That Blancmange show was awesome, I loved that one!
Here is one of my favourites though ...
The Fish Liscence
Customer: (John Cleese)
Hello, I would like to buy a fish license, please.
Shopkeeper: (Michael Palin)
A what?
Customer:
A license for my pet fish, Eric.
Shopkeeper:
How did you know my name was Eric?
Customer:
No no no, my fish's name is Eric, Eric the fish. He's an halibut.
Shopkeeper:
What?
Customer:
He is...an...halibut.
Shopkeeper:
You've got a pet halibut?
Customer:
Yes. I chose him out of thousands. I didn't like the others, they were all too flat.
Shopkeeper:
You must be a looney.
Customer:
I am not a looney! Why should I be tied with the epithet looney merely because I have a pet halibut? I've heard tell that Sir Gerald Nabardo has a pet prawn called Simon and you wouldn't call him a looney; furthermore, Dawn Pailthorpe, the lady show-jumper, had a clam, called Stafford, after the late Chancellor, Allan Bullock has two pikes, both called Chris, and Marcel Proust had an haddock! So, if you're calling the author of 'A la recherche du temps perdu' a looney, I shall have to ask you to step outside!
Shopkeeper:
Alright, alright, alright. A license.
Customer:
Yes.
Shopkeeper:
For a fish.
Customer:
Yes.
Shopkeeper:
You are a looney.
Customer:
Look, it's a bleeding pet, isn't it? I've got a license for me pet dog Eric, and I've got a license for me pet cat Eric...
Shopkeeper:
You don't need a license for your cat.
Customer:
I bleeding well do and I got one. He can't be called Eric without it--
Shopkeeper:
There's no such thing as a bloody cat license.
Customer:
Yes there is!
Shopkeeper:
Isn't!
Customer:
Is!
Shopkeeper:
Isn't!
Customer:
I bleeding got one, look! What's that then?
Shopkeeper:
This is a dog license with the word 'dog' crossed out and 'cat' written in in crayon.
Customer:
The man didn't have the right form.
Shopkeeper:
What man?
Customer:
The man from the cat detector van.
Shopkeeper:
The looney detector van, you mean.
Customer:
Look, it's people like you what cause unrest.
Shopkeeper:
What cat detector van?
Customer:
The cat detector van from the Ministry of Housinge.
Shopkeeper:
Housinge?
Customer:
It was spelt like that on the van. I'm very observant!. I never seen so many bleeding aerials. The man said that their equipment could pinpoint a purr at four hundred yards! And Eric, being such a happy cat, was a piece of cake.
Shopkeeper:
How much did you pay for this?
Customer:
Sixty quid, and eight for the fruit-bat.
Shopkeeper:
What fruit-bat?
Customer:
Eric the fruit-bat.
Shopkeeper:
Are all your pets called Eric?
Customer:
There's nothing so odd about that: Kemal Ataturk had an entire menagerie called Abdul!
Shopkeeper:
No he didn't!
Customer:
Did!
Shopkeeper:
Didn't!
Customer:
Did, did, did, did, did and did!
Shopkeeper:
Oh, all right.
Customer:
Spoken like a gentleman, sir. Now, are you going to give me a fish license?
Shopkeeper:
I promise you that there is no such thing. You don't need one.
Customer:
In that case, give me a bee license.
Shopkeeper:
A license for your pet bee?
Customer:
Yes.
Shopkeeper:
Called Eric? Eric the Bee?
Customer:
No.
Shopkeeper:
No?
Customer:
No, Eric the Half-Bee. He had an accident.
Shopkeeper:
You're off your chump.
Customer:
Look, if you intend by that utilization of an obscure colloquiallism to imply that my sanity is not up to scratch, or indeed to deny the semi-existence of my little chum Eric the Half-Bee!
And now for something completely different.
Moderator: Orlion
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Metal-Demon
- Giantfriend
- Posts: 353
- Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2004 6:55 pm
- Location: Regina, Saskatchewan, CANADA
Last edited by Metal-Demon on Thu Dec 02, 2004 6:52 am, edited 2 times in total.
-- I've learnt everything I need to know about life just by listening to RUSH --
-
Metal-Demon
- Giantfriend
- Posts: 353
- Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2004 6:55 pm
- Location: Regina, Saskatchewan, CANADA
Other favourites:
The Argument Sketch
The Upper Class Twit of the Year
The Cheese Shop
Bicycle Repairman
And of course ... who could forgetWorking-class Playwright!!!:
Mum (Terry Jones)
Oh dad... look who's come to see us... it's our Ken.
Dad (Graham Chapman)
Aye, and about bloody time if you ask me.
Ken (Eric Idle)
Aren't you pleased to see me, father?
Mum
Of course he's pleased to see you, Ken, he...
Dad
All right, woman, all right I've got a tongue in my head - I'll do 'talkin'. (looks at Ken distastefully) Aye ... I like yer fancy suit. Is that what they're wearing up in Yorkshire now?
Ken It's just an ordinary suit, father... it's all I've got apart from the overalls.
Mum
How are you liking it down the mine, Ken?
Ken
Oh it's not too bad, mum... we're using some new tungsten carbide drills for the preliminary coal-face scouring operations.
Mum
Oh that sounds nice, dear...
DadTungsten carbide drills! What the bloody hell's tungsten carbide drills?
Ken
It's something they use in coal-mining, father.
Dad'It's something they use in coal-mining, father'. You're all bloody fancy talk since you left London.
Ken
Oh not that again.
Mum
He's had a hard day dear... his new play opens at the National Theatre tomorrow.
Ken
Oh that's good.
Dad
Good! good? What do you know about it? What do you know about getting up at five o'clock in t'morning to fly to Paris... back at the Old Vic for drinks at twelve, sweating the day through press interviews, television interviews and getting back here at ten to wrestle with the problem of a homosexual nymphomaniac drug-addict involved in the ritual murder of a well known Scottish footballer. That's a full working day, lad, and don't you forget it!
Mum
Oh, don't shout at the boy, father.
Dad
Aye, 'ampstead wasn't good enough for you, was it? ... you had to go poncing off to Barnsley, you and yer coal-mining friends. (spits)
Ken Coal-mining is a wonderful thing father, but it's something you'll never understand. Just look at you!
Mum
Oh Ken! Be careful! You know what he's like after a few novels.
Dad
Oh come on lad! Come on, out wi' it! What's wrong wi' me?... ye tit!
Ken
I'll tell you what's wrong with you. Your head's addled with novels and poems, you come home every evening reeling of Chateau La Tour...
Mum
Oh don't, don't.
Ken
And look what you've done to mother! She's worn out with meeting film stars, attending premieres and giving gala luncheons...
Dad
There's nowt wrong wi' gala luncheons, lad! I've had more gala luncheons than you've had hot dinners!
Mum
Oh please!
Dad
Aaaaaaagh!
Mum
Oh no!
Ken
What is it?
Mum
Oh, it's his writer's cramp!
Ken
You never told me about this...
Mum
No, we didn't like to, Kenny.
Dad
I'm all right! I'm all right, woman. Just get him out of here.
Mum
Oh Ken! You'd better go ...
Ken
All right. I'm going.
Dad
After all we've done for him...
KenOne day you'll realize there's more to life than culture... There's dirt, and smoke, and good honest sweat!
Dad
Get out! Get out! Get OUT! You ... LABOURER!
The Argument Sketch
The Upper Class Twit of the Year
The Cheese Shop
Bicycle Repairman
And of course ... who could forgetWorking-class Playwright!!!:
Mum (Terry Jones)
Oh dad... look who's come to see us... it's our Ken.
Dad (Graham Chapman)
Aye, and about bloody time if you ask me.
Ken (Eric Idle)
Aren't you pleased to see me, father?
Mum
Of course he's pleased to see you, Ken, he...
Dad
All right, woman, all right I've got a tongue in my head - I'll do 'talkin'. (looks at Ken distastefully) Aye ... I like yer fancy suit. Is that what they're wearing up in Yorkshire now?
