Some Python to make Darryl happy (02/04)
Philip Miesle
**** The Bruces ****
**** From Monty Python Live at City Center, ****
**** Monty Python Live at the Hollywood Bowl, etc. ****
**** Transcribed by EP50...@YALEVM.BITNET , 4/86 ****
Notes from the Transcriber:
"Abbos" is derisive slang for the aborigones.
"Pommeyland" is England.
"Poofters" are homosexuals.
G'day, Bruce!
Oh, Hello Bruce!
How are you Bruce?
A bit crooked, Bruce.
Where's Bruce?
He's not 'ere, Bruce.
Blimey, it's hot in here, Bruce.
Hot enough to boil a monkey's bum!
That's a strange expression, Bruce.
Well Bruce, I heard the Prime Minister use it. "It's hot enough to boil
a monkey's bum in here, your Majesty," he said and she smiled quietly
to herself.
She's a good Sheila Bruce, and not at all stuck up.
Here! Here's the boss-fellow now!
'Ow are you, Bruce?
G'day Bruce!
Bruce.
Hello Bruce.
Bruce.
How are you, Bruce?
G'day Bruce.
Gentleman, I'd like to introduce man from Pommeyland who is joinin'
us this year in the philosophy department at the University of
Walamaloo.
(Everyone) G'day!
Hello.
Michael Baldwin, Bruce. Michael Baldwin, Bruce. Michael Baldwin, Bruce.
Is your name not Bruce?
No, it's Michael.
That's going to cause a little confusion.
Mind if we call you "Bruce" to keep it clear?
Gentlemen, I think we better start the faculty meeting. Before we start,
though, I'd like to ask the padre for a prayer.
Oh Lord, we beseech Thee, Amen!!
Amen!
Crack two! (Bottles opening)
Now I call upon Bruce to officially welcome Mr. Baldwin to the
philosophy faculty.
I'd like to welcome the pommey bastard to God's own Earth, and remind
him that we don't like stuck-up sticky-bates here.
(Everyone) Hear, hear! Well spoken, Bruce!
Bruce here teaches classical philosophy, Bruce there teaches Haegelian
philosophy, and Bruce here teaches logical positivism. And is also
in charge of the sheep dip.
What's New-Bruce going to teach?
New-Bruce will be teaching political science, Machiavelli, Benton,
Lockholm, Sackly, Millbo, Hasset, and Bernerd.
Those are all cricketers!
Aww, spit!
Hails of derisive laughter, Bruce!
(Everyone) Australia, Australia, Australia, Australia, we love you
amen!
Another two! (Bottles opening)
Any questions?
New-Bruce, are you a Poofter?
Are you a Poofter?
No!
No. Right, I just want to remind you of the faculty rules:
Rule One! (Everyone) No Poofters!
Rule Two, no member of the faculty is to maltreat the Abbos in any
way at all -- if there's anybody watching.
Rule Three? (Everyone) No Poofters!!
Rule Four, now this term, I don't want to catch anybody not drinking.
Rule Five, (Everyone) No Poofters!
Rule Six, there is NO ... Rule Six.
Rule Seven, (Everyone) No Poofters!!
Right, that concludes the readin' of the rules, Bruce.
This here's the wattle, the emblem of our land. You can stick it in
a bottle, you can hold it in your hand.
Amen!
<And now all four Bruces launch into the Philosopher's song>
Immanuel Kant was a real piss-ant who was very rarely stable.
Heideggar, Heideggar was a boozy beggar who could
think you under the table.
David Hume could out-consume Schopenhauer and Hegel.
And Whittgenstein was a beery swine who was just as sloshed as Schlegel.
There's nothing Nieizsche couldn't teach 'ya 'bout the raising of the wrist.
Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed.
John Stewart Mill, of his own free will, after half a pint of shanty was
particularly ill.
Plato, they say, could stick it away, 'alf a crate of whiskey every day!
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle,
And Hobbes was fond of his Dram.
And Rene Descartes was a drunken fart:
"I drink, therefore I am."
Yes, Socrates himself is particularly missed;
A lovely little thinker, but a bugger when he's pissed.
**** The Crunchy Frog Sketch ****
**** From "Monty Python Live at the Hollywood Bowl" and ****
**** "Monty Python Live at City Cente 1974" ****
**** Transcribed from memory on 3/28/86 by ****
**** Bret Shefter '89 ( SHE...@YALEVM.BITNET ) ****
Inspector: 'ELLO!
Mr. Hilton: 'Ello.
Inspector: Mr. 'ilton?
Hilton: A-yes?
I: You are the sole proprietor and owner of the Whizzo Chocolate Company?
H: I am, yes.
I: Constable Clitoris and I are from the 'ygiene squad, and we'd like to have
a word with you about your box of chocolates entitled the "Whizzo Quality
Assortment".
H: Oh, yes.
I: If I may begin at the beginning. First there is the Cherry Fondue.
Now this is extremely nasty. (pause) But we can't prosecute you for that.
H: Ah, agreed.
I: Then we have number four. Number four: Crunchy Frog.
H: Yes.
I: Am I right in thinking there's a real frog in 'ere?
H: Yes, a little one.
I: What sort of frog?
H: A...a *dead* frog.
