Well, there’s three things we can do with your mum. We can bury her, burn her, or dump her.
It’s waffer-thin!
I think I’ve got it. It’s rag week.
No it wasn’t.
Many of my best friends are lumberjacks and only a few of them are transvestites.
The Germans playing 4-2-4, Leibnitz in goal, back four Kant, Hegel, Schopenhauer and Schelling, front-runners Schlegel, Wittgenstein, Nietzsche and Heidegger, and the mid-field duo of Beckenbauer and Jaspers. Beckenbauer obviously a bit of a surprise there.
I wish to plead incompetence.
How do you cook it?
Hold it. Hold it. Now, who changed the caption? Can whoever changed the caption put the right one back immediately please.
And now for something completely the same.
That’s Mr. Kamikaze, the pilot, he’s very nice really, but make sure he stays clear of battleships.
Are you suggesting coconuts migrate?
N-- nnnyes, sir. Eh, huh. Anyway, get on with the story.
Toledo Tit Parade? What sort of play’s that?
Sorry, this isn’t a very good announcement. Sorry.
A spokesman for the sketch said: he fully expected it to be more sensible this time.
Good evening, we interrupt this programme again, a) to irritate you and, b) to provide work for one of our announcers.
Right. I’m taking this lot in the name of Her Gracious Majesty, Queen Elizabeth.
A horse. A horse. My kingdom for a horse.
If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s people who have heart attacks.