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.
Rumpletweezer ran the Dinky Tinky shop in the foot of the magic oak tree by the wobbly dumdum bush in the shade of the magic glade down in Dingly Dell. Here he sold contraceptives and…
…With a melon!?
And keep the noise down, please! Those possessed by devils, try and keep them under control a bit, can’t you? Incurables, you’ll just have to wait for a few minutes. Um, women taken in sin, line up against that wall, will you?
Isn’t that right, Flopsie.
The name’s Shabby, Ken Shabby.
Hey, look: Howard’s being eaten.
Shut up, you American. You Americans, all you do is talk, and talk, and say “let me tell you something” and “I just wanna say.” Well, you’re dead now, so shut up.
I don’t much like the tone of your voice.
Blues Men
We were the best trio in town;
well, actually, the only trio in town.
Charlie, Mike, and me: flute, bass
and jazz piano. The Blues Men.
We played covers, mostly.
Mike tried his hand at composing.
But they didn’t like him much
so we stayed with the standards.
Mostly we played at the Seraphine,
run by a mulatto girl named Rosie.
The real Seraphine painted flowers;
she lost her mind and they locked her up.
We all liked the Seraphine. Charlie found
a habit there; Mike found a girl.
Me, I just loved those smoky, bluesy nights;
endured those droosy, sun-blinded days.
Then the music stopped.
So what happened? you might ask.
Well, I’ll tell you. Nothing spectacular.
Nothing to write home about.
Just life.
Charlie killed his pain.
Mike killed his woman.
Me – I’m thinking
of killing myself if I don’t find
a flutist and a bassman soon.
So you think you are strong because you can survive the soft cushions. Well, we shall see. Biggles! Put her in the Comfy Chair!
Luxury.
Oh see my brother’s clumsy, colonel, and when he gets unhappy he breaks things. Like say, he don’t feel the army’s playing fair by him, he may start breaking things, colonel.
Yeah, it’s hidden in his trousers!
And be sure to bring in the machine that goes “Ping!”
Ha ha ha. Who does?..And now your second question for the blow on the head is: What is the main food that penguins eat?
OK, you’ve got this girl on your bed, you’ve had a few drinks, you’ve got her stretched out and her feet on the mantelpiece …
Excuse me not shaking hands, I’ve just been putting a bit of lard on the cat’s boil.
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!
We have a lot of trouble with these oldies. Pension day’s the worst - they go mad. As soon as they get their hands on their money they blow it all on milk, bread, tea, tin of meat for the cat.
Yes. Shrubberies are my trade. I am a shrubber. My name is Roger the Shrubber. I arrange, design, and sell shrubberies.