I: Is it cooked?
H: No.
I: What, a RAW frog?!?
H: Oh, we use only the finest baby frogs, dew-picked and flown from Iraq,
cleansed in the finest quality spring water, lightly killed, and sealed in
a succulent, Swiss, quintuple-smooth, treble-milk chocolate envelope, and
lovingly frosted with glucose.
I: That's as may be, but it's still a frog!
H: What else?
I: Well, don't you even take the bones out?
H: If we took the bones out, it wouldn't be crunchy, would it?
I: Constable Clitoris et one of those!! We have to protect the public!
C: Uh, would you excuse me a moment, Sir? (exits)
I: We have to protect the public! People aren't going to think there's a real
frog in chocolate! Constable Clitoris thought it was an almond whirl!
They're bound to expect some sort of mock frog!
H: (outraged) MOCK frog!?! We use NO artificial additives or preservatives of
ANY kind!
I: Nevertheless, I advise you in future to replace the words "Crunchy Frog"
with the legend, "Crunchy, Raw, Unboned Real Dead Frog" if you wish to avoid
prosecution!
H: What about our sales?
I: FUCK your sales! We've got to protect the public! Now what about this
one, number five, it was number five, wasn't it? Number five: Ram's
Bladder Cup. (beat) Now, what sort of confectionery is that?!?
H: Oh, we use only the finest juicy chunks of fresh Cornish Ram's bladder,
emptied, steamed, flavoured with sesame seeds, whipped into a fondue, and
garnished with lark's vomit.
I: LARK'S VOMIT?!?!?
H: Correct.
I: It doesn't say anything here about lark's vomit!
H: Ah, it does, at the bottom of the label, after "monosodium glutamate".
I: I hardly think that's good enough! I think it's be more appropriate if the
box bore a great red label: "WARNING: LARK'S VOMIT!!!"
H: Our sales would plummet!
I: (screaming) Well why don't you move into more conventional areas of
confectionary??!!
(the constable returns)
I: Like Praline, or, or Lime Creme, a very popular flavor, I'm lead to
understand. Or Raspberry Lite. I mean, what's this one, what's
this one? 'Ere we are: Cockroach Cluster! -- -- Anthrax Ripple!
C: MMMMWWWAAAAAGGGGGHHHH!!
** For those of you watching this transcript on your terminal, the young **
** constable has just thrown up into his helmet. This is the longest **
** continuous vomit seen on Broadway since John Barrymore puked over Laertes **
** in the second act of Hamlet in 1941. **
I: (continuing) And what is this one: Spring Surprise?
H: Ah, that's one of our specialities. Covered in dark, velvety chocolate,
when you pop it into your mouth, stainless steel bolts spring out and plunge
straight through both cheeks.
I: (stunned) Well where's the pleasure in THAT?!? If people pop a nice little
chockie into their mouth, they don't expect to get their cheeks pierced!!!
In any case, it is an inadequate description of the sweetmeat. I shall have
to ask you to accompany me to the station.
H: (shrugging) It's a fair cop.
I: And DON'T talk to the audience.
**** SPOT THE BRAINCELL (from Monty Python live at Drury Lane) ****
**** Transcribed 7/14/87 by Jonathan Partington ****
**** ( JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CA...@AC.UK ). ****
(Banal intro music)
Ghastly Quizmaster (Cleese): Hello, good evening and welcome to the very final
edition of your favourite television quiz
programme Spot the Braincell. Thirty minutes of
cheerful ritual humiliation of the old and
greedy. And could we have our first contestant,
please!
(Piano chords. Hostess (Chapman in drag) escorts Old ratbag (Jones in drag)
onto stage.)
Quizmaster: Ha ha ha ... ha ha ha. Good evening, Madam! And your name is?
Ratbag: Yes, Michael.
Quizmaster: Ha ha ha! Jolly good -- and what is your name?
Ratbag: I go to church regularly.
Quizmaster: Ha ha ha, I see. And which particular prize do you have eyes for
this evening?
Ratbag: I'd like the blow on the head.
Quizmaster: The blow -- on the head!
Ratbag: Yes, just there, where it hurts.
Quizmaster: Jolly good! Well now Madam your first question for the blow on
the head this evening is: Which great opponent of Cartesian
dualism resists the reduction of psychological phenomena to a
physical state and insists there is no point of contact between the
extended and the unextended?
Ratbag: I don't know that.
Quizmaster: Well -- have a guess!
Ratbag: Oh... Henri Bergson?
Quizmaster: ...is the correct answer! (Piano chords)
Ratbag: Ooh, that was lucky. I never even heard of him.
Quizmaster: Ha ha ha!
Ratbag: I don't like darkies.
Quizmaster: Ha ha ha (maniacal cackle) She doesn't like darkies. Ha ha ha.
Who does? Ha ha ha! Well now, Mrs Scum, your second question for
the blow on the head is: What is the main food eaten by penguins?
What is the principal food that penguins eat?
Ratbag: Pork luncheon meat.
Quizmaster: No.
Ratbag: Spam.
Quizmaster: No, no, no, no. Penguins. Penguins.
Ratbag: Horses.
Quizmaster: No.
Ratbag: Armchairs.
