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The original surreal sketch comedy showcase for the Monty Python troupe.
BBC Announcer: We interrupt this program to annoy you and make things generally irritating.
'Thrust' Presenter: Good evening. I have with me tonight Anne Elk. Mrs. Anne Elk. Miss Anne Elk: Miss. 'Thrust' Presenter: You say you have a new theory about the brontosaurus Miss Anne Elk: Can I just say here Chris for one moment that I have a new theory about the brontosaurus. 'Thrust' Presenter: Exactly. [long pause] 'Thrust' Presenter: Well, what is it? Miss Anne Elk: [looks around, concerned] Where? 'Thrust' Presenter: No, no, your new theory. Miss Anne Elk: Oh, what is my theory? 'Thrust' Presenter: Yes. Miss Anne Elk: Oh, what is my theory that it is. Well, Chris, you may well ask me what is my theory. 'Thrust' Presenter: I am asking. Miss Anne Elk: Good for you. My word yes. Well, Chris, what it is that it is - this theory of mine. Well, this is what it is - my theory that I have, that is to say, which is mine, is mine. 'Thrust' Presenter: Yes, I know it's yours, what is it? Miss Anne Elk: [looks round again] Where? Oh, what is my theory? This is it. [clears her throat at length] Miss Anne Elk: My theory that belongs to me is as follows. [clears her throat very noisily and violently] Miss Anne Elk: This is how it goes. The next thing I'm going to say is my theory. Ready? 'Thrust' Presenter: [exasperated] Yes. Miss Anne Elk: My theory by A. Elk, brackets, Miss, brackets. This theory goes as follows and begins now. All brontosauruses are thin at one end, much much thicker in the middle, and the thin again at the far end. That is my theory, it is mine, and it belongs to me, and I own it, and what it is, too. 'Thrust' Presenter: That's it, is it? Miss Anne Elk: Spot on, Chris. 'Thrust' Presenter: Well, uh, this theory of yours appears to have hit the nail on the head. Miss Anne Elk: And it's mine.
Announcer: And now for something completely different.
Arthur Name: What's brown and sounds like a bell? Dung!
Mr Smoke-Too-Much: I saw your add in the "Bolour" Supplement. Bounder: The what? Mr Smoke-Too-Much: The Bolour Suppliment. Bounder: The Colour Supplement. Mr Smoke-Too-Much: Yes, I'm sorry, I can't say the letter B. Bounder: C? Mr Smoke-Too-Much: Yes, that's right. It's all due to a trauma I suffered when I was a "sbool" boy. I was attacked by a bat. Bounder: A cat? Mr Smoke-Too-Much: No, a bat.
An Art Critic: [Repeated line] What a Terrible Joke! Carol Cleveland: [Crying] But its my only line!
Mr Barnard: What do you want? Man: Well I was told outside that... Mr Barnard: Don't give me that, you snotty faced heap of parrot droppings! Man: What? Mr Barnard: Shut your festering gob, you tit! Your type really makes me puke you vacuous, toffy-nosed, malodorous pervert! Man: What? I came in here for an argument. Mr Barnard: Oh, oh oh I'm sorry, this is "abuse'. You want Room 12-A just along the corridor. Man: Oh sorry. Thank you very much, sorry, thank you. [Shuts the door] Man: Stupid git.
Voice Over: Dear Sir, I am glad to hear that your studio audience disapproves of the last skit as strongly as I. As a naval officer I abhor the implication that the Royal Navy is a haven for cannibalism. It is well known that we now have the problem relatively under control, and that it is the RAF who now suffer the largest casualties in this area. And what do you think the Argylls ate in Aden. Arabs? Yours etc. Captain B.J. Smethwick in a white wine sauce with shallots, mushrooms and garlic.
