What, the curtains?
Bicycle Repair Man! But…how?!
:: Zzzzzzzzip ::
Message for you, sir!
The llama is a quadruped which lives in the big rivers like the Amazon. It has two ears, a heart, a forehead, and a beak for eating honey. But it is provided with fins for swimming.
Llamas are larger than frogs.
Llamas are dangerous, so if you see one where people are swimming, you shout…
**Look out, there are llamas! **
OK. So now we come to the chapter on Problems in the DIY bomb disposal course.
Let me start by saying you can always tell when something’s wrong, because that bit with the skull on it is probably staring you in the face, and that other bit with the number 666 on it is probably dangling over the side instead of lying flat, and that bit with the word Alert on it is probably making a funny buzzing sound.
In any case, always check your screws before you start, because if one or more of your screws is loose, you’re in trouble.
Very small rocks!
Oh, we use only the finest juicy chunks of fresh Cornish Ram’s bladder, emptied, steamed, flavoured with sesame seeds, whipped into a fondue, and garnished with lark’s vomit.
And finally, monsieur, a wafer-thin mint.
Oh, wicked, bad, naughty, evil Zoot! Oh, she is a naughty person, and she must pay the penalty – and here in Castle Anthrax, we have but one punishment for setting alight the grail-shaped beacon. You must tie her down on a bed and spank her! (and then later)
Oh, shit!
Having said that, let me say this: Beware the many-headed yakyak tree.
A fabulous spruce, back from a tour of Holland, three gum trees making their first appearance in this country, scots pine and the conifers, and Elm Tree Bole - there you go, can’t be bad - an exiting new American plank, a rainforest and a bucket of sawdust giving their views on teenage violence, and an unusual guest for this programme, a piece of laminated plastic.
What’s the point of fighting for his right to have babies when he can’t have babies?!
No, no. I mean, because we are members of the Protestant Reformed Church, which successfully challenged the autocratic power of the Papacy in the mid-sixteenth century, we can wear little rubber devices to prevent issue. I could, if I wanted, have sexual intercourse with you, and, by wearing a rubber sheath over my old feller, I could insure that, when I came off, you would not be impregnated. That’s what being a Protestant’s all about. That’s why it’s the church for me. That’s why it’s the church for anyone who respects the individual and the individual’s right to decide for him or herself. When Martin Luther nailed his protest up to the church door in 1517, he may not have realized the full significance of what he was doing, but four hundred years later, thanks to him, my dear, I can wear whatever I want on my John Thomas. And, Protestantism doesn’t stop at the simple condom! Oh, no! I can wear French Ticklers if I want. French Ticklers. Black Mambos. Crocodile Ribs. Sheaths that are designed not only to protect, but also to enhance the stimulation of sexual congress. Have I got one? Uh, well, no, but I can go down the road any time I want and walk into Harry’s and hold my head up high and say in a loud, steady voice, “Harry, I want you to sell me a condom. In fact, today, I think I’ll have a French Tickler, for I am a Protestant!”
Well it’s certainly uncontaminated by cheese.
Are you mad?
No.
Insane?
No.
Out of your mind?
No.
Well, what’s the matter with you?
I’m from the gas department and they said to tell you that someone’s put the wrong sort of gas into the main and this whole area is about to exp …
I love the surgical garment. Enjoy the delights of the Victor Mature abdominal corset. Sail down the Nile on the Bleed-it Kosher Truss.* (the adman comes into view over the background; he holds a tailor’s dummy - pelvis only - with a truss)* And don’t forget the Hercules Hold-'em-in, the all.purpose concrete truss for the man with the family hernia.
Dear Sir, I object strongly to the obvious lavatorial turn this show has already taken. Why do we never hear about the good things in Britain, like Mary Bignall’s wonderful jump in 1964?
“To whoever finds this note, I have been imprisoned by my father, who wishes me to marry against my will. Please, please, please come and rescue me. I am in the tall tower of Swamp Castle.” At last! A call, a cry of distress! This could be the sign that leads us to the Holy Grail!
Brave, brave Concorde! You shall not have died in vain!
None shall pass.
No. 1. The Larch.