Quizmaster: No, no. All right, take it easy. I'll give you a clue. (Does
fish impression, opening and closing mouth, puffing up face etc.)
Ratbag: Oh, I know, I know, I know! Brian Clough!
Quizmaster: No, ha ha, no.
Ratbag: Brian Johnstone.
Quizmaster: No.
Ratbag: Brian Inglis.
Quizmaster: No.
Ratbag: Brian Forbes.
Quizmaster: No, ha ha.
Ratbag: Nanette Newman.
Quizmaster: No, ha ha (cackles). No, now listen, I'll give you one more clue,
one more clue. What lives in the sea and gets caught in nets?
Ratbag: Goats.
Quizmaster: No.
Ratbag: Underwater goats with snorkels and flippers.
Quizmaster: No, no.
Ratbag: A buffalo with an aqualung.
Quizmaster: No.
Ratbag: Reginald Maudling.
Quizmaster: (Pause) Yes, that's near enough. I'll give you that. (Piano)
Right, now you have won tonight's star prize. Do you still want
the blow on the head?
Ratbag: Oh, yes please, Michael.
Quizmaster: (Deliberate Pause) I'm offering you a poke in the eye...
Ratbag: No no.
Quizmaster: All right then, a punch in the throat.
Ratbag: No.
Quizmaster: My very last offer Mrs Scum -- a knee in the temple and a dagger
up the clitoris! (Piano) (Audience cries of "Take the Money!"
etc)
Ratbag: That's very tempting, I've never had one up there before! No, I'll
still have the blow on the head.
Quizmaster: Right, the blow on the head. Mrs Scum, you have won tonight's
star prize, the blow on the (cackles) (16 ton weight falls on
Ratbag).
**** The man who speaks in anagrams (From the 3rd series of Monty Python) ****
**** Transcribed 7/18/87 by Jonathan Partington ****
**** ( JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CA...@AC.UK ) ****
Palin: Hello, good evening and welcome to another edition of Blood Devastation
Death War and Horror, and later on we'll be meeting a man who *does*
gardening. But first on the show we've got a man who speaks entirely in
anagrams.
Idle: Taht si crreoct.
Palin: Do you enjoy it?
Idle: I stom certainly od. Revy chum so.
Palin: And what's your name?
Idle: Hamrag - Hamrag Yatlerot
Palin: Well, Graham, nice to have you on the show. Now, where do you come
from?
Idle: Bumcreland.
Palin: Cumberland?
Idle: Stah't it sepricely.
Palin: And I believe you're working on an anagram version of Shakespeare?
Idle: Sey, sey - taht si crreoct, er - ta the mnemot I'm wroking on "The
Mating of the Wersh".
Palin: "The Mating of the Wersh"? By William Shakespeare?
Idle: Nay, by Malliwi Rapesheake.
Palin: And what else?
Idle: "Two Netlemeng of Verona", "Twelfth Thing", "The Chamrent of Venice"....
Palin: Have you done "Hamlet"?
Idle: "Thamle". 'Be ot or bot ne ot, tath is the nestquoi.'
Palin: And what is your next project?
Idle: "Ring Kichard the Thrid".
Palin: I'm sorry?
Idle: 'A shroe! A shroe! My dingkom for a shroe!'
Palin: Ah, Ring Kichard, yes... but surely that's not an anagram, that's a
spoonerism.
Idle: If you're going to split hairs, I'm going to piss off. (Exit)
**** The Penguin on top of the Tellyvision set ****
**** and The Death of Mary, Queen of Scots ****
**** from Monty Python's Flying Circus ****
**** Transcribed from memory by ****
**** Malcolm Dickinson ( CLAR...@YALEVM.BITNET ) 3/28/86, ****
**** and revised to 99 94/100% accuracy by R. "GUMBY" Preston ****
**** ( TAC...@GWUVM.BITNET ), 11/16/86. ****
(voice over) Number ninety-seven: a radio.
Radio Announcer: And now the BBC is proud to present a brand new radio drama
series, "The Death of Mary, Queen of Scots."
Part One: The Beginning.
(music)
Man's voice: Yoo arrr Mary, Queen of Scots?
Woman's voice: I am!
(sound of violent blows being dealt, things being smashed, awful crunching
noises, bones being broken, and other bodily harm being inflicted. All of
this accompanied by screaming from the woman.)
(music fades up and out)
Announcer: Stay tuned for part two of the Radio Four Production of "The Death
of Mary, Queen of Scots", coming up...almost immediately.
(music)
(sound of saw cutting, and other violent sounds as before, with the woman
screaming. Suddenly it is silent.)
Man's voice: I think she's dead.
Woman's voice: No I'm not!
(sounds of physical harm and screaming start again.)
(music fades up and out)
Announcer: that was episode two of "The Death of Mary, Queen of Scots",
specially adapted for radio by Gracie Fields and Joe Frazier. And
now, Radio Four will explode.
(music)
The radio explodes.
Two old women are sitting on the couch listening to the radio when it
explodes. One looks at the other:
1: We'll have to watch the Telly-vision!
2: Aaaaw. (sound of agreement)
(they turn the couch so it's facing the television. One turns the television
on, and they sit down. There is a small penguin sitting on top of the
television set.)