Hungarian: [reading from a English-Hungarian dictionary] I vill not buy this record, it is scratched. Tobacconist: Sorry? Hungarian: I vill not buy this record, it is scratched. Tobacconist: Uh, no, no, this... uh... tobacconist. Hungarian: Ah! I vill not buy this *tobacconist*, it is sratched. Tobacconist: Uh, no, no, tobacco... um... cigarettes. Hungarian: Ja! "Ci-ga-ret-ta"! Uh... My hovercraft if full of eels. [pause] Hungarian: My hovercraft [motions "cigarettes"] Hungarian: is full of eels. [motions "matches"] Tobacconist: Oh! Matches! Matches. Hungarian: Ja! Ja, ja. Uh... do you *WA*nt... do you *WA*nt to come back to my place? Bouncy, bouncy! Tobacconist: I don't think you're using that right. Hungarian: You great poohft. Tobacconist: Uh, that will be 66 please. Hungarian: If I said you had beautiful body, vould you hold it against me? I... I am no longer infected. Tobacconist: M-may I? Hungarian: Ja! Ja! [gives book to Tobacconist] Tobacconist: Costs 6 and 6... costs 6 and... ah, here we are! [Tobacconist says something in Hungarian, causing the Hungarian to punch him in the face. A police officer comes rushing into the store] Police Officer: What's going on here then? Hungarian: [to police officer] You have beautiful thighs. Police Officer: What? Tobacconist: He hit me! Hungarian: Drop your panties, Sir William, I cannot wait till lunch time. Police Officer: [angry] RIGHT! [Hungarian dragged away by police officer] Hungarian: My nipples explode with delight!
Man: That was not five minutes just now. Mr. Vibrating: I told you I'm not allowed to argue with you unless you've paid. Man: I just paid. Mr. Vibrating: No you haven't. Man: Yes I have. Mr. Vibrating: No you haven't. Man: Look, I don't want to argue about this. Mr. Vibrating: Well you didn't pay. Man: Aha! If I didn't pay, why are you arguing? See, I've got you. Mr. Vibrating: Not necessarily. I could be arguing in my spare time. Man: I've had enough of this. Mr. Vibrating: No you haven't.
Carol Cleveland: But it's my only line!
Arthur Name: She your wife? Victor: Um, no, actually... Arthur Name: Ooooh, oooh, well don't let me interrupt anything, I know all about one-night stands! Oh, dear, this music isn't much, is it? [throws away calm record and starts playing marsh music] Arthur Name: I heard this hilarious joke at the pub today: What's brown and sounds like a bell? Victor: I beg your pardon? Arthur Name: What's brown and sounds like a bell? [Iris shakes head in confusion] Arthur Name: Dung!
Customer: Hello? I wish to register a complaint. Hello, miss? Pet Shop Owner: [coming up from the desk] What do you mean, "miss"? Customer: I'm sorry, I have a cold.
Mr Mousebender: Tell me, have you in fact got any cheese here at all? Henry Wenslydale: Yes, sir. Mr Mousebender: Really? Henry Wenslydale: No, not really, sir. Not a scrap. I was deliberately wasting your time, sir. Mr Mousebender: Well I'm sorry but I'm afraid I'm going to have to shoot you. Henry Wenslydale: Right-o then. [Mousebender draws a gun and shoots Wenslydale dead] Mr Mousebender: What a senseless waste of human life.
Mr. Vibrating: Come in. Man: Um, is this the right room for an argument? Mr. Vibrating: I've told you once. Man: No you haven't. Mr. Vibrating: Yes I have. Man: When? Mr. Vibrating: Just now. Man: No you didn't. Mr. Vibrating: I did. Man: Didn't. Mr. Vibrating: Did. Man: Didn't. Mr. Vibrating: I'm telling you I did. Man: You did not. Mr. Vibrating: Oh I'm sorry, just one moment. Is this a five minute argument or the full half hour? Man: Oh, just the five minutes. Mr. Vibrating: Ah, thank you. Anyway I did. Man: You most certainly did not. Mr. Vibrating: Look, let's get this thing quite clear. I most definitely told you.
Cardinal Ximinez: Nobody expects the Sp - ["THE END" appears on screen] Cardinal Ximinez: Oh, bugger!
Interviewer: Good evening. Tonight I have with me Mr. Norman St. John Polevaulter who, for the last few years, has been contradicting people. St. John Polevaulter, why do you contradict people? Norman St. John Polevaulter: I don't! Interviewer: But... You told me that you did. Norman St. John Polevaulter: I most certainly did not! Interviewer: [comprehending] Oh! I see. I'll start again. Norman St. John Polevaulter: No, you won't. Interviewer: Shh! I understand you *don't* contradict people. Norman St. John Polevaulter: Yes, I do! Interviewer: And when *didn't* you start contradicting them? Norman St. John Polevaulter: I did! In 1952. Interviewer: 1952? Norman St. John Polevaulter: 1947! Interviewer: 23 years ago. Norman St. John Polevaulter: No!