Ken It's just an ordinary suit, father... it's all I've got apart from the overalls.
Mum
How are you liking it down the mine, Ken?
Ken
Oh it's not too bad, mum... we're using some new tungsten carbide drills for the preliminary coal-face scouring operations.
Mum
Oh that sounds nice, dear...
DadTungsten carbide drills! What the bloody hell's tungsten carbide drills?
Ken
It's something they use in coal-mining, father.
Dad'It's something they use in coal-mining, father'. You're all bloody fancy talk since you left London.
Ken
Oh not that again.
Mum
He's had a hard day dear... his new play opens at the National Theatre tomorrow.
Ken
Oh that's good.
Dad
Good! good? What do you know about it? What do you know about getting up at five o'clock in t'morning to fly to Paris... back at the Old Vic for drinks at twelve, sweating the day through press interviews, television interviews and getting back here at ten to wrestle with the problem of a homosexual nymphomaniac drug-addict involved in the ritual murder of a well known Scottish footballer. That's a full working day, lad, and don't you forget it!
Mum
Oh, don't shout at the boy, father.
Dad
Aye, 'ampstead wasn't good enough for you, was it? ... you had to go poncing off to Barnsley, you and yer coal-mining friends. (spits)
Ken Coal-mining is a wonderful thing father, but it's something you'll never understand. Just look at you!
Mum
Oh Ken! Be careful! You know what he's like after a few novels.
Dad
Oh come on lad! Come on, out wi' it! What's wrong wi' me?... ye tit!
Ken
I'll tell you what's wrong with you. Your head's addled with novels and poems, you come home every evening reeling of Chateau La Tour...
Mum
Oh don't, don't.
Ken
And look what you've done to mother! She's worn out with meeting film stars, attending premieres and giving gala luncheons...
Dad
There's nowt wrong wi' gala luncheons, lad! I've had more gala luncheons than you've had hot dinners!
Mum
Oh please!
Dad
Aaaaaaagh!
Mum
Oh no!
Ken
What is it?
Mum
Oh, it's his writer's cramp!
Ken
You never told me about this...
Mum
No, we didn't like to, Kenny.
Dad
I'm all right! I'm all right, woman. Just get him out of here.
Mum
Oh Ken! You'd better go ...
Ken
All right. I'm going.
Dad
After all we've done for him...
KenOne day you'll realize there's more to life than culture... There's dirt, and smoke, and good honest sweat!
Dad
Get out! Get out! Get OUT! You ... LABOURER!
-- I've learnt everything I need to know about life just by listening to RUSH --
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Kymbierlee
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 624
- Joined: Sun Nov 14, 2004 11:11 pm
- Location: Pennsylvania, USA
- Contact:
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Kymbierlee
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 624
- Joined: Sun Nov 14, 2004 11:11 pm
- Location: Pennsylvania, USA
- Contact:
-
Kymbierlee
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 624
- Joined: Sun Nov 14, 2004 11:11 pm
- Location: Pennsylvania, USA
- Contact:
Man Turns Into a ScotsMan/Blancmanges Playing Tennis
Newsvendor's Voice: Read all about it! Read all about it! Man turns into Scotsman!
(Mix through to Potter's front gate. His with is being interviewed by obvious plainclothes man.)
Inspector: Mrs Potter - you knew Harold Potter quite well I believe?
Wife: Oh yes quite well.
Inspector: Yes.
Wife: He was my husband.
Inspector: Yes. And, er, he never showed any inclination towards being a Scotsman before this happened?
Wife: (shocked) No, no, not at all. He was not that sort of person...
Inspector: He didn't wear a kilt or play the bagpipes?
Wife: No, no.
Inspector: He never got drunk at night or bought home black puddings?
Wife: No, no. Not at all.
Inspector: He didn't have an inadequate brain capacity?
Wife: No, no, not at all.
Inspector: I see. So by your account Harold Potter was a perfectly ordinary Englishman without any tendency towards being a Scotsman whatsoever?
Wife: Absolutely, yes. (suddenly remembering) Mind you he did always watch Dr Finlay on television.
Inspector: Ah-hah! ... Well that's it, you see. That's how it starts.
Wife: I beg your pardon?
Inspector: Well you see Scottishness staffs with little things like that, and works up. You see, people don't just turn into a Scotsman for no reason at all... (goes rigid with Scots accent.) No further questions!
(The words are hardly out of his mouth when he turns into a Scotsman and spins round and disappears up road in fast motion. Pan with him. Cut to bus queue: man in a city suit and bowler hat suddenly changes into a Scotsman with beard, twizzles round and speeds out of shot. Cut to street.' policeman pointing way for woman with a pram. Suddenly he changes into a Scotsman and scuffles out of shot. She looks aghast for a moment and then she too changes into a Scotsman and hurtles off after him. The baby suddenly develops a beard and the pram follows her. Single shot of black jazz musician in cellar blowing a blue sax solo. He changes and whizzes off. Squad of soldiers being drilled. Suddenly they all change into bearded Scotsmen and race off in unison. Pan with them past sign: 'Welsh Guard'.)
(Quick animated shot of flying saucer disappearing over city skyline. Cut to big close-up of passionate kiss. It goes on for some moments. Foggy lens... romantic music. Keep on big close-up as they talk. She is none too intelligent.)
She: Charles...
Charles: Darling...
She: Charles...
Charles: Darling, darling...
She: Charles... there's something I've got to tell you...
Charles: What is it darling?
She: It's daddy ... he's turned into a Scotsman...
Charles: What! Mr Llewellyn?
She: Yes, Charles. Help me, please help me.
Charles: But what can I do?
She: Surely, Charles, you're the Chief Scientist at the Anthropological Research Institute, at Butley Down - an expert in what makes people change from one nationality to another.
Charles: So I am! (pull out to reveal they are in a laboratory; he is in a white coat, she is in something absurdly sexy) This is fight up my street!
She: Oh good.
Charles: Now first of all, why would anyone turn into a Scotsman?
She: (tentatively) Em, for business reasons?
Charles: No, no! Only because he has no control over his own destiny! Look I'll show you...
(He presses a button on a control board and a laboratory TV screen lights on with the words 'only because they have no control over their own destinies '.)
She: I see.
Charles: Yes! So this means that some person or persons unknown is turning all these people into Scotsmen...
She: Oh, what kind of heartless fiend could do that to a man?
Charles: I don't know ... I don't know ... all I know is that these people are streaming north of the border at the rate of thousands every hour. If we don't act fast, Scotland will be choked with Scotsmen...
She: Ooh!...
(Zoom in on her face. Cut to as many bearded Scotsmen as possible, hurtling through wood in fast motion. Follow than, ending up with skyline shot as per 'Seventh Seal'. They all still have the arm outstretched in front of them and as always they are accompanied by bagpipe music. Shot of border with large notice: 'Scotland Welcomes You'.)
American Voice: Soon Scotland was full of Scotsmen. The over-crowding was pitiful.
(They all dash across harder and then stop abruptly once they're ever. They stand around looking lost.)
American Voice: Three men to a caber.
(Cut to three Scotsmen tossing one caber. Cut to Scots wife in bed with bearded husband. Pull back to reveal five other Scotsmen in the bed. Short but brilliant piece of animation from T. Gilliam to show England emptying of people and Scotland filling up, ending with a till sound and a till sign coming up out of England reading: 'Empty'. Track into England. Film of a deserted street. Wind, a dog sniffing, newspaper blowing along street. Close-up sign on shop doom 'Gone to lunch' ( lunch is actually crossed out) Scotland'. Close-up another sign on a shop door.' 'McClosed'. Shop sign: McWoolworths & Co '.)
American Voice: For the few who remained, life was increasingly difficult.
