And welcome to ‘Spot the Loony’, where once again we invite you to come with us all over the world to meet all kinds of people in all kinds of places, and ask you to . … Spot the Loony!
He’s that most dangerous of animals, a clever sheep.
… And adenoidal typists from Birmingham with flabby white legs and diarrhoea trying to pick up hairy bandy-legged wop waiters called Manuel and once a week there’s an excursion to the local Roman Remains to buy cherryade and melted ice cream and bleeding Watney’s Red Barrel and one evening you visit the so called typical restaurant with local colour and atmosphere and you sit next to a party from Rhyl who keep singing “Torremolinos, torremolinos” and complaining about the food - “It’s so greasy isn’t it?” - and you get cornered by some drunken greengrocer from Luton with an Instamatic camera and Dr. Scholl sandals and last Tuesday’s Daily Express and he drones on and on about how Mr. Smith should be running this country and how many languages Enoch Powell can speak and then he throws up over the Cuba Libres…
Look, you stupid bastard, you’ve got no arms left!
I can’t. I’m eating dog.
Well it certainly looks as though we’re in for a splendid afternoon’s sport in this the 127th Upper Class Twit of the Year Show.
Is Monty Python still alive? Well, technically, yes. He is on a wife support system in an old jokes’ home in Surrey. When reached for tonight’s tribute, he said, “Coo,” then asked for a new bedpan. So the legendary wit has not gone with the passing of time… or his colon.
Squad! CONFUSE… a CAT!
I’d like to see that nice Michael Palet doing one of his travel programmes. You know when he says Hello, I’m Michael Palin and they say oh hello Michael how are you. And he says oh I’m very very well thank. What a nice hat you have. Would you like to come in and he says oh good idea and on and on and on.
Do you want peanut butter or sandwich spread for your tea?
Um…now look…now look, mate, I’ve definitely 'ad enough of this. That parrot is definitely deceased, and when I purchased it not ‘alf an hour ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement was due to it bein’ tired and shagged out following a prolonged squawk.
But out in the forest in isolated pockets still untouched by the ravages of the monster life and business goes on as usual.
No. 1. The Larch. The… Larch.
In his latest film Peckinpah has moved into the calmer and more lyrical waters of Julian Slade’s, ‘Salad Days’.
Do you want to come upstairs…?
Bouncy, bouncy.
Sit on my face, and tell me that you love me.
I’ll sit on your face and tell you I love you, too.
I love to hear you moralize,
When I’m between your thighs;
You blow me away!
Sit on my face and let my lips embrace you.
I’ll sit on your face and let my love be truly.
Life can be fine if we both sixty-nine,
And we’ll sit on our faces in all sorts of places and play,
'Till we’re blown away!
And now the sound of John Denver being strangled …
(and since it relates sort of even though its from another movie)
Guards … kill that man.
Course you don’t get bloody wafers with it. Albatross!!