Alan Whicker: Father Pierre, why did you stay on in this colonial Campari-land, where the clink of glasses mingles with the murmur of a million mosquitoes, where waterfalls and whiskey wash away the worries of a world-weary whicker, where gin and tonics jingle in a gyroscopic jubilee of something beginning with J?
Doctor: Now I know some hospitals where you get the patients lying around in beds.
Inspector Tiger: Now, alduce me to introlow myself. I'm sorry. Alself me to myduce introlow. Introme tolose mylow alself. Alme to you introself mylowduce. Excuse me a moment. [bangs himself on the head] Inspector Tiger: Allow me to introduce myself. I'm afried I must ask that no-one leave the room. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Inspector Tiger. All: Tiger? Inspector Tiger: [jumps] Where? Where? What? Ah. Me Tiger. You Jane. [growl] Inspector Tiger: Beg your pardon, allow me to introduce myself, I'm afraid I must ask that no-one leave the room. Lady Velloper: Why not? Inspector Tiger: Elementary. Since the body was found in this room, and no-one has left it. Therefore... the murderer must be somebody in this room. Colonel Pickering: What body? Inspector Tiger: Somebody. In this room. Must the murderer be. The murderer of the body is somebody in this room, which nobody must leave... leave the body in the room not to be left by anybody. Nobody leaves anybody or the body with somebody. Everybody who is anybody shall leave the body in the roombody. Take the tablets Tiger. Anybody with a body but not the body is nobody. Nobody leaves the body in the... [takes a tablet] Inspector Tiger: Albody me introbody albodyduce. [a surgeon and two nurses enter with saws and lay Tiger down on the table. The same drawing room, one lobotomy later, Tiger's head is bandaged] Surgeon: Now for Sir Gerald. [exit] Inspector Tiger: That's better. Now I'm Inspector Tiger and I must ask that nobody leave the room. [gives thumbs up to the surgeon] Inspector Tiger: Now someone has committed a murder here, and that murderer is someone in this room. The question is... who? Colonel Pickering: Look, there hasn't been a murder. Inspector Tiger: No murder? All: No. Inspector Tiger: Oh, I don't like it. It's too simple, too clear cut. I'd better wait. [sits] Inspector Tiger: No, too simple, too clear cut. [lights out, a scream, and a shot. Tiger is dead with a poison bottle in his hand, an arrow through his neck, and a bullet in his head] Colonel Pickering: By jove, he was right!
TV Presenter: And now a precision display of bad temper. [soldiers all yell in unison] Soldiers: My goodness me! I am in a bad temper today, two three! Damn damn, two three! I am vexed and ratty, two three! And hopping mad! [soldiers stamp feet on ground angrily] TV Presenter: And now, the men of the Second Armored Division with their famous close order swanning about. Sergeant: Squad... *Camp* it *up*! [soldiers all chant in unison while mincing] Soldiers: Ooh, get her! Whoops, I've got your number ducky, you couldn't afford me dear, two three. I'll scratch your eyes out! Don't come the Brigadier bit with us, dear, we all know where you've been, you military fairy. Two, three, one, two, three, four, five, six. Whoops! Don't look now girls, the man has just minced in with that jolly colour Sergeant, two three. Oooh!