(Man suddenly folds up newspaper and runs round comer. Re-emerges driving bus. Drives it halfway to stop and then leaps out with bus still moving. Runs to stop, and puts out hand. Bus stops. He leaps on, rings bell, runs round to front and drives the bus off again. As bus drives out of. flame we just see a couple of Scotsmen flashing past camera with arms outstretched. Pan slowly round empty football stadium. Eventually we pick up a solitary spectator, halfway up and halfway along in stand opposite where the players come out. He suddenly leaps to his feet cheering. Cut to players' tunnel and one player emerging and a referee with ball. They kick off. Player goes straight down field and scores.
Spectator disappointed.
A quick shot of flying saucer again.
Studio. the laboratory again. Charles is looking through microscope, when the door flies open and she bursts in.)
She: Charles! Thank goodness I've found you! It's mummy!
Charles: Hello mummy.
She: No, no, mummy's turned into a Scotsman...
Charles: Oh how horrible... Will they stop at nothing?
She: I don't know - do you think they will?
Charles: I meant that rhetorically.
She: What does rhetorically mean?
Charles: It means, I didn't expect an answer.
She: Oh I see. Oh, you're so clever, Charles.
Charles: Did mummy say anything as she changed?
She: (with an air of tremendous revelation) Yes! she did, now you come to mention it
(A long pause as he waits expectantly.)
Charles: Well, what was it?
She: Oh, she said ... 'Them!' (thrilling chord of jangling music and quick zoom into her face) Is there someone at the door?
Charles: No ... It's just the incidental music for this scene.
She: Oh I see...
Charles: 'Them' ... Wait a minute!
She: A whole minute?
Charles: No, I meant that metaphorically ... 'Them' ... 'Them' ... She was obviously referring to the people who turned her into a Scotsman. If only we knew who 'They' were ... And why 'They' were doing it... Who are 'Them'?
(Crashing chord... cut to a small still of a Scottish crofier's cottage on a lonely moor. Slow zoom in on the cottage.)
American Voice: Then suddenly a clue turned up in Scotland. Mr Angus Podgorny, owner of a Dunbar menswear shop, received an order for 48,000,000 'kilts from the planet Skyron in the Galaxy of Andromeda.
(Mix to interior of highland mens wear shop. An elderly Scottish couple are poring over a letter which they have on the counter. Oil lamps etc.)
Mrs Podgorny: Angus how are y'going to get 48,000,000 kilts into the van?
Angus: I'll have t'do it in two goes.
Mrs Podgorny: D'you not ken that the Galaxy of Andromeda is two million, two hundred thousand light years away?
Angus: Is that so?
Mrs Podgorny: Aye ... and you've never been further than Berwick-on-Tweed...
Angus: Aye ... but think o' the money dear ... £18.10.0d a kilt ...that's ... (calculates with abacus) £900,000,000 - and that's without sporrans!
Mrs Podgorny: Aye ... I think you ought not to go, Angus.
Angus: (with visionary look in his eyes) Aye ... we'd be able to afford writing paper with our names on it... We'd be able to buy that extension to the toilet...
Mrs Podgorny: Aye . . but he hasn't signed the order yet, has he?
Angus: Who?
Mrs Podgorny: Ach ... the man from Andromeda.
Angus: Och ... well ... he wasna really a man, d'you ken ...
(Creepy music starts to edge in.)
Mrs Podgorny: (narrowing eyes) Not really a man?
Angus: (sweating as the music rises) He was as strange a thing as ever I saw, or ever I hope to see, God willing. He was a strange unearthly creature - a quivering, glistening mass...
Mrs Podgorny: Angus Podgorny, what do y'mean?
Angus: He wasna so much a man as... a blancmange!
(Jarring chord.)
(Police station: a police sergeant is talking ova the counter to a girl dressed in a short frilly tennis dress. She holds a racquet and tennis balls.)
Sergeant: A blancmange, eh?
Girl: Yes, that's fight. I was just having a game of doubles with Sandra and Jocasta, Alec and David...
Sergeant: Hang on!
Girl: What?
Sergeant: There's five.
Girl: What?
Sergeant: Five people . . . how do you play doubles with five people?
Girl: Ah, well ... we were...
Sergeant: Sounds a bit funny if you ask me ... playing doubles with five people...
Girl: Well we often play like that... Jocasta plays on the side receiving service...
Sergeant: Oh yes?
Girl: Yes. It helps to speed the game up and make it a lot faster, and it means Jocasta isn't left out.
Sergeant: Look, are you asking me to believe that the five of you was playing doubles, when on the very next court there was a blancmange playing by itself?.
Girl: That's right, yes.
Sergeant: Well answer me this then - why didn't Jocasta play the blancmange at singles, while you and Sandra and Alec and David had a proper game of doubles with four people?
Girl: Because Jocasta always plays with us. She's a friend of ours.
Sergeant: Call that friendship? Messing up a perfectly good game of doubles?
Girl: It's not messing it up, officer, we like to play with five.
Sergeant: Look it's your affair if you want to play with five people ... but don't go calling it doubles. Look at Wimbledon, fight? If Fred Stolle and Tony Roche played Charlie Pasarell and Cliff Drysdale and Peaches Bartcowitz... they wouldn't go calling it doubles.
Girl: But what about the blancmange?
Sergeant: That could play Ann Haydon-Jones and her husband Pip.
(Cut back to Podgorny's shop. He and his wife are frozen in the positions in which we left them. They pick up the conversation as if nothing had happened.)
Mrs Podgorny: Oh, a blancmange gave you an order for 48,000,000 kilts?
Angus: Aye!
Mrs Podgorny: And you believed it?
Angus: Aye, I did.
Mrs Podgorny: Och, you're a stupid man, Angus Podgorny.
Angus: (getting a little angry) Oh look woman, how many kilts did we sell last year? Nine and a half, that's all. So when I get an order for 48,000,000, I believe it - you bet I believe it.
Mrs Podgorny: Even if it's from a blancmange?
Angus: Och, woman, if a blancmange is prepared to come 2,200,000 light years to purchase a kilt, they must be fairly keen on kilts. So cease yer prattling woman and get sewing. This could be the biggest breakthrough in kilts since the Provost of Edinburgh sat on a spike. Mary, we'll be rich! We'll be rich!
Mrs Podgorny: Oh, but Angus... he hasna given you an earnest of his good faith!
Angus: Ah mebbe not but he has gi' me this... (brings out piece of folded paper from sporran)
Mrs Podgorny: What is it now?
Angus: An entry form for the British Open Tennis Championships at Wimbledon Toon ... signed and seconded.
Mrs Podgorny: Och, but Angus:, ye ken full well that Scots folk dinna know how to play the tennis to save their lives.
Angus: Aye, but I must go though dear, I dinna want to seem ungrateful.
Mrs Podgorny: Ach! Angus, I wilna let you make a fool o'yoursel'.
Angus: But I must.
Mrs Podgorny: Och, no you'll not ...
( Close-up on Angus.)
Angus: Oh, Mary... (suddenly we hear a strange creaking and a slurping noise; a look of horror comes into his eyes) Oh, oh, Mary! Look out! Look out!
(Big close-up of Mrs Podgorny's eyes starting out from head.)
Mrs Podgorny: Urrgh. It's the blancmange. (Blur focus. Cut to a desk for police spokesman. A peaked-capped policeman sits there, reading 'The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire' by Googie Withers. He lowers book and talks chattily to camera.)
Policeman: Oh, now this is where Mr Podgorny could have saved his wife's life. If he'd gone to the police and told them that he'd been approached by unearthly beings from the Galaxy of Andromeda, we'd have sent a man round to investigate. As it was he did a deal with a blancmange, and the blancmange ate his wife. So if you're going out, or going on holiday, or anything strange happens involving other galaxies, just nip round to your local police station, and tell the sergeant on duty - or his wife - of your suspicions. And the same goes for dogs. So I'm sorry to have interrupted your exciting science fiction story ... but, then, crime's our business you know. So carry on viewing, and my thanks to the BBC for allowing me to have this little chat with you. Goodnight. God bless, look after yourselves.