1 & 2: (singing, mumbled) hhmhmhmhmh... mhmmhmh mhmhm hhmhmmhm mhmhmmhmhmh
1: What's that on top of the telly-vision set?
(pause)
2: (matter-of-factly) Looks like a penguin.
(pause)
2: It's been a long time there, now, has it?
1: What's it doin' there?
2: Standin'!
1: I can see that!
(pause)
1: If it laid an egg, it would roll down the back of the telly-vision set.
2: Ummmm. I hadn't thought of that.
1: Unless it's a male.
2: Yes. It looks fairly butch.
(pause)
1: Per'aps it's from next door.
2: (yelling) NEXT DOOR?!? Penguins don't come from NEXT DOOR! They come
from the Antarctic!
1: (yet louder) BURMA!!!
(they both stop short, looking around)
2: Why'd'j say that?
1: I panicked.
2: Oh.
1: Per'aps it's from the zoo.
2: Which zoo?
1: (angrily) 'ow should I know which zoo it's from?!? I'm not Doctor bloody
Bernofsky!!
2: 'Oo's Doctor bloody Bernofsky?
1: He knows everything.
2: Oooh, I wouldn't like that, that'd take all the mystery out of life.
(pause)
2: Besides, if it were from the zoo, it'd have "property of the zoo"
stamped on it.
1: They don't stamp animals "property of the zoo"!! You can't stamp a
huge lion "property of the zoo"!!
2: (confidently) They stamp them when they're small.
1: (snapping back) What happens when they moult?
2: Lions don't moult.
1: No, but penguins do. THERE! I've run rings around you logically.
2: (looks at the camera) OOOOH! INTERCOURSE THE PENGUIN!!!
(The television warms up: a man is sitting behind a news desk)
Man: Hello! Well, it's just after eight o'clock, and time for the
penguin on top of your television set to explode.
(the penguin explodes)
1: 'Ow did 'e know that was going to happen?!
Man: It was an educated guess. And now:
Voice over: Number ninety-eight: the nape of the neck.
[1676] MON 10/05/87 10:37 BST FROM JR...@PHX.CAM.AC.UK: Another one for the
collection; 55 LINES
(From Monty Python's Flying Circus)
Eric Idle: And now for something completely different. A man with
three buttocks!
John Cleese: I have with me Mr Arthur Frampton who... (pause)
Mr Frampton, I understand that you - um - as it were... (pause)
Well let me put it another way. Erm, I believe that whereas most
people have - er - two... Two.
Michael Palin: Oh, sure.
Cleese: Ah well, er, Mr Frampton. Erm, is that chair comfortable?
Palin: Fine, yeah, fine.
Cleese: Mr Frampton, er, vis a vis your... (pause) rump.
Palin: I beg your pardon?
Cleese: Your rump.
Palin: What?
Cleese: Er, your derriere. (Whispers) Posterior. Sit-upon.
Palin: What's that?
Cleese (whispers): Your buttocks.
Palin: Oh, me bum!
Cleese (hurriedly): Sshhh! Well now, I understand that you, Mr
Frampton, have a... (pause) 50% bonus in the region of what you
say.
Palin: I got three cheeks.
Cleese: Yes, yes, excellent, excellent. Well we were wondering,
Mr Frampton, if you could see your way clear to giving us a
quick... (pause) a quick visual... (long pause). Mr Frampton,
would you take your trousers down.
Palin: What? (to cameramen) 'Ere, get that away! I'm not taking
me trousers down on television. What do you think I am?
Cleese: Please take them down.
Palin: No!
Cleese: No, er look, er Mr Frampton. It's quite easy for somebody
just to come along here claiming... that they have a bit to spare
in the botty department. The point is, our viewers need proof.
Palin: I been on Persian Radio, and the Forces' Network!
**** Stake your Claim ****
**** from "Monty Python's Previous Record" ****
**** Transcribed 9/17/87 by Jonathan Partington ( JR...@PHX.CAM.AC.UK ) ****
Game Show Host (John Cleese): Good evening and welcome to Stake Your Claim.
First this evening we have Mr Norman Voles of
Gravesend who claims he wrote all Shakespeare's
works. Mr Voles, I understand you claim that
you wrote all those plays normally attributed to
Shakespeare?
Voles (Michael Palin): That is correct. I wrote all his plays and my wife and I
wrote his sonnets.
Host: Mr Voles, these plays are known to have been performed in the
early 17th century. How old are you, Mr Voles?
Voles: 43.
Host: Well, how is it possible for you to have written plays
performed over 300 years before you were born?
Voles: Ah well. This is where my claim falls to the ground.
Host: Ah!
Voles: There's no possible way of answering that argument, I'm
afraid. I was only hoping you would not make that particular
point, but I can see you're more than a match for me!
Host: Mr Voles, thank you very much for coming along.
Voles: My pleasure.
Host: Next we have Mr Bill Wymiss who claims to have built the Taj
Mahal.
Wymiss (Eric Idle): No.
Host: I'm sorry?
Wymiss: No. No.
Host: I thought you cla...
Wymiss: Well I did but I can see I won't last a minute with you.
Host: Next...
Wymiss: I was right!
Host: ... we have Mrs Mittelschmerz of Dundee who cla... Mrs
Mittelschmerz, what is your claim?