Mr Boniface: ["It's the Mind: A Weekly Magazine of Things Psychiatric"] Good evening. Tonight on "It's the Mind", we examine the phenomenon of déjà vu, that strange feeling we sometimes get that we've lived through something before, that what is happening now has already happened tonight on "It's the Mind" we examine the phenomenon of déjà vu, that strange feeling we sometimes get that we've... [looks puzzled] Mr Boniface: Anyway, tonight on "It's the Mind", we examine the phenomenon of déjà vu, that strange - ["It's the Mind" opening titles again, then back to Mr Boniface, shaken] Mr Boniface: Good evening. Tonight on "It's the Mind", we examine the phenomenon of déjà vu, that strange feeling we someti... mes get... that... we've lived through something - ["It's the Mind" opening titles again, then back to Mr Boniface, visibly shaken] Mr Boniface: Good... good evening. Tonight on "It's the Mind", we examine the phenomenon of d-d-d-d-d-déjà v-v-v-v-v-vu. That extraordinary feeling... quite extraordinary... [trails off; the phone rings and he picks it up] Mr Boniface: No, fine thanks, fine. [a hand reaches in and sets a glass on the desk; Boniface drinks and the hand exits] Mr Boniface: Oh thank you. That strange feeling we sometimes get that we've lived through something before. [phone; he picks it up] Mr Boniface: No, fine thank you, fine. [hand comes in as before; he jumps] Mr Boniface: Thank you. That strange feeling we... [phone] Mr Boniface: No, fine thank you, fine. [hand with glass] Mr Boniface: Thank you. [jumps and yelps] Mr Boniface: Look, something's happening to me. I-I-um, I think I'd better go and see someone. Good night. [exits and boards the psychiatrist milk float outside] Milkman: Oi, haven't I seen you somewhere before? Mr Boniface: No, doctor, no. Something very funny's happening to me. ["It's the Mind" opening titles again, then back to Boniface in the studio, nervously biting his nails. He sees the camera, screams with terror, and runs outside to the float] Milkman: Oi, haven't I seen you somewhere before? Mr Boniface: No, doctor, no. Something very funny's happening to me. [a few minutes later, outside Dr Cream's office, Boniface jumps off and runs inside] Dr Cream: Ah, come in. Now what seems to be the matter? Mr Boniface: I have this terrible feeling of déjà vu. [outside, he jumps off the float, looks about, puzzled, and runs inside] Dr Cream: Ah, come in. Now, what seems to be the matter? Mr Boniface: I have this terrible feeling of déjà vu. [outside, he jumps off the float, more shaken, and runs in] Dr Cream: Ah, come in. Now what seems to be the matter? Mr Boniface: I have this terrible feeling of déjà vu. [outside, he jumps off the float, looks about, scared, and runs inside as the show ends]
[repeated line] Spiny Norman: Dinsdale?
Bounder: 'Morning, I'm Bounder-Of-Adventure. Mr Smoke-Too-Much: Hello, I'm Smoke-Too-Much. Bounder: Well you'd better cut down a little then. Mr Smoke-Too-Much: I'm sorry? Bounder: You'd better cut down a little then. Mr Smoke-Too-Much: Oh oh, I see. Smoke too much, so I better cut down a little then. Bounder: Yes. I expect you get people making jokes about your name all the time, eh? Mr Smoke-Too-Much: No. I've never noticed it before.
Mr. Praline: Excuse me, I would like to buy a fish licence, please. [the attendant indicates the next grille; to camera] Mr. Praline: The man's sign is incorrect. I have in the past noticed a marked discrepancy between these post office signs and the activities carried on beneath. But soft. let us see how Dame Fortune smiles upon my next postal adventure.
Ludovic: ['The Great Debate Number 31: TV4 Or Not TV4?'] Hello. Should there be another television channel or not? On tonight's programme, the Minister for Broadcasting, The Right Honourable Mr Ian Throat MP. Mr Ian Throat: Good evening. Ludovic: The chairman of the Amalgamated Money TV, Sir Abe Sappenheim. Sir Abe Sappenheim: Good evening. Ludovic: The Shadow Spokesman for Television, Lord Kinwoodie. Lord Kinwoodie: Hello. Ludovic: And a television critic, Mr Patrick Loone. Mr Patrick Loone: Hello. Ludovic: Gentlemen, should there be a fourth television channel or not? Ian? Mr Ian Throat: Yes. Ludovic: Francis? Lord Kinwoodie: No. Ludovic: Sir Abe? Sir Abe Sappenheim: Yes. Ludovic: Patrick? Mr Patrick Loone: No. Ludovic: Well there you have it, two say will, two say won't. We'll be back again next week, and next week's "Great Debate' will be about government interference in broadcasting and will be cancelled mysteriously.
Spiny Norman: Dinsdale!
Mr Mousebender: Tell me, do you have any cheese at all? Henry Wenslydale: Yes. Mr Mousebender: Now I'm going to ask you the same question again, and if you say "No", I'm going to shot you in the head. Do you have any cheese? Henry Wenslydale: [contemplates] Um, no. Mr Mousebender: [shots Henry Wenslydale through the head] What a senseless waste of human life.
