Nothing to do with me. I’m not in this show.
Oh! Oh well in that case I’ll be saying goodbye then, sir… Goodbye then, sir.
I wish those bloody bells would stop.
Semprini?
Spam!
It was smelly, and obscene and disgusting and I hate it.
Watch it! Still a few crosses left.
Bloody peasant!
Uh, did you say ‘knives’?
This is Mr. Death. He’s a reaper.
…some call me Tim.
You demented fictional character.
Help! I’m being repressed!
I want his only daughter to look upon me as her old dad, in a very real and legally-binding sense.
Cut, cut, cut, blood, spurt, artery, murder, Hitchcock, Psycho…
Just a flesh wound.
And don’t forget the Hercules Hold-'em-in, the all-purpose concrete truss for the man with the family hernia.
The plumage don’t enter into it.
Er, look would you mind running long for ten minutes? Make it half an hour.
We’re averting our eyes, O Lord.