Mittelschmerz (Graham Chapman in drag): That I can burrow through an elephant.
Host: (Pause) Now you've changed your claim, haven't you. You know
we haven't got an elephant.
Mittelschmerz: (Insincerely) Oh, haven't you? Oh dear!
Host: You're not fooling anybody, Mrs Mittelschmerz. In your letter
you quite clearly claimed that ... er ... you could be thrown off
the top of Beachy Head into the English Channel and then be
buried.
Mittelschmerz: No, you can't read my writing.
Host: It's typed.
Mittelschmerz: It says 'elephant'.
Host: Mrs Mittelschmerz, this is an entertainment show, and I'm not
prepared to simply sit here bickering. Take her away, Heinz!
Mittelschmerz: Here, no, leave me alone!
(Sound of wind and sea).
Mittelschmerz: Oooaaahh! (SPLOSH)
**** ALL THINGS DULL AND UGLY ****
**** from Monty Python's Contractual Obligations Album ****
**** transcribed May, 1986 and uploaded to CMS January 1987 ****
**** by R. "Gumby" Preston ( KL7...@GWUVM.BITNET ) ****
All things dull and ug-ly,
All creatures, short and squat,
All things rude and na-sty,
The Lord God made the lot.
Each little snake that poisons,
Each little wasp that stings,
He made their prudish venom,
He made their horrid wings.
All things sick and cancerous,
All evil great and small,
All things foul and dangerous,
The Lord God made them all.
Each nasty little hornet,
Each beastly little squid,
Who made the spiky urchin?
Who made the sharks? He did!
All things scant and ulcerous,
All pox both great and small,
Putrid, foul and gangrenous,
The Lord God made them all.
Amen.
**** The Bookshop Sketch ****
**** from "Monty Python Live at the Hollywood Bowl" ****
**** Transcribed from memory by Bret Shefter ( SHE...@YALEVM.BITNET ) ****
**** who was in a weird mood (as usual) on 3/25/86. ****
**** Revisions by Malcolm Dickinson ( CLAR...@YALEVM.BITNET ) 4/3/86 ****
Customer: (entering the bookshop) Good morning.
Proprietor (John Cleese): Good morning, sir. Can I help you?
C: Er, yes. Do you have a copy of "Thirty Days in the Samarkind Desert with
the Duchess of Kent" by A. E. J. Eliott, O.B.E.?
P: Ah, well, I don't know the book, sir....
C: Er, never mind, never mind. How about "A Hundred and One Ways to
Start a Fight"?
P: ...By?
C: An Irish gentleman whose name eludes me for the moment.
P: Ah, no, well we haven't got it in stock, sir....
C: Oh, well, not to worry, not to worry. Can you help me with "David
Coperfield"?
P: Ah, yes, Dickens.
C: No....
P: (pause) I beg your pardon?
C: No, Edmund Wells.
P: I... *think* you'll find Charles Dickens wrote "David Copperfield", sir....
C: No, no, Dickens wrote "David Copperfield" with *two* Ps. This is
"David Coperfield" with *one* P by Edmund Wells.
P: "David Coperfield" with one P?
C: Yes, I should have said.
P: Yes, well in that case we don't have it.
C: (peering over counter) Funny, you've got a lot of books here....
P: (slightly perturbed) Yes, we do, but we don't have "David Coperfield"
with one P by Edmund Wells.
C: Pity, it's more thorough than the Dickens.
P: More THOROUGH?!?
C: Yes...I wonder if it might be worth a look through all your "David Copper-
field"s...
P: No, sir, all our "David Copperfield"s have two P's.
C: Are you quite sure?
P: Quite.
C: Not worth just looking?
P: Definitely not.
C: Oh...how 'bout "Grate Expectations"?
P: Yes, well we have that....
C: That's "G-R-A-T-E Expectations," also by Edmund Wells.
P: (pause) Yes, well in that case we don't have it. We don't have anything
by Edmund Wells, actually: he's not very popular.
C: Not "Knickerless Knickleby"? That's K-N-I-C-K-E-R-L-E-S-S.
P: (taciturn) No.
C: "Khristmas Karol" with a K?
P: (really quite perturbed) No....
C: Er, how about "A Sale of Two Titties"?
P: DEFINITELY NOT.
C: (moving towards door) Sorry to trouble you....
P: Not at all....
C: Good morning.
P: Good morning.
C: (turning around) Oh!
P: (deep breath) Yesss?
C: I wonder if you might have a copy of "Rarnaby Budge"?
P: No, as I say, we're right out of Edmund Wells!
C: No, not Edmund Wells - Charles Dikkens.
P: (pause - eagerly) Charles Dickens??
C: Yes.
P: (excitedly) You mean "Barnaby Rudge"!
C: No, "Rarnaby Budge" by Charles Dikkens. That's Dikkens with two Ks, the
well-known Dutch author.
P: (slight pause) No, well we don't have "Rarnaby Budge" by Charles Dikkens
with two Ks, the well-known Dutch author, and perhaps to save time I
should add that we don't have "Karnaby Fudge" by Darles Chickens, or
"Farmer of Sludge" by Marles Pickens, or even "Stickwick Stapers" by Farles
Wickens with four M's and a silent Q!!!!! Why don't you try W. H. Smith's?
