Then did we bust the Harry Tony Mob, who did seek to import Scandinavian filth via Germany. For six years they cleaned up a packet - the day I got whiff of them through a squealer, and within one week did a mop-up right good. They’re now languishing, doing five years’ bird in Parkhurst.
So, let’s just stop gabbing on about it. It’s completely pointless and it’s getting us nowhere!
Still, mooooooh, ay? Mwoohohohohoo, ay? Hohohohohoho, ay?
Say no more!
I wasn’t going to!
Bally Jerry pranged his kite right in the how’s your father. Hairy blighter, dicky-birdied, feathered back on his Sammy, took a waspy, flipped over on his Betty Harper’s and caught his can in the Bertie.
And now over to me.
Now witness their attempts to fly from tree to tree. Notice that they do not so much fly as…plummet.
Albatross! Albatross!
Well I think TV’s killed real entertainment. In the old days we used to make our own fun. At Christmas parties I used to strike myself on the bead repeatedly with blunt instruments while crooning. (sings) ‘Only make believe, I love you’, (hits himself on head with bricks)…
Basically, I believe in peace and bashing two bricks together.
Number two. The shoulder.
Well, there he goes, Ron Obvious of Neaps End, in an attempt which could make him the first man ever to eat an entire Anglican Cathedral.
Squad! Camp it… UP!
In this picture there are forty people. None of them can be seen. In this film we hope to show you how not to be seen.
That’s a strange expression, Bruce.
Rule 6: There is no… Rule 6!
No. 1. The Larch. The… Larch.
Um, I’d like you to perform some plastic surgery on me.
G’day, Bruce!