(He is hit on the head by knight in suit of armour with raw, chicken. Cut to CID office: a plainclothes detective is sitting in his office. Podgorny is sobbing.)
Detective: (softly and understandingly) Do sit down, Mr Podgorny... I... I ... think what's happened is ... terribly ... terribly... funny .... tragic. But you must understand that we have to catch the creature that ate your wife, and if you could help us answer a few questions, we may be able to help save a few lives. I know this is the way your wife would have wanted it.
(He is sitting on the desk next to Podgomy. Podgomy with superhuman control makes a great effort to stop sobbing.)
Angus: Aye ... I'll ... do ... my best, sergeant.
Detective: (slapping Podgorny) Detective Inspector!
Angus: Er, detective inspector.
Detective: (getting up and talking sharply and fast) Now then. The facts are these. You received an order for 48,000,000 kilts from a blancmange from the planet Skyron in the Galaxy of Andromeda ... you'd just shown your wife an entry form for Wimbledon, which you'd filled in... when you turned round and saw her legs disappearing into a blancmange. Is that correct?
Angus: Yes, sir.
Detective: Are you mad?
Angus: No, sir.
Detective: Well that's a relief. 'Cos if you were, your story would be less plausible. (detective brings out photograph of blancmange) Now then, do you recognize this?
Angus: (with a squeak of fear) Oh yes. That's the one that ate my Mary!
Detective: Good. His name's Riley... Jack Riley... He's that most rare of criminals ... a blancmange impersonator and cannibal.
Angus: But what about the 48,000,000 kilts and the Galaxy of Andromeda?
Detective: I'm afraid that's just one of his stories. You must understand that a blancmange impersonator and cannibal has to use some pretty clever stories to allay suspicion.
Angus: Then you mean...
Detective: Yes.
Angus: But...
Detective: How?
Angus: Yes.
Detective: Well...
Angus: Not?
Detective: I'm afraid so.
Angus: Why?
Detective: Who knows?
Angus: Do you think?
Detective: Could be.
Angus: But...
Detective: I know.
Angus: She was...
Detective: Yes.
(Suddenly, we hear a strange noise. Angus Iooks frightened. Detective narrows his eyes and walks over to the door.)
Detective: Good lord what's that? (he opens the door and we get a close-up of his staring .eyes) Ah, Riley! Come to give yourself up have you, Riley? (with sudden fear) Eh Riley? Riley! Riley! It's not Riley!
(Eating noises. He is dragged out of camera shot. Refocus on Angus ... he averts his ryes as we hear the detective inspector off-screen.)
Detective: It's an extra-terrestial being! Agggh!
(Jarring chord: Angus shuts his eyes. Cut back to laboratory: she is sitting suggestively on a stool. He is pacing up and down looking intense.)
Charles: So, everyone in England is being turned into Scotsmen, right?
She: Yes.
Charles: Now, which is the wont tennis-playing nation in the world?
She: Er ... Australia.
Charles: No. Try again.
She: Australia?
Charles: (testily) No... try again but say a different place.
She: Oh, I thought you meant I'd said it badly.
Charles: No, course you didn't say it badly. Now hurry.
She: Er, Czechoslovakia.
Charles: No! Scotland!
She: Of course.
Charles: Now ... now these blancmanges, apart from the one that killed
Mrs Podgorny:, have all appeared in which London suburb?
She: Finchley?
Charles: No. Wimbledon ... Now do you begin to see the pattern? With what sport is Wimbledon commonly associated?
(She is thinking really hard.)
Norman Hackforth: (off-screen) For viewers at home, the answer is coming up on your screens. Those of you who wish to play it the hard way, stand upside down with your head in a bucket of piranha fish. Here is the question once again.
Charles: With what sport is Wimbledon commonly associated?
(SUPERIMPOSED CAPTION: 'TENNIS')
She: Cricket.
Charles: No.
Charles: No. Wimbledon is most commonly associated with tennis.
She: Of course! Now I see!
Charles: Yes, it all falls into place!
She: 'l'he blancmangcs are really Australians trying to get the rights of the pelote rules from the Czech publishers!
Charles: (heavily) No ... not quite ... but, er, just look in here.
(He indicates microscope. As she eagerly bends to look into it he picks up a sock filled with sand and without looking strikes her casually over the head with it. She collapses out of sight under desk. He continues to think out loud.)
Charles: Yes. So these blancmanges, blancmange-shaped creatures come from the planet Skyron in the Galaxy of Andromeda. They order 48,000,000 kilts from a Scottish menswear shop ... turn the population of England into Scotsmen (well known as the worst tennis-playing nation on Earth) thus leaving England empty during Wimbledon fortnight! Empty during Wimbledon fortnight ... what's more the papers are full of reports of blancmanges appearing on tennis courts up and down the country - practising. This can only mean one thing!
(Flash up caption quickly:)
Voice Over: and caption on sceeen : 'THEY MEAN TO WIN WIMBLEDON'
Charles: They mean to win Wimbledon. Jarring chord.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Cut to-----------------------------------------
Commentator: Well, here at Wimbledon, it's been a most extraordinary week's tennis. The blancmanges have swept the board, winning match after match. Here are just a few of the results: Billie-Jean King eaten in straight sets, Laver smothered whole after winning the first set, and Poncho Gonzales, serving as well as I've never seen him, with some superb volleys and decisive return volleys off the back hand, was sucked through the net at match point and swallowed whole in just under two minutes. And so, here on the final day, there seems to be no players left to challenge the blancmanges. And this could be their undoing, Dan: as the rules of Wimbledon state quite clearly that there must be at least one human being concerned in the final. (we see a three-foot- high blancmange being shepherded onto a tennis court by a Scotsman) Well the blancmange is coming out onto the pitch now, and (suddenly exalted) there is a human with it It's Angus Podgorny! The plucky little Scottish tailor ... upon whom everything depends. And so it's Podgorny versus blancmange in this first ever Intergalactic Wimbledon!
(Cut to the centre court at Wimbledon or fi we can't get it, number one will do. Blancmange and Podgorny on opposite sides net. Another blancmange sitting in umpire's chair. Blancmange serves... a real sizzling ace. Podgorny, who in any case is quivering with fear, doesn 't see it.)
Commentator's Voice: And it's blancmange to serve and it's a good one.
Blancmange Umpire: Blurb blurble blurb.
Voice Over: Fifteen love.
(Blancmange serves again, and again Podgorny misses hopelessly and pathetically. Collage of speeded-up versions of blancmange sewing and Podgorny missing. Cut to scoreboard:
BLANCMANGE.' 4O
PODGORNY: O
Cut back to the court. Podgorny is serving and each time he fails to hit the ball altogether.)
Commentator's Voice: And Podgorny fails to even hit the ball ... but this is no surprise as he hasn't hit the ball once throughout this match. So it's 72 match points to the blancmange now... Podgorny prepares to serve again.
(Podgorny fails to serve and we see the scoreboard:)
BLANCMANGE: 6 6 5 40
PODGORNY: 0 0
Commentator's Voice: This is indeed a grim day for the human race, Dan.
(Just as Podgorny is about to serve we see Mr and Mrs Brainsample jump onto the court brandishing forks and spoons and with napkins tucked into their necks.)
Commentator's Voice: But what's this? Two spectators have rushed onto the pitch with spoons and forks... what are they going to do?
(Cut to laboratory.)
Charles: They mean to eat the blancmange.
(The girl pulls herself up from where she was slumped by microscope. He knocks her out again with a sand-filled sock. Cut back to Wimbledon. Mr and Mrs Brainsample chasing blancmange and eating it.)
Commentator's Voice: And they're eating the blancmange ... Yes! The blancmange is leaving the court... it's abandoning the game! This is fantastic!
(Cut to Mr and Mrs Brainsample covered in bits of blancmange and licking their fingers.)