C: Ah did, They sent me here.
P: DID they.
C: Oh, I wonder...
P: Oh, do go on, please.
C: Yes...I wonder if you might have "The Amazing Adventures of Captain Gladys
Stoutpamphlet and her Intrepid Spaniel Stig Amongst the Giant Pygmies of
Beckles"...volume eight.
P: (after a pause for recovery) No, we don't have that...funny, we've got a lot
of books here...well, I musn't keep you standing here...thank you,--
C: Oh, well do, do you have-- ---
P: No, we haven't. No, we haven't. |
C: B-b-b-but-- |
P: Sorry, no, it's one o'clock now, we're |
closing for lunch-- |
C: Ah, I--I saw it-- |-------loud arguments
P: I'm sorry-- |
C: I saw it over there! I saw it... |
P: What? What? WHAT?!? ---/
C: I saw it over there: "Olsen's Standard Book of British Birds".
P: (pause; trying to stay calm) "Olsen's Standard Book of British Birds"?
C: Yes...
P: O-L-S-E-N?
C: Yes....
P: B-I-R-D-S??
C: Yes.....
P: (beat) Yes, well, we do have that, as a matter of fact....
C: The expurgated version....
P: (pause; politely) I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that...?
C: The expurgated version.
P: (exploding) The EXPURGATED version of "Olsen's Standard Book of British
Birds"?!?!?!?!?
C: (desperately) The one without the gannet!
P: The one without the gannet-!!! They've ALL got the gannet!! It's a
Standard British Bird, the gannet, it's in all the books!!!
C: (insistent) Well, I don't like them...they wet their nests.
P: (furious) All right! I'll remove it!! (rrrip!) Any other birds you don't
like?!
C: I don't like the robin...
P: (screaming) The robin! Right! The robin! (rrrip!) There you are, any
others you don't like, any others?
C: The nuthatch?
P: Right! (flipping through the book) The nuthatch, the nuthatch, the
nuthatch, 'ere we are! (rrriiip!) There you are! NO gannets, NO robins,
NO nuthatches, THERE's your book!
C: (indignant) I can't buy that! It's torn!
P: (incoherent noise)
C: Ah, I wonder if you have--
P: God, ask me anything!! We got lots of books here, you know, it's a
bookshop!!
C: Er, how 'bout "Biggles Combs his Hair"?
P: No, no, we don't have that one, funny!
C: "The Gospel According to Charley Drake"?
P: No, no, no, try me again!
C: Ah...oh, I know! "Ethel the Aardvark goes Quantity Surveying".
P: No, no, no, no, no,...What? WHAT??????
C: "Ethel the Aardvark goes Quantity Surveying".
P: "Ethel the Aa--" YES!!!YES!!! WE'VE GOT IT!! (throwing books wildly about)
I-I've seen it somewhere!!! I know it!!! Hee hee hee hee hee!!! Ha ha hoo
ho---WAIT!! WAIT!! Is it?? Is it??? (triumphant) YES!!!!!! Here we are,
"Ethel the Aardvark goes Quantity Surveying"!!!!! There's your book!!
(throwing it down) Now, BUY IT!!!
C: (quickly) I don't have enough money.
P: (desperate) I'll take a deposit!
C: I don't have ANY money!
P: I'll take a check!!
C: I don't have a checkbook!
P: I've got a blank one!!
C: I don't have a bank account!!
P: RIGHT!!!! I'll buy it FOR you! (ring) There we are, there's your change,
there's some money for a taxi on the way home, there's your book, now, now..
C: Wait, wait, wait!
P: What? What?!? WHAT?!? WHAT???!!
C: I can't read!!!
P: (staggeringly long pause; very quietly) You can't...read. (pause) RIGHT!!!
Sit down!! Sit down!! Sit!! Sit!! Are you sitting comfortably???
Right!!! (opens book) "Ethel the Aardvark was hopping down the river valley
one lovely morning, trottety-trottety-trottety, when she might a nice little
quantity surveyor..." (fade out)
**** AN ATHIEST'S SUNDAY BRUNCH ( file CHURCH PYTHON ) ****
**** Transcribed from Monty Python's "Contractual Obligations" Album ****
**** by R. "Gumby" Preston ( KL7...@GWUVM.BITNET ), May 1986 ****
**** uploaded to CMS January 1987 ****
**** Touched up by Simon Rooney (spro...@unix1.tcd.ie), Feb 1992 ****
(Sound: Church bells, lots of them, ringing.)
Man: I wish those bloody bells would stop.
Wife: Oh, it's quite nice dear, it's Sunday, it's the church.
M: What about us atheists? Why should we 'ave to listen to that
sectarian turmoil?
W: You're a lapsed atheist, dear.
M: The principle's the same. Bleeding C of E. The Mohmedans don't come 'round
here wavin' bells at us! We don't get Buddhists playing bagpipes in our
bathroom! Or Hindus harmonizing in the hall! The Shintus don't
come here shattering sheet glass in the shithouse, shouting slogans-
W: All right, don't practice your alliteration on me.
M: Anyway, when I membership card and blazer badge back from the
League of Agnostics, I shall urge the executive to lodge a protest
against that religious racket! Pass the butter knife!