[Interview with a lady friend of the notorious Dinsdale Piranha] Interviewer: Was there anything unusual about Dinsdale? Lady Friend: I should say not! Dinsdale was a perfectly normal person in every way. Except inasmuch as he was convinced that he was being watched by a giant hedgehog he referred to as Spiny Norman. [Later] Lady Friend: Lately, Dinsdale had become increasingly worried about Spiny Norman. He had come to the conclusion that Norman slept in an aeroplane hangar at Luton Airport. Host: And so, on February the 22nd, 1966, at Luton Airport... [Footage of a mushroom cloud] Host: Even the police began to sit up and take notice.
BBC Interviewer: The activity you see behind me is part of the preparations for the new Naval Expedition to Lake Pahoe. The man in charge of this expedition is Vice Admiral Sir John Cunningham. Sir, John, hello there. Vice-Admiral Sir John Cunningham: Ah, hello. Well, first of all I'd like to apologize for the behaviour of certain of my colleagues you may have seen earlier, but they are from broken homes, circus families and so on and they are in no way representative of the new modern improved British Navy. They are a small vociferous minority... and may I take this opportunity of emphasizing that there is no cannibalism in the British Navy. Absolutely none, and when I say none, I mean there is a certain amount, more than we are prepared to admit, but all new ratings are warned that if they wake up in the morning and find tooth marks at all anywhere on their bodies, they're to tell me immediately so that I can immediately take every measure to hush the whole thing up. And, finally, necrophilia is *right out*.
Chief Superintendent Lookout: [Inspector Tiger has been murdered] This house is surrounded. I must ask that no-one leave the room. I'm Chief Superintendent Lookout. Lady Velloper: Lookout? Chief Superintendent Lookout: [jumps] What, where? Oh, me, Lookout. Lookout of the Yard. Lady Velloper: Why, what would we see? Chief Superintendent Lookout: I'm sorry? Lady Velloper: What would we see if we look out of the yard? Chief Superintendent Lookout: ...I'm afraid I don't follow that at all. Aha. The body. So the murderer must be somebody in this room. Unless he had very long arms. Say thirty or forty feet. I think we can discount that one. [starts laughing] Chief Superintendent Lookout: Lookout of the Yard! Very good. Right, now we'll reconstruct the crime. I'll sit down here. Constable, you turn off the lights. [lights out] Chief Superintendent Lookout: Good. Now then, there was a scream, aaahhhhhhhhhh! Then just before the lights went up, there was a shot. [a shot, lights on. Lookout has an arrow through his neck, poison in his lap, and bullet in his head] Assistant Chief Constable Theresamanbehindyer: All right... all right, the house is surrounded and nobody leave the room and all the rest of it. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Assistnat Chief Constable Theresamanbehindyer. All: Theresamanbehindyer? Assistant Chief Constable Theresamanbehindyer: Ah, you're not going to catch me with an old one like that. Right, let's reconstruct the crime. Constable, you be Inspector Tiger. Policeman: Right, sir. Nobody leave the room ask shall. Somebody I leave nobody in the room body shall. Take the tablets Tigerbody. [clapping from the others] Policeman: Alself me to myduce introlow left body in the roomself. Assistant Chief Constable Theresamanbehindyer: Good, very good. Just sit down there. Right, now we'll pretend the lights have gone out. Constable, you scream. [constable screams] Assistant Chief Constable Theresamanbehindyer: Somebody shoots you... [shoots constable point-blank] Assistant Chief Constable Theresamanbehindyer: and the door opens... Chief Constable Fire: Nobody move. I'm Chief Constable Fire. All: Fire? Chief Constable Fire: [jumps] Where? Where?
Raymond Luxury-Yacht: No, no. It's spelt Raymond Luxury-Yacht but it's pronounced Throat-Wobbler Mangrove!