American Voice: Yes it was Mr and Mrs Samuel Brainsample, who, after only a brief and misleadling appearance in the early part of the film, returned to save the Earth ... but why?
Mr Brainsample: Oh, well you see we love blancmanges. My wife makes them.
American Voice: She makes blancmanages that size?
Mr Brainsample: Oh, yes. You see we're from the planet Skyron in the Galaxy of Andromeda, and they're all that size there. We tried to tell you at the beginning of the film but you just panned off us.
(Cut back to Podgorny on court still trying to serve; at last he makes contact and runs backward and forward to receive his own services.)
American Voice: So the world was saved! And Angus Podgomy became the first Scotsman to win Wimbledon... fifteen years later.
Newsvendor's Voice: Read all about it! Read all about it! Man turns into Scotsman!
(Mix through to Potter's front gate. His with is being interviewed by obvious plainclothes man.)
Inspector: Mrs Potter - you knew Harold Potter quite well I believe?
Wife: Oh yes quite well.
Inspector: Yes.
Wife: He was my husband.
Inspector: Yes. And, er, he never showed any inclination towards being a Scotsman before this happened?
Wife: (shocked) No, no, not at all. He was not that sort of person...
Inspector: He didn't wear a kilt or play the bagpipes?
Wife: No, no.
Inspector: He never got drunk at night or bought home black puddings?
Wife: No, no. Not at all.
Inspector: He didn't have an inadequate brain capacity?
Wife: No, no, not at all.
Inspector: I see. So by your account Harold Potter was a perfectly ordinary Englishman without any tendency towards being a Scotsman whatsoever?
Wife: Absolutely, yes. (suddenly remembering) Mind you he did always watch Dr Finlay on television.
Inspector: Ah-hah! ... Well that's it, you see. That's how it starts.
Wife: I beg your pardon?
Inspector: Well you see Scottishness staffs with little things like that, and works up. You see, people don't just turn into a Scotsman for no reason at all... (goes rigid with Scots accent.) No further questions!
(The words are hardly out of his mouth when he turns into a Scotsman and spins round and disappears up road in fast motion. Pan with him. Cut to bus queue: man in a city suit and bowler hat suddenly changes into a Scotsman with beard, twizzles round and speeds out of shot. Cut to street.' policeman pointing way for woman with a pram. Suddenly he changes into a Scotsman and scuffles out of shot. She looks aghast for a moment and then she too changes into a Scotsman and hurtles off after him. The baby suddenly develops a beard and the pram follows her. Single shot of black jazz musician in cellar blowing a blue sax solo. He changes and whizzes off. Squad of soldiers being drilled. Suddenly they all change into bearded Scotsmen and race off in unison. Pan with them past sign: 'Welsh Guard'.)
(Quick animated shot of flying saucer disappearing over city skyline. Cut to big close-up of passionate kiss. It goes on for some moments. Foggy lens... romantic music. Keep on big close-up as they talk. She is none too intelligent.)
She: Charles...
Charles: Darling...
She: Charles...
Charles: Darling, darling...
She: Charles... there's something I've got to tell you...
Charles: What is it darling?
She: It's daddy ... he's turned into a Scotsman...
Charles: What! Mr Llewellyn?
She: Yes, Charles. Help me, please help me.
Charles: But what can I do?
She: Surely, Charles, you're the Chief Scientist at the Anthropological Research Institute, at Butley Down - an expert in what makes people change from one nationality to another.
Charles: So I am! (pull out to reveal they are in a laboratory; he is in a white coat, she is in something absurdly sexy) This is fight up my street!
She: Oh good.
Charles: Now first of all, why would anyone turn into a Scotsman?
She: (tentatively) Em, for business reasons?
Charles: No, no! Only because he has no control over his own destiny! Look I'll show you...
(He presses a button on a control board and a laboratory TV screen lights on with the words 'only because they have no control over their own destinies '.)
She: I see.
Charles: Yes! So this means that some person or persons unknown is turning all these people into Scotsmen...
She: Oh, what kind of heartless fiend could do that to a man?
Charles: I don't know ... I don't know ... all I know is that these people are streaming north of the border at the rate of thousands every hour. If we don't act fast, Scotland will be choked with Scotsmen...
She: Ooh!...
(Zoom in on her face. Cut to as many bearded Scotsmen as possible, hurtling through wood in fast motion. Follow than, ending up with skyline shot as per 'Seventh Seal'. They all still have the arm outstretched in front of them and as always they are accompanied by bagpipe music. Shot of border with large notice: 'Scotland Welcomes You'.)
American Voice: Soon Scotland was full of Scotsmen. The over-crowding was pitiful.
(They all dash across harder and then stop abruptly once they're ever. They stand around looking lost.)
American Voice: Three men to a caber.
(Cut to three Scotsmen tossing one caber. Cut to Scots wife in bed with bearded husband. Pull back to reveal five other Scotsmen in the bed. Short but brilliant piece of animation from T. Gilliam to show England emptying of people and Scotland filling up, ending with a till sound and a till sign coming up out of England reading: 'Empty'. Track into England. Film of a deserted street. Wind, a dog sniffing, newspaper blowing along street. Close-up sign on shop doom 'Gone to lunch' ( lunch is actually crossed out) Scotland'. Close-up another sign on a shop door.' 'McClosed'. Shop sign: McWoolworths & Co '.)
American Voice: For the few who remained, life was increasingly difficult.
(Man suddenly folds up newspaper and runs round comer. Re-emerges driving bus. Drives it halfway to stop and then leaps out with bus still moving. Runs to stop, and puts out hand. Bus stops. He leaps on, rings bell, runs round to front and drives the bus off again. As bus drives out of. flame we just see a couple of Scotsmen flashing past camera with arms outstretched. Pan slowly round empty football stadium. Eventually we pick up a solitary spectator, halfway up and halfway along in stand opposite where the players come out. He suddenly leaps to his feet cheering. Cut to players' tunnel and one player emerging and a referee with ball. They kick off. Player goes straight down field and scores.
Spectator disappointed.
A quick shot of flying saucer again.
Studio. the laboratory again. Charles is looking through microscope, when the door flies open and she bursts in.)
She: Charles! Thank goodness I've found you! It's mummy!
Charles: Hello mummy.
She: No, no, mummy's turned into a Scotsman...
Charles: Oh how horrible... Will they stop at nothing?
She: I don't know - do you think they will?
Charles: I meant that rhetorically.
She: What does rhetorically mean?
Charles: It means, I didn't expect an answer.
She: Oh I see. Oh, you're so clever, Charles.
Charles: Did mummy say anything as she changed?
She: (with an air of tremendous revelation) Yes! she did, now you come to mention it
(A long pause as he waits expectantly.)
Charles: Well, what was it?
She: Oh, she said ... 'Them!' (thrilling chord of jangling music and quick zoom into her face) Is there someone at the door?
Charles: No ... It's just the incidental music for this scene.
She: Oh I see...
Charles: 'Them' ... Wait a minute!
She: A whole minute?
Charles: No, I meant that metaphorically ... 'Them' ... 'Them' ... She was obviously referring to the people who turned her into a Scotsman. If only we knew who 'They' were ... And why 'They' were doing it... Who are 'Them'?
(Crashing chord... cut to a small still of a Scottish crofier's cottage on a lonely moor. Slow zoom in on the cottage.)
American Voice: Then suddenly a clue turned up in Scotland. Mr Angus Podgorny, owner of a Dunbar menswear shop, received an order for 48,000,000 'kilts from the planet Skyron in the Galaxy of Andromeda.
(Mix to interior of highland mens wear shop. An elderly Scottish couple are poring over a letter which they have on the counter. Oil lamps etc.)
Mrs Podgorny: Angus how are y'going to get 48,000,000 kilts into the van?
Angus: I'll have t'do it in two goes.