W: WHAT??
M: PASS THE BUTTER KNIFE!! (pause) THANK YOU! IF ONLY WE HAD SOME
KIND OF MISSILE!
W: 'OLD ON, I'LL CLOSE THE WINDOW.
M: WHAT?!
W: I SAID, I'LL CLOSE THE WINDOW!
(Sound: Window closing, bells get faint, but are still there)
M: If only we had some kind of missile, we could take the steam out
of those bells.
W: Well, you could always use the number 14-St. Joseph-the-somewhat-
divine-on-the-hill ballistic missile. It's in the attic.
M: What ballistic missile would this be, then?
(Sound: Bells begin to get increasingly louder)
W: I made it for you, it's your birthday present!
M: Just what I wanted, 'ow nice of you to remember, my pet.
'ERE!
W: WHAT?
M: THOSE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER!
W: WHAT?
M: THOSE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER!!
W: THE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER! OOOH, LOOK!
M: WHAT?
W: THE CHURCH, IT.. ITS COMING CLOSER! ITS COMING DOWN THE 'ILL!
M: WHAT A LIBERTY!
W: ITS TURNING INTO OUR LANE!
W: STRAIGHT THROUGH THE LIGHTS! OF COURSE.
W: TYPICAL WHAT? WELL, YOU BETTER GO PUT IT OUT OF IT'S MISERY.
M: WHERE'S THIS MISSILE, THEN?
W: IT'S IN THE ATTIC. PRESS THE BUTTON MARKED CHURCH!
M: 'OW DO I AIM IT?
W: IT AUTOMATICALLY HOMES IN ON THE NEAREST PLACE OF WORSHIP!
M: BUT THAT'S ST. MARKS!
W: IT ISN'T NOW, LOOK!! OH, ITS OP'NING THE GATE.
M: WHAT? USE THE MEGAPHONE!
W: IT'S OP'NING THE GATE!!
M: I'LL POP UP ' THE AIRING CUPBOARD!
W: 'HURRY UP, ITS TRAMPLING OVER THE AZALIAS!
(Sound: Missle launch, explosion, bells diminish)
M: Did I 'it it?
W: Yes, right up the aisle.
M: Well I've always said, There's nothing an agnostic can't do if
he really doesn't know whether he believes in anything or not.
**** The Pet Shop Sketch
****
**** From "And Now For Something Completely Different" ****
**** Transcribed from memory by Bret "<your advertisement here>" Shefter ****
**** ( SHE...@YALEVM.BITNET ) 3/28/86 ****
**** and revised by Malcolm "Sleep. Who needs it?" Dickinson ****
**** ( CLAR...@YALEVM.BITNET ) 4/3/86. ****
The Pet Shoppe
A customer enters a pet shop.
Customer: 'Ello, I wish to register a complaint.
(The owner does not respond.)
C: 'Ello, Miss?
Owner: What do you mean "miss"?
C: <pause> I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint!
O: We're closin' for lunch.
C: Never mind that, my lad. I wish to complain about this parrot what I
purchased not half an hour ago from this very boutique.
O: Oh yes, the, uh, the Norwegian Blue...What's,uh...What's wrong with it?
C: I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad. 'E's dead, that's what's
wrong with it!
O: No, no, 'e's uh,...he's resting.
C: Look, matey, I know a dead parrot when I see one, and I'm looking
at one right now.
O: No no he's not dead, he's, he's restin'! Remarkable bird, the Norwegian
Blue, idn'it, ay? Beautiful plumage!
C: The plumage don't enter into it. It's stone dead.
O: Nononono, no, no! 'E's resting!
C: All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him up!
(shouting at the cage)
'Ello, Mister Polly Parrot! I've got a lovely fresh cuttle fish for you if
you show...(owner hits the cage)
O: There, he moved!
C: No, he didn't, that was you hitting the cage!
O: I never!!
C: Yes, you did!
O: I never, never did anything...
C: (yelling and hitting the cage repeatedly) 'ELLO POLLY!!!!!
Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine o'clock alarm call!
(Takes parrot out of the cage and thumps its head on the counter. Throws it up
in the air and watches it plummet to the floor.)
C: Now that's what I call a dead parrot.
O: No, no.....No, 'e's stunned!
C: STUNNED?!?
O: Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was wakin' up! Norwegian Blues
stun easily, major.
C: Um...now look...now look, mate, I've definitely 'ad enough of this.
That parrot is definitely deceased, and when I purchased it not 'alf an hour
ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement was due to it bein'
tired and shagged out following a prolonged squawk.
O: Well, he's...he's, ah...probably pining for the fjords.
C: PININ' for the FJORDS?!?!?!? What kind of talk is that?, look, why
did he fall flat on his back the moment I got 'im home?
O: The Norwegian Blue prefers keepin' on it's back! Remarkable bird, id'nit,
squire? Lovely plumage!
C: Look, I took the liberty of examining that parrot when I got it home,
and I discovered the only reason that it had been sitting on its perch in
the first place was that it had been NAILED there.
(pause)
O: Well, o'course it was nailed there! If I hadn't nailed that bird down,
it would have nuzzled up to those bars, bent 'em apart with its beak, and
VOOM! Feeweeweewee!