Clerk: You are Alexander Yalt? Alexander Yalt: [in a Derek Nimmo voice] Oh I am. Clerk: Skip the impersonations. Alexander Yalt: I am. Clerk: Mr Yalt you are charged that on the second day of January 1970 you wilfully, deliberately and with malice aforethought published an English-Hungarian Phrasebook with intent to cause a breach of the peace. How do you plead? Alexander Yalt: Not guilty. Clerk: You live at 46 Horton Terrace? Alexander Yalt: I do live at 46 Horton Terrace. Clerk: You are the president of a publishing company? Alexander Yalt: I am the president of a publishing company. Clerk: Your company publishes phrasebooks? Alexander Yalt: My company does publish phrasebooks. Clerk: You did say 46 Horton Terrace? Alexander Yalt: Yes Clerk: [bangs gong à la Michael Miles] Aha! Got him!
Milkman: Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man. Good morning, madam, I'm a psychiatrist. Mrs. Pim: You look like a milkman to me. Milkman: [ticks a box on his clipboard] Good, I am in fact dressed as a milkman... you spotted that. Well done. Mrs. Pim: Go away. Milkman: Now then, madam, I'm going to show you three numbers and I want you to tell me if you notice any similarity between them. [holds up a card with the number "3' on it three times] Mrs. Pim: They're all number three. Milkman: No. Try again. Mrs. Pim: They're *all* number three? Milkman: No. They're *all* number three. [writes] Milkman: Right. Now, I'm going to say a word and I want you to say the first thing that comes into yout head. How many pints do you want? Mrs. Pim: Er... three? Milkman: Yoghurt? Mrs. Pim: Er... no. Milkman: Cream? Mrs. Pim: No. Milkman: Eggs? Mrs. Pim: No. Milkman: [writes] Right. Well, you're quite clearly suffering from a repressive libido complex, probably the product of an unhappy childhood, coupledwith acute insecurity in adolescence, which has resulted in an attenuation of the libido complex. Mrs. Pim: You *are* a bloody milkman! Milkman: Don't you shout at me, madam, don't come that tone. Now then, I must ask you to accompany me down to the dairy and do some aptitude tests. Mrs. Pim: I've got better things to do than come down to the dairy! Milkman: Mrs. Ratbag! If you don't mind my saying so, you are badly in need of an expensive course of psychiatric treatment. Now I'm not going to say that a trip down to our dairy will cure you, but it will give hundreds of lower-paid workers a good laugh. Mrs. Pim: All right... but how am I going to get home? Milkman: I'll run you there and back in my psychiatrist's float. Mrs. Pim: ...All right.
Alan: Well last week, we showed you how to become a gynaecologist. And this week on "How to Do It" we're going to show you how to play the flute, how to split an atom, how to construct a box girder bridge, how to irrigate the Sahara Desert and make vast new areas of land cultivatable, but first, here's Jackie to tell you all how to rid the world of all known diseases. Jackie: Hello, Alan. Alan: Hello, Jackie. Jackie: Well, first of all, become a doctor and discover a marvellous cure for something, and then, when the medical profession really starts to take notice of you, you can jolly well tell them what to do and make sure they get everything right so there'll never be any diseases ever again. Alan: Thanks, Jackie, great idea. How to play the flute. [produces a flute] Alan: Well here we are. You blow there and you move your fingers up and down here. Noel: Great, great, Alan. Well, next week we'll be showing you how black and white people can live together in peace and harmony, and Alan will be over in Moscow showing us how to reconcile the Russians and the Chinese. So until next week, cheerio! All: Bye!
Mr Mousebender: And I thought to myself, "A little fermented curd will do the trick," so, I curtailed my Walpoling activities, sallied forth, and infiltrated your place of purveyance to negotiate the vending of some cheesy comestibles. Henry Wenslydale: Come again? Mr Mousebender: I want to buy some cheese. Henry Wenslydale: Oh, I thought you were complaining about the bouzouki player. Mr Mousebender: Certainly not. I am one who delights in all manifestations of the Terpsichorean muse. Henry Wenslydale: Sorry? Mr Mousebender: [in a silly Northern accent] Ooh, I like a nice dance - you're forced to.
Announcer: You probably noticed that I didn't say, "And now for something completely different," just now. This is simply because, I am unable to appear in the show this week. Sorry to interrupt.
[recurring at random points] Viking: Lemon curry?
Michael Palin: Mount Everest: forbiding, aloof, terrifying. The mountain with the biggest tits in the world.
