I have now eaten the banana. The deceased, Mr Apricot, is now 'elpless.
I’m not dead yet.
Oh, I’m sorry, I thought that was the end of the bit.
'Course it doesn’t come with wafers!
And now on BBC 1, one more minute of Monty Python’s Flying Circus.
Ugh. Me heap dizzy.
I’ve… I’ve just been stabbed by your nurse…
I’m not dead yet.
He’s completely dead!
No no he’s not dead, he’s, he’s restin’! Remarkable bird, the Norwegian Blue, idn’it, ay? Beautiful plumage!
So much for pathos!
It’s all a bit zany - you know a bit madcap funster… frankly I don’t fully understand it myself, the kids seem to like it.
Right. I had to get up in the morning at ten o’clock at night, half an hour before I went to bed, eat a lump of cold poison, work twenty-nine hours a day down mill, and pay mill owner for permission to come to work, and when we got home, our Dad would kill us, and dance about on our graves.
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Coal-mining is a wonderful thing father, but it’s something you’ll never understand. Just look at you!
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Oh Ken! Be careful! You know what he’s like after a few novels.
Wicked, wobbling, hairy great private parts!
I am a real smuggler. I’m a smuggler! Don’t you understand, I’m a smuggler! I’m a lawbreaker! I’m a smuggler!
Look, it’s my duty as a knight to sample as much peril as I can.
Sorry. Sorry. You see what I mean? I just get carried away. I’m really most awfully sorry. Sorry! Sorry, everyone.
Great boobies, honeybun, my lower intestine is full of spam, egg, spam, bacon, spam, tomato, spam …
The plumage don’t enter into it.