Mrs Podgorny: D'you not ken that the Galaxy of Andromeda is two million, two hundred thousand light years away?
Angus: Is that so?
Mrs Podgorny: Aye ... and you've never been further than Berwick-on-Tweed...
Angus: Aye ... but think o' the money dear ... £18.10.0d a kilt ...that's ... (calculates with abacus) £900,000,000 - and that's without sporrans!
Mrs Podgorny: Aye ... I think you ought not to go, Angus.
Angus: (with visionary look in his eyes) Aye ... we'd be able to afford writing paper with our names on it... We'd be able to buy that extension to the toilet...
Mrs Podgorny: Aye . . but he hasn't signed the order yet, has he?
Angus: Who?
Mrs Podgorny: Ach ... the man from Andromeda.
Angus: Och ... well ... he wasna really a man, d'you ken ...
(Creepy music starts to edge in.)
Mrs Podgorny: (narrowing eyes) Not really a man?
Angus: (sweating as the music rises) He was as strange a thing as ever I saw, or ever I hope to see, God willing. He was a strange unearthly creature - a quivering, glistening mass...
Mrs Podgorny: Angus Podgorny, what do y'mean?
Angus: He wasna so much a man as... a blancmange!
(Jarring chord.)
(Police station: a police sergeant is talking ova the counter to a girl dressed in a short frilly tennis dress. She holds a racquet and tennis balls.)
Sergeant: A blancmange, eh?
Girl: Yes, that's fight. I was just having a game of doubles with Sandra and Jocasta, Alec and David...
Sergeant: Hang on!
Girl: What?
Sergeant: There's five.
Girl: What?
Sergeant: Five people . . . how do you play doubles with five people?
Girl: Ah, well ... we were...
Sergeant: Sounds a bit funny if you ask me ... playing doubles with five people...
Girl: Well we often play like that... Jocasta plays on the side receiving service...
Sergeant: Oh yes?
Girl: Yes. It helps to speed the game up and make it a lot faster, and it means Jocasta isn't left out.
Sergeant: Look, are you asking me to believe that the five of you was playing doubles, when on the very next court there was a blancmange playing by itself?.
Girl: That's right, yes.
Sergeant: Well answer me this then - why didn't Jocasta play the blancmange at singles, while you and Sandra and Alec and David had a proper game of doubles with four people?
Girl: Because Jocasta always plays with us. She's a friend of ours.
Sergeant: Call that friendship? Messing up a perfectly good game of doubles?
Girl: It's not messing it up, officer, we like to play with five.
Sergeant: Look it's your affair if you want to play with five people ... but don't go calling it doubles. Look at Wimbledon, fight? If Fred Stolle and Tony Roche played Charlie Pasarell and Cliff Drysdale and Peaches Bartcowitz... they wouldn't go calling it doubles.
Girl: But what about the blancmange?
Sergeant: That could play Ann Haydon-Jones and her husband Pip.
(Cut back to Podgorny's shop. He and his wife are frozen in the positions in which we left them. They pick up the conversation as if nothing had happened.)
Mrs Podgorny: Oh, a blancmange gave you an order for 48,000,000 kilts?
Angus: Aye!
Mrs Podgorny: And you believed it?
Angus: Aye, I did.
Mrs Podgorny: Och, you're a stupid man, Angus Podgorny.
Angus: (getting a little angry) Oh look woman, how many kilts did we sell last year? Nine and a half, that's all. So when I get an order for 48,000,000, I believe it - you bet I believe it.
Mrs Podgorny: Even if it's from a blancmange?
Angus: Och, woman, if a blancmange is prepared to come 2,200,000 light years to purchase a kilt, they must be fairly keen on kilts. So cease yer prattling woman and get sewing. This could be the biggest breakthrough in kilts since the Provost of Edinburgh sat on a spike. Mary, we'll be rich! We'll be rich!
Mrs Podgorny: Oh, but Angus... he hasna given you an earnest of his good faith!
Angus: Ah mebbe not but he has gi' me this... (brings out piece of folded paper from sporran)
Mrs Podgorny: What is it now?
Angus: An entry form for the British Open Tennis Championships at Wimbledon Toon ... signed and seconded.
Mrs Podgorny: Och, but Angus:, ye ken full well that Scots folk dinna know how to play the tennis to save their lives.
Angus: Aye, but I must go though dear, I dinna want to seem ungrateful.
Mrs Podgorny: Ach! Angus, I wilna let you make a fool o'yoursel'.
Angus: But I must.
Mrs Podgorny: Och, no you'll not ...
( Close-up on Angus.)
Angus: Oh, Mary... (suddenly we hear a strange creaking and a slurping noise; a look of horror comes into his eyes) Oh, oh, Mary! Look out! Look out!
(Big close-up of Mrs Podgorny's eyes starting out from head.)
Mrs Podgorny: Urrgh. It's the blancmange. (Blur focus. Cut to a desk for police spokesman. A peaked-capped policeman sits there, reading 'The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire' by Googie Withers. He lowers book and talks chattily to camera.)
Policeman: Oh, now this is where Mr Podgorny could have saved his wife's life. If he'd gone to the police and told them that he'd been approached by unearthly beings from the Galaxy of Andromeda, we'd have sent a man round to investigate. As it was he did a deal with a blancmange, and the blancmange ate his wife. So if you're going out, or going on holiday, or anything strange happens involving other galaxies, just nip round to your local police station, and tell the sergeant on duty - or his wife - of your suspicions. And the same goes for dogs. So I'm sorry to have interrupted your exciting science fiction story ... but, then, crime's our business you know. So carry on viewing, and my thanks to the BBC for allowing me to have this little chat with you. Goodnight. God bless, look after yourselves.
(He is hit on the head by knight in suit of armour with raw, chicken. Cut to CID office: a plainclothes detective is sitting in his office. Podgorny is sobbing.)
Detective: (softly and understandingly) Do sit down, Mr Podgorny... I... I ... think what's happened is ... terribly ... terribly... funny .... tragic. But you must understand that we have to catch the creature that ate your wife, and if you could help us answer a few questions, we may be able to help save a few lives. I know this is the way your wife would have wanted it.
(He is sitting on the desk next to Podgomy. Podgomy with superhuman control makes a great effort to stop sobbing.)
Angus: Aye ... I'll ... do ... my best, sergeant.
Detective: (slapping Podgorny) Detective Inspector!
Angus: Er, detective inspector.
Detective: (getting up and talking sharply and fast) Now then. The facts are these. You received an order for 48,000,000 kilts from a blancmange from the planet Skyron in the Galaxy of Andromeda ... you'd just shown your wife an entry form for Wimbledon, which you'd filled in... when you turned round and saw her legs disappearing into a blancmange. Is that correct?
Angus: Yes, sir.
Detective: Are you mad?
Angus: No, sir.
Detective: Well that's a relief. 'Cos if you were, your story would be less plausible. (detective brings out photograph of blancmange) Now then, do you recognize this?
Angus: (with a squeak of fear) Oh yes. That's the one that ate my Mary!
Detective: Good. His name's Riley... Jack Riley... He's that most rare of criminals ... a blancmange impersonator and cannibal.
Angus: But what about the 48,000,000 kilts and the Galaxy of Andromeda?
Detective: I'm afraid that's just one of his stories. You must understand that a blancmange impersonator and cannibal has to use some pretty clever stories to allay suspicion.
Angus: Then you mean...
Detective: Yes.
Angus: But...
Detective: How?
Angus: Yes.
Detective: Well...
Angus: Not?
Detective: I'm afraid so.
Angus: Why?
Detective: Who knows?
Angus: Do you think?
Detective: Could be.
Angus: But...
Detective: I know.
Angus: She was...
Detective: Yes.
(Suddenly, we hear a strange noise. Angus Iooks frightened. Detective narrows his eyes and walks over to the door.)
Detective: Good lord what's that? (he opens the door and we get a close-up of his staring .eyes) Ah, Riley! Come to give yourself up have you, Riley? (with sudden fear) Eh Riley? Riley! Riley! It's not Riley!