[a letter following a British Navy presentation by pepperpots] Voice Over: As an admiral who came up through the ranks more times than you've had hot dinners, I wish to join my husband O.W.A. Giveaway in condemning this shoddy misrepresentation of our modern navy. The British Navy is one of the finest and most attractive and butchest fighting forces in the world. I love those white flared trousers and the feel of rough blue serge on those pert little buttocks... Presenter: I'm afraid we are unable to show you any more of that letter.
Dr. Gumby: [normal voice] Glasses. [nurse gives him glasses] Dr. Gumby: Moustache. [nurse gives him moustache] Dr. Gumby: Handkerchief. [nurse puts Gumby handkerchief on his head] Dr. Gumby: [in Gumby voice] I'm going to operater, I'm going to operate... [the other Gumbys join in] T.F. Gumby: [waking up] Hello? Dr. Gumby: We forgot the anaesthetic! [Gumby comes crashing through the wall] Gumby: [to T. F. Gumby] I'm going to anaesthetize you! [Gumby hits T. F. Gumby in the head with his anaesthetic tube]
T.F. Gumby: Doctor? Doctor? DOCTOR! [he bangs on a bell violently, eventually smashing it, as well as the desk and everything on it] T.F. Gumby: DOCTOR! DOCTOR! DOCTOR! Dr. Gumby: [enter Dr. Gumby] Hello! T.F. Gumby: Are you the brain specialist? Dr. Gumby: [thinks for a moment] Hello! T.F. Gumby: Are you the brain specialist? Dr. Gumby: No. No, I am not the brain specialist. No I am not. Yes! Yes I am! T.F. Gumby: My brain hurts! Dr. Gumby: Well, let's take a look at it, Mr. Gumby. [begins to lift Gumby's sweater] T.F. Gumby: No, no, no, my brain in my head. Dr. Gumby: [thumps him on the head] It will have to come out. T.F. Gumby: What? Out of my head? Dr. Gumby: Yes. All the bits of it.
Señor Biggles: Miss Bladder, take a letter. Miss Bladder: Yes, Señor Biggles. Señor Biggles: Don't call me "Señor!" I'm not a Spanish person. You must call me Mr. Biggles or Group Captain Biggles, or Mary Biggles if I'm dressed as my wife, but never "Señor!"
High Court Offical: [first juror is imitating a fish swimming] Bird? Lawyer: Swimmer! High Court Offical: Breast stroke! Prosecuting Counsel: Brian Phelps! High Court Offical: No, no, no! He was a diver! Lawyer: Esther Williams, then! High Court Offical: No, no! Don't be silly! How can you find someone *not* Esther Williams?
[BBC rolling globe logo on screen] Announcer: And now... one more minute of "Monty Python's Flying Circus". [BBC rolling globe logo continues for 60 seconds in silence]
[repeated randomly] Viking: Anyway.
Interviewer: Good evening. Well, we have in the studio tonight a man who says things in a very roundabout way. Isn't that so, Mr Pudifoot? Mr. Pudifoot: Yes. Interviewer: Have you always said things in a very roundabout way? Mr. Pudifoot: Yes. Interviewer: Well, I can't help noticing that, for someone who claims to say things in a very roundabout way, your last two answers have had very little of the discursive quality about them.
Vivian Smith-Smythe-Smith: My father needed a waste basket.
Mr. Pither: You are Rear Admiral Sir Dudley Compton? Chinaman: No. He die. He have heart attack and fell out of window onto exploding bomb, and was killed in shooting accident.
[man whispers into Doctor's ear] Blood Bank Doctor: No. I'm sorry, but, no. [man whispers again] Blood Bank Doctor: No, you may not give urine instead of blood.
Jacques Montgolfier: Don't forget we have a special guest coming this evening. Joseph Montgolfier: Huh? Jacques Montgolfier: Don't tell me you have forgotten already. The man who is giving us thousands of francs for our experiments. Joseph Montgolfier: What man? Jacques Montgolfier: Louis XIV! Joseph Montgolfier: Isn't he dead? Jacques Montgolfier: Evidently not.
Victor: Look, get out, all of you. Go on. Get out! Get out! Mr. Equator: I beg your pardon? Victor: I'm turning you all out! I'm not having my house filled with filthy perverts. Now look, I'm giving you just half a minute then I'm going to call the police, so get out! Mr. Equator: I don't much like the tone of your voice.
Spreaders: It's Being-hit-on-the-head lessons in here. Man: What a stupid concept!
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