C: "VOOM"?!? Mate, this bird wouldn't "voom" if you put four million volts
through it! 'E's bleedin' demised!
O: No no! 'E's pining!
C: 'E's not pinin'! 'E's passed on! This parrot is no more! He has ceased
to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E's a stiff! Bereft
of life, 'e rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed 'im to the perch 'e'd be
pushing up the daisies! 'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off
the twig! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run
down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!!
THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!!
(pause)
O: Well, I'd better replace it, then.
(he takes a quick peek behind the counter)
O: Sorry squire, I've had a look 'round the back of the shop, and uh, we're
right out of parrots.
C: I see. I see, I get the picture.
O: <pause> I got a slug.
(pause)
C: (sweet as sugar) Pray, does it talk?
O: Nnnnot really.
C: WELL IT'S HARDLY A BLOODY REPLACEMENT, IS IT?!!???!!?
O: Look, if you go to my brother's pet shop in Bolton, he'll replace
the parrot for you.
C: Bolton, eh? Very well.
The customer leaves.
The customer enters the same pet shop. The owner is putting on a false
moustache.
C: This is Bolton, is it?
O: (with a fake mustache) No, it's Ipswitch.
C: (looking at the camera) That's inter-city rail for you.
The customer goes to the train station.
He addresses a man standing behind a desk marked "Complaints".
C: I wish to complain, British-Railways Person.
Attendant: I DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS JOB, YOU KNOW!!!
C: I beg your pardon...?
A: I'm a qualified brain surgeon! I only do this job because I like
being my own boss!
C: Excuse me, this is irrelevant, isn't it?
A: Yeah, well it's not easy to pad these python files out to 150 lines,
you know.
C: Well, I wish to complain. I got on the Bolton train and found myself
deposited here in Ipswitch.
A: No, this is Bolton.
C: (to the camera) The pet shop man's brother was lying!!
A: Can't blame British Rail for that.
C: In that case, I shall return to the pet shop!
He does.
C: I understand this IS Bolton.
O: (still with the fake mustache) Yes?
C: You told me it was Ipswitch!
O: ...It was a pun.
C: (pause) A PUN?!?
O: No, no...not a pun...What's that thing that spells the same backwards
as forwards?
C: (Long pause) A palindrome...?
O: Yeah, that's it!
C: It's not a palindrome! The palindrome of "Bolton" would be "Notlob"!!
It don't work!!
O: Well, what do you want?
C: I'm not prepared to pursue my line of inquiry any longer as I think
this is getting too silly!
Sergeant-Major: Quite agree, quite agree, too silly, far too silly...
(takes customer by the arm) Come on, you, you've got to go
do another sketch now! Come on... (he walks off stage left,
followed by the director and cameramen, leaving the owner alone
on the set)
O: (to the audience) Well! I never wanted to do this in the first place.
I wanted to be...
A LUMBERJACK!
(he takes off his white lab coat to reveal a checkered
shirt and suspenders under it)
Floating down the mighty rivers of British Columbia!
With my best girl by my side! etc. etc. etc.
( continued in LUMBERJK PYTHON )
************************ Alternative Ending: **************************
C: Pray, does it talk?
O: Nnnnot really.
C: WELL IT'S HARDLY A BLOODY REPLACEMENT, IS IT?!!???!!?
O: N-no, I guess not. (gets ashamed, looks at his feet)
C: Well.
(pause)
O: (quietly) D'you.... d'you want to come back to my place?
C: (looks around) Yeah, all right, sure.
**** Okay, Malcolm, you asked for it...
****
**** A very silly sketch called "'Me, Doctor?'" ****
**** from "Monty Python's Flying Circus" ****
**** Transcribed from memory or the script, who knows which, by ****
**** Bret Shefter '89 ( SHE...@YALEVM.BITNET ) 3/28/86 ****
(Mr. Bertenshaw and his sick wife arrive at a hospital.)
Doctor: Mr. Bertenshaw?
Mr. B: Me, Doctor.
Doctor: No, me doctor, you Mr. Bertenshaw.
Mr. B: My wife, doctor...
Doctor: No, your wife patient.
Sister: Come with me, please.
Mr. B: Me, Sister?
Doctor: No, she Sister, me doctor, you Mr. Bertenshaw.
Nurse: Dr. Walters?
Doctor: Me, nurse...You Mr. Bertenshaw, she Sister, you doctor.
Sister: No, doctor.
Doctor: No doctor: call ambulance, keep warm.
Nurse: Drink, doctor?
Doctor: Drink doctor, eat Sister, cook Mr. Bertenshaw, nurse me!
Nurse: You, doctor?
Doctor: ME doctor!! You Mr. Bertenshaw. She Sister!
Mr. B: But my wife, nurse...
Doctor: Your wife not nurse. She nurse, your wife patient. Be patient,
she nurse your wife. Me doctor, you tent, you tree, you Tarzan, me
Jane, you Trent, you Trillo...me doctor!
Sergeant-Major: Stop this, stop this. What a silly way to carry on. What
do you want?
Customer: I wish to register a complaint.
Sergeant-Major: Well, this is a hospital. You want the pet shop in the
next file...
*** continued in The Petshop sketch (PYTHON041) ***