthia, I’ve told you repeatedly, you can’t play chess with that!
Oh, yes. You see we’re from the planet Skyron in the Galaxy of Andromeda, and they’re all that size there. We tried to tell you at the beginning of the film but you just panned off us.
You stupid git. I meant how long we’ve been in the lifeboat. You’ve spoilt the atmosphere now.
Minstrels [singing]: 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 heart cut out, and his liver removed, and his bowels unplugged, and his nostrils raped and his bottom burned off and his penis…
Sir Robin: That’s, uh, that’s enough music for now, lads.
Blimey, I didn’t expect the Spanish Inquisition!
*Mrs. Hardcastle:*Oh, no! Oh, Jonathon … you couldn’t! Your father and I … Oh, the shame of it …
* Exits right, sobbing.
*
Dear Sir, When I was at school, I was beaten regularly every thirty minutes, and it never did me any harm - except for psychological maladjusunent and blurred vision. Yours truly, Flight Lieutenant Ken Frankenstein (Mrs).
Look, tell you what, we’ll eat her, if you feel a bit guilty about it afterwards, we can dig a grave and you can throw up in it.
Are you suggesting coconuts migrate?
Oh…no…no… Yes.
I’ve heard of unisex but I’ve never had it.
The Portuguese had a word for it.
Oh?
Big hairy thing.
What was it?
Perkins thought it was extinct.
No, the word.
The word?
The Portuguese word.
What word was that?
You said they had a word for it.
Did I?
Well, isn’t that extraordinary? We were just talking about death only five minutes ago.
It was… the salmon mousse!
Well, well, well - you’ve been here before, I think.
No, never have.
Are you sure?
Oh, I’d know if I had.
Had what?
Been here before.
There, I knew it.
What …?
You’ve been here before.
No I haven’t.
Oh, yes you have.
This is a madhouse.
No, that’s down the corridor. Second on the left, just before the toilets.
What …?
You’ll need a referral, you know.
Yes, well, of course, this is just the sort blinkered philistine pig ignorance I’ve come to expect from you non-creative garbage. You sit there on your loathsome, spotty behinds squeezing blackheads, not caring a tinker’s cuss about the struggling artist.
…and NO SINGING!