(Eating noises. He is dragged out of camera shot. Refocus on Angus ... he averts his ryes as we hear the detective inspector off-screen.)
Detective: It's an extra-terrestial being! Agggh!
(Jarring chord: Angus shuts his eyes. Cut back to laboratory: she is sitting suggestively on a stool. He is pacing up and down looking intense.)
Charles: So, everyone in England is being turned into Scotsmen, right?
She: Yes.
Charles: Now, which is the wont tennis-playing nation in the world?
She: Er ... Australia.
Charles: No. Try again.
She: Australia?
Charles: (testily) No... try again but say a different place.
She: Oh, I thought you meant I'd said it badly.
Charles: No, course you didn't say it badly. Now hurry.
She: Er, Czechoslovakia.
Charles: No! Scotland!
She: Of course.
Charles: Now ... now these blancmanges, apart from the one that killed
Mrs Podgorny:, have all appeared in which London suburb?
She: Finchley?
Charles: No. Wimbledon ... Now do you begin to see the pattern? With what sport is Wimbledon commonly associated?
(She is thinking really hard.)
Norman Hackforth: (off-screen) For viewers at home, the answer is coming up on your screens. Those of you who wish to play it the hard way, stand upside down with your head in a bucket of piranha fish. Here is the question once again.
Charles: With what sport is Wimbledon commonly associated?
(SUPERIMPOSED CAPTION: 'TENNIS')
She: Cricket.
Charles: No.
Charles: No. Wimbledon is most commonly associated with tennis.
She: Of course! Now I see!
Charles: Yes, it all falls into place!
She: 'l'he blancmangcs are really Australians trying to get the rights of the pelote rules from the Czech publishers!
Charles: (heavily) No ... not quite ... but, er, just look in here.
(He indicates microscope. As she eagerly bends to look into it he picks up a sock filled with sand and without looking strikes her casually over the head with it. She collapses out of sight under desk. He continues to think out loud.)
Charles: Yes. So these blancmanges, blancmange-shaped creatures come from the planet Skyron in the Galaxy of Andromeda. They order 48,000,000 kilts from a Scottish menswear shop ... turn the population of England into Scotsmen (well known as the worst tennis-playing nation on Earth) thus leaving England empty during Wimbledon fortnight! Empty during Wimbledon fortnight ... what's more the papers are full of reports of blancmanges appearing on tennis courts up and down the country - practising. This can only mean one thing!
(Flash up caption quickly:)
Voice Over: and caption on sceeen : 'THEY MEAN TO WIN WIMBLEDON'
Charles: They mean to win Wimbledon. Jarring chord.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Cut to-----------------------------------------
Commentator: Well, here at Wimbledon, it's been a most extraordinary week's tennis. The blancmanges have swept the board, winning match after match. Here are just a few of the results: Billie-Jean King eaten in straight sets, Laver smothered whole after winning the first set, and Poncho Gonzales, serving as well as I've never seen him, with some superb volleys and decisive return volleys off the back hand, was sucked through the net at match point and swallowed whole in just under two minutes. And so, here on the final day, there seems to be no players left to challenge the blancmanges. And this could be their undoing, Dan: as the rules of Wimbledon state quite clearly that there must be at least one human being concerned in the final. (we see a three-foot- high blancmange being shepherded onto a tennis court by a Scotsman) Well the blancmange is coming out onto the pitch now, and (suddenly exalted) there is a human with it It's Angus Podgorny! The plucky little Scottish tailor ... upon whom everything depends. And so it's Podgorny versus blancmange in this first ever Intergalactic Wimbledon!
(Cut to the centre court at Wimbledon or fi we can't get it, number one will do. Blancmange and Podgorny on opposite sides net. Another blancmange sitting in umpire's chair. Blancmange serves... a real sizzling ace. Podgorny, who in any case is quivering with fear, doesn 't see it.)
Commentator's Voice: And it's blancmange to serve and it's a good one.
Blancmange Umpire: Blurb blurble blurb.
Voice Over: Fifteen love.
(Blancmange serves again, and again Podgorny misses hopelessly and pathetically. Collage of speeded-up versions of blancmange sewing and Podgorny missing. Cut to scoreboard:
BLANCMANGE.' 4O
PODGORNY: O
Cut back to the court. Podgorny is serving and each time he fails to hit the ball altogether.)
Commentator's Voice: And Podgorny fails to even hit the ball ... but this is no surprise as he hasn't hit the ball once throughout this match. So it's 72 match points to the blancmange now... Podgorny prepares to serve again.
(Podgorny fails to serve and we see the scoreboard:)
BLANCMANGE: 6 6 5 40
PODGORNY: 0 0
Commentator's Voice: This is indeed a grim day for the human race, Dan.
(Just as Podgorny is about to serve we see Mr and Mrs Brainsample jump onto the court brandishing forks and spoons and with napkins tucked into their necks.)
Commentator's Voice: But what's this? Two spectators have rushed onto the pitch with spoons and forks... what are they going to do?
(Cut to laboratory.)
Charles: They mean to eat the blancmange.
(The girl pulls herself up from where she was slumped by microscope. He knocks her out again with a sand-filled sock. Cut back to Wimbledon. Mr and Mrs Brainsample chasing blancmange and eating it.)
Commentator's Voice: And they're eating the blancmange ... Yes! The blancmange is leaving the court... it's abandoning the game! This is fantastic!
(Cut to Mr and Mrs Brainsample covered in bits of blancmange and licking their fingers.)
American Voice: Yes it was Mr and Mrs Samuel Brainsample, who, after only a brief and misleadling appearance in the early part of the film, returned to save the Earth ... but why?
Mr Brainsample: Oh, well you see we love blancmanges. My wife makes them.
American Voice: She makes blancmanages that size?
Mr Brainsample: Oh, yes. You see we're from the planet Skyron in the Galaxy of Andromeda, and they're all that size there. We tried to tell you at the beginning of the film but you just panned off us.
(Cut back to Podgorny on court still trying to serve; at last he makes contact and runs backward and forward to receive his own services.)
American Voice: So the world was saved! And Angus Podgomy became the first Scotsman to win Wimbledon... fifteen years later.
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a broken fan belt and a leaky tire.
-
Metal-Demon
- Giantfriend
- Posts: 353
- Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2004 6:55 pm
- Location: Regina, Saskatchewan, CANADA
Of course is one, true RUSH ... I'm a Canadian aren't I? By the way ... who is Rush Limbaugh??Kymbierlee wrote:Please tell me that is Rush as in Geddy Lee, Alex Lifeson and Neil Peart and not Rush as in Limbaugh....By the way- I like that skit, too.
-- I've learnt everything I need to know about life just by listening to RUSH --
-
Kymbierlee
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 624
- Joined: Sun Nov 14, 2004 11:11 pm
- Location: Pennsylvania, USA
- Contact:
If you really don't know, I am so gald to meet you...............Canada must be wonderful. Rush Limbaugh is the conservative voice of American Talk Radio. He is a blustering, bigmouthed, ill-informed pig, who sees fit to sit back and pass judgemeet on anyone who disagrees with him. That's enough said about him- my skin is starting to crawl.
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a broken fan belt and a leaky tire.
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Alynna Lis Eachann
- Lord
- Posts: 3060
- Joined: Wed Mar 20, 2002 8:23 pm
- Location: Maryland, my Maryland
ROTFLMAO!Kymbierlee wrote:Man Turns Into a ScotsMan/Blancmanges Playing Tennis
Thnaks for posting that. My absolute favorite!
