Monty Python non sequitur thread (Part 2)

Yes, let him handle us easily!

 The Characters and incidents portrayed and the names used

 are fictitious and any similarity to the names, characters,

 or history of any person is entirely accidental and

                        unintentional.



                              Signed RICHARD M. NIXON

(Was that from The Big Red Book?)

That was my aunt, look what was this book you wanted then? Quickly! Quickly!

Ah-hah! … Well that’s it, you see. That’s how it starts.

(Credits starting the Holy Grail)

And now for something completely different.

It’s…

Venezuelan Beaver Cheese?

Oh, that’s typical. Talk talk talk. Natter natter natter!

Well, thank you Cliff. Tonight’s other outstanding match was the semi-final between the Bournemouth Gynecologists and the Watford Long John Silver Impersonators. We bring you edited highlights of the match.

And then some adenoidal typists from Birmingham with flabby white legs and diarrhea 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 cherry Ade and melted ice cream and bleeding Watney’s Red Barrel and one evening you visit the so called typical restaurant with local color 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.

Stand and deliver!

Today I hear the robin sing
Today the thrush is on the wing
Today who knows what life will bring
Today…

Hello, Children, hello. Here is this morning’s story. Are you ready? Then we’ll begin. ‘One day Ricky the magic Pixie went to visit Daisy Bumble in her tumbledown cottage. He found her in the bedroom. Roughly he gabbed her heavy shoulders pulling her down on to the bed and ripping off her…’

With a melon?

I preferred the dirty version.

Shrubberies are my trade. I am a shrubber. My name is Roger the Shrubber. I arrange, design and sell shrubberies.

All passengers please get ready for their barley sugar injections.

Oh, it’s for charity, sir. People are awfully good about it, you know.

There’s no pleasing some people.

What, ridden on a horse?