Well, I would destroy the lower classes, first with bombs and rockets, destroying their homes and then, when they run screaming into the streets, mowing them down with submachine guns. I know these views aren’t popular, but I have never courted popularity.
You’re a very silly man, and I’m not going to interview you.
I wasn’t picking my nose… I was scratching.
Er, well, if this were repeated over the whole country it’s probably be very messy.
Are you the church police?
Oh oh! Pahdon me while I play the grahnd piahno!
Dead Monkeys are to split up again, according to their manager, Lefty Goldblatt. They’ve been in the business now ten years, nine as other groups. Originally the Dead Salmon, they became for a while, Trout. Then Fried Trout, then Poached Trout In A White Wine Sauce, and finally, Herring. Splitting up for nearly a month, the re-formed as Red Herring, which became Dead Herring for a while, and then Dead Loss, which reflected the current state of the group. Splitting up again to get their heads together, they reformed a fortnight later as Heads Together, a tight little name which lasted them through a difficult period when their drummer was suspected of suffering from death. It turned out to be only a rumor and they became Dead Together, then Dead Gear, which lead to Dead Donkeys, Lead Donkeys, and the inevitable split up. After nearly ten days, they reformed again as Sole Manier, then Dead Sole, Rock Cod, Turbot, Haddock, White Baith, the Places, Fish, Bream, Mackerel, Salmon, Poached Salmon, Poached Salmon In A White Wine Sauce, Salmon-monia, and Helen Shapiro. This last name, their favorite, had to be dropped following an injunction and they split up again. When they reformed after a recordbreaking two days, they ditched the fishy references and became Dead Monkeys, a name which they stuck with for the rest of their careers. Now, a fortnight later, they’ve finally split up.
Basement: Dangerous gases, viruses, contagious diseases, restaurant and toilet fixings.
Ground floor: Menswear, boyswear, effeminate goods hall, ill health foods.
Mezzanine: Tableware, kitchen goods, soft furnishings, hard furnishings, rock-hard furnishings.
First floor: Complaints.
Second floor: Cosmetics, jewellery, electrical, satire.
Third floor: Nasal injuries hall, other things.
Fourth floor: Granite hall - rocks, shales, alluvial deposits, Felspar, Carpathians, Andes, Urals, mining requisites, atom-splitting service.
Fifth floor: Complaints.
Sixth floor: Complaints.
Seventh floor: Leather goods.
Eighth floor: Roof garden.
Ninth floor: Television aerials.
Tenth floor: Fresh air, clouds, occasional periods of sunshine.
…and finally, monsieur, a wafer-thin mint!
Yes, yes, as a matter of fact you can, actually I was interested in the possibility… of purchasing one of your… Can I ask who you thought I was?
I’m, I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. The man who has been speaking to you is an impostor. He is not in fact the Bishop of East Anglia, but a man wanted by the police. I am the Bishop of East Anglia and anyone who doesn’t believe me can look me up in the book. Now then, the first prize is this beautiful silver cup, which has been won by me.
But by then it was too late. The first cabbage crates hit London on July the 7th. That was just the beginning.
Zoot: Welcome, brave sir knight. Welcome to the Castle Anthrax.
Sir Galahad: The Castle Anthrax?
Zoot: Yes… it’s not a very good name, is it? Oh, but we are nice, and we’ll attend to your every need.
If we didn’t have crucifixion this country would be in a right bloody mess I tell you.
I get so bored. I get so bloody bored.
Doug and Dinsdale Piranha were born, on probation, in a small house in Kipling Road, Southwark, the eldest sons in a family of sixteen. Their father Arthur Piranha, a scrap metal dealer and TV quizmaster, was well known to the police,and a devout Catholic. In 1928 he had married Kitty Malone, an up-and-coming East End boxer. Doug was born in February 1929 and Dinsdale two weeks later; and again a week after that. Someone who remembers them well was their next door neighbour, Mrs April Simnel.
You lucky bastard! You lucky, lucky bastard!
And now the penguin on top of your television set will explode.
What’re you going to do, bleed on me?
My very last offer Mrs Scum – a knee in the temple and a dagger up the clitoris!