Well, let me tell you something, my lad! When you’re walking home tonight, and some homicidal maniac comes after you with a bunch of loganberries, don’t come crying to me!
I don’t know who keeps bringing them in here.
There can be no finer honor tonight than to welcome into our midst tonight a guest who has not only done more than not anyone for our society, but nonetheless has only done more.
Michael Norman Randall, you have been found guilty of the murder of Arthur Reginald Webster, Charles Patrick Trumpington, Marcel Agnes Bernstein, Lewis Anona Rudd, John Malcolm Kerr, Nigel Sinclair Robinson, Norman Arthur Potter, Felicity Jayne Stone, Jean-Paul Reynard, Rachel Shirley Donaldson, Stephen Jay Greenblatt, Karl-Heinz Mullet, Belinda Anne Ventham, Juan-Carlos Fernandez, Thor Olaf Stensgaard, Lord Kimberley of Pretoria, Lady Kimberley of Pretoria, The Right Honourable Nigel Warmsly Kimberley, Robert Henry Noonan and Felix James Bennett, on or about the morning of the 19th December 1972. Have you anything to say before I pass sentence?
I had to bring the goat; he’s not well. I only hope he don’t go on the carpet.
Come on, Shaw-ry!
‘Toledo Tit Parade’? What sort of play’s that?
Caribbean, where the clichés sparkle on the waters…
Look, we are not Tudor persons. We are the police.
Sorry I’m late, head master. I’ve been wrestling with Plato.
I know what literature is, you Dago dustbin.
Well we were wondering, Mr Frampton, if you could see your way clear to giving us a quick… a quick visual… (long pause). Mr Frampton, would you take your trousers down.
It’s very good of you to say that, but I know what you’ve been through.
French Ticklers. Black Mambos. Crocodile Ribs. Sheaths that are designed not only to protect, but also to enhance the stimulation of sexual congress.
Mount Everest. Forbidding, aloof, terrifying. This year, this remote Himalayan mountain, this mystical temple, surrounded by the most difficult terrain in the world, repulsed yet another attempt to conquer it. This time, by the International Hairdresser’s Expedition. In such freezing, adverse conditions, man comes very close to breaking point. What was the real cause of the disharmony which destroyed their chances at success?
I think she’s dead.
Henry Kissinger, I’ve been missin’ yer
You’re the doctor of my dreams
With your crinkly hair and your glassy stare
And your Machiavellian schemes
All right, so people say that you don’t care
But you’ve got nicer legs than Hitler and bigger tits than Cher
Henry Kissinger, how I’m missin’ yer
And wishing you were here
Well I’m afraid we’re having a little trouble getting this very exciting Icelandic saga started. If any of you at home have any ideas about how to get this exciting saga started again here’s the address to write to:
Help the Exciting Icelandic Saga, 18b MacNorten Buildings, Oban.
Now, the object of this expedition is to see if we can find any traces of last year’s expedition. Yes, my brother was leading that, they were going to build a bridge between the two peaks… My idea, I’m afraid.
It’s my belief that these sheep are laborin’ under the misapprehension that they’re birds. Observe their be’avior. Take for a start the sheeps’ tendency to 'op about the field on their 'ind legs. Now witness their attempts to fly from tree to tree. Notice that they do not so much fly as … plummet.