G’day, Bruce!
We are struggling together!
He hasn’t got shit all over him.
Raise high the drawbridge. Gloucester’s troops approach.
Watch it - still a few crosses left.
Ah! Sir Philip Sidney. 'Tis good to see thee on these shores again.
Yes! This couple is just one of the prizes in this year’s Police Raffle. Other prizes include two years for breaking and entering, a crate of search warrants, a ‘What’s all this then?’ T-shirt and a weekend for two with a skinhead of your own choice.
As it turned out our chance meeting with Reverend Arthur Belling was to change our whole way of life, and every Sunday we’d hurry along to St Loony up the Cream Bun and Jam.
No, no, no - it’s spelt Raymond Luxury Yach-t, but it’s pronounced ‘Throatwobbler Mangrove’.
There is no… Rule 6!
Good doctor morning! Nice year for the time of day!
Mind if we call you Bruce?
It’s all gotten rather silly.
Yes, well you see, they’ve dragged in all this irrelevant mush…
Get on with it. Get on with it!
Now then, a glass of sherry?
I practice every day, well, not absolutely every day, but most days in the week. I expect I must practice four or five times a week, at least four or five, only some weekends… like last weekend, there really wasn’t the time, so that moved the average down a bit. I should say it’s definitely a solid four days’ practice every week… at least.
I told him we already had one. Heeheehee….
Graham Chapman, co-author of the “Parrot Sketch”, is no more. He has ceased to be. Bereft of life, he rests in peace. He’s kicked the bucket, hopped the twig, bit the dust, snuffed it, breathed his last, and gone to meet the great Head of Light Entertainment in the sky. And I guess that we’re all thinking how sad it is that a man of such talent, of such capability for kindness, of such unusual intelligence, should now so suddenly be spirited away at the age of only forty-eight, before he’d achieved many of the things of which he was capable, and before he’d had enough fun. Well, I feel that I should say: nonsense. Good riddance to him, the freeloading bastard, I hope he fries. And the reason I feel I should say this is he would never forgive me if I didn’t, if I threw away this glorious opportunity to shock you all on his behalf. Anything for him but mindless good taste.
(He paused, then claimed that Chapman had whispered in his ear while he was writing the speech):
All right, Cleese. You say you’re very proud of being the very first person ever to say ‘shit’ on British television. If this service is really for me, just for starters, I want you to become the first person ever at a British memorial service to say ‘fuck’.
All we’ve eaten mate for the last four bleeding weeks is lupin soup, roast lupin, steamed lupin, braised lupin in lupin sauce, lupin in the basket with sauted lupins, lupin meringue pie, lupin sorbet. We sit on lupins, we sleep in lupins, we feed the cat on lupins, we burn lupins, we even wear the bloody things!