"We probably could have saved ourselves, but we were too damned lazy to try very hard... and too damn cheap." - Kurt Vonnegut
"Now if you remember all great paintings have an element of tragedy to them. Uh, for instance if you remember from last week, the unicorn was stuck on the aircraft carrier and couldn't get off. That was very sad. " - Kids in the Hall
"Now if you remember all great paintings have an element of tragedy to them. Uh, for instance if you remember from last week, the unicorn was stuck on the aircraft carrier and couldn't get off. That was very sad. " - Kids in the Hall
-
Kymbierlee
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 624
- Joined: Sun Nov 14, 2004 11:11 pm
- Location: Pennsylvania, USA
- Contact:
-
Kymbierlee
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 624
- Joined: Sun Nov 14, 2004 11:11 pm
- Location: Pennsylvania, USA
- Contact:
I had to post this- the thread is dying. This should liven it up a bit!
Inspector Flying Fox of the Yard
The cast:
INSPECTOR FOX
Graham Chapman
MAN
Michael Palin
SPREADERS
Terry Jones
INSPECTOR GAZELLE
Eric Idle
POLICEMAN
John Cleese
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sketch:
(This sketch continues from - Hitting on the Head Lessons. We see Detective Inspector Fox enter the room.)
Inspector Fox: Right. Hold it there.
Man and Spreaders: What?
Inspector Fox: Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Inspector Fox of the Light Entertainment Police, Comedy Division, Special Flying Squad.
Man and Spreaders: Flying Fox of the Yard.
Inspector Fox: Shut up! (he hits the man with a truncheon)
Man: Ooooh?
Spreaders: No, no, no - Waagh!
Inspector Fox: And you. (he hits Spreaders)
Spreaders: Waagh!
Inspector Fox: He's good! You could learn a thing or two from him. Right now you two me old beauties, you are nicked.
Man: What for?
Inspector Fox: I'm charging you two under Section 21 of the Strange Sketch Act.
Man: The what?
Inspector Fox: You are hereby charged that you did willfully take part in a strange sketch, that is, a skit, spoof or humorous vignette of an unconventional nature with intent to cause grievous mental confusion to the Great British Public. (to camera) Evening all.
Spreaders: It's a fair cop.
Inspector Fox: And you tosh. (.hits the man)
Man: WAAAGH!
Inspector Fox: That's excellent! Right, come on down the Yard.
(Another inspector arrives.)
Inspector Gazelle: Hold it. Hold it. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Inspector Thompson's Gazelle of the Programme Planning Police, Light Entertainment Division, Special Flying Squad.
Inspector Fox: Flying Thompson's Gazelle of the Yard!
Inspector Gazelle: Shut up! (he hits him)
Inspector Fox: Waaaagh!
Spreaders: He's good.
Inspector Gazelle: Shut up! (hits Spreaders)
Spreaders: WAAGH!
Man: Rotten. (he gets hit) WAAAGH!
Inspector: Good. Now I'm 'arrestin' this entire show on three counts: one, acts of self-conscious behaviour contrary to the 'Not in front of the children' Act, two, always saying 'It's so and so of the Yard' every time the fuzz arrives and, three, and this is the cruncher, offences against the 'Getting out of sketches without using a proper punchline' Act, four, namely, simply ending every bleedin' sketch by just having a policeman come in and... wait a minute.
(Another policeman enters.)
Policeman: Hold it. (puts his hand on Inspector Thompson's Gazelle's shoulder)
Inspector: It's a fair cop.
(A large hairy hand appears through the door and claps him on the shoulder.)
CAPTION: 'THE END'
(Cut to BBC world symbol.)
Announcer's Voice: And now on BBC 1, one more minute of Monty Python's Flying Circus.
Inspector Flying Fox of the Yard
The cast:
INSPECTOR FOX
Graham Chapman
MAN
Michael Palin
SPREADERS
Terry Jones
INSPECTOR GAZELLE
Eric Idle
POLICEMAN
John Cleese
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sketch:
(This sketch continues from - Hitting on the Head Lessons. We see Detective Inspector Fox enter the room.)
Inspector Fox: Right. Hold it there.
Man and Spreaders: What?
Inspector Fox: Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Inspector Fox of the Light Entertainment Police, Comedy Division, Special Flying Squad.
Man and Spreaders: Flying Fox of the Yard.
Inspector Fox: Shut up! (he hits the man with a truncheon)
Man: Ooooh?
Spreaders: No, no, no - Waagh!
Inspector Fox: And you. (he hits Spreaders)
Spreaders: Waagh!
Inspector Fox: He's good! You could learn a thing or two from him. Right now you two me old beauties, you are nicked.
Man: What for?
Inspector Fox: I'm charging you two under Section 21 of the Strange Sketch Act.
Man: The what?
Inspector Fox: You are hereby charged that you did willfully take part in a strange sketch, that is, a skit, spoof or humorous vignette of an unconventional nature with intent to cause grievous mental confusion to the Great British Public. (to camera) Evening all.
Spreaders: It's a fair cop.
Inspector Fox: And you tosh. (.hits the man)
Man: WAAAGH!
Inspector Fox: That's excellent! Right, come on down the Yard.
(Another inspector arrives.)
Inspector Gazelle: Hold it. Hold it. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Inspector Thompson's Gazelle of the Programme Planning Police, Light Entertainment Division, Special Flying Squad.
Inspector Fox: Flying Thompson's Gazelle of the Yard!
Inspector Gazelle: Shut up! (he hits him)
Inspector Fox: Waaaagh!
Spreaders: He's good.
Inspector Gazelle: Shut up! (hits Spreaders)
Spreaders: WAAGH!
Man: Rotten. (he gets hit) WAAAGH!
Inspector: Good. Now I'm 'arrestin' this entire show on three counts: one, acts of self-conscious behaviour contrary to the 'Not in front of the children' Act, two, always saying 'It's so and so of the Yard' every time the fuzz arrives and, three, and this is the cruncher, offences against the 'Getting out of sketches without using a proper punchline' Act, four, namely, simply ending every bleedin' sketch by just having a policeman come in and... wait a minute.
(Another policeman enters.)
Policeman: Hold it. (puts his hand on Inspector Thompson's Gazelle's shoulder)
Inspector: It's a fair cop.
(A large hairy hand appears through the door and claps him on the shoulder.)
CAPTION: 'THE END'
(Cut to BBC world symbol.)
Announcer's Voice: And now on BBC 1, one more minute of Monty Python's Flying Circus.
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a broken fan belt and a leaky tire.
-
Kymbierlee
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 624
- Joined: Sun Nov 14, 2004 11:11 pm
- Location: Pennsylvania, USA
- Contact:
Missing this thread so here goes.......
It's the Arts
(Interview with Sir Edward Ross)
Announcer: Good evening and welcome to another edition of It's the Arts. And we kick off this evening with Cinema.
Host: Good evening. One of the most prolific film directors of this age, or indeed of any age, is Sir Edward Ross, back in his native country for the first time for five years to open a season of his works at the National Film Theatre, and we are indeed fortunate to have him with us in this studio tonight.
Ross: Good evening.
Host: Edward... you don't mind if I call you Edward?
Ross: No, not at all.
Host: Because it does worry some people - I don't know why - but they are a little sensitive so I take the precaution of asking on these occasions.
Ross: No, that's fine.
Host: So Edward's all right. Splendid. I'm sorry to have brought it up.
Ross: No, no, please. Edward it is.
Host: Well thank you very much for being so helpful. And it's more than my job's worth to, er...
Ross: Yes, quite.
Host: Makes it rather difficult to establish a rapport - put the other person at his ease...
Ross: Quite.
Host: Silly little point but it does seem to matter. Still, er, least said the better. Ted, when you first started you... I hope you don't mind if I call you Ted, er, I mean as opposed to Edward?
Ross: No, no, everyone calls me Ted.
Host: Well of course it's shorter, isn't it.
Ross: Yes it is.
Host: And much less formal!
Ross: Yes, Ted, Edward or anything!
Host: Thank you. Um, incidentally, do call me Tom. I don't want you bothering with this 'Thomas' nonsense! Ha ha ha ha! Now where were we? Ah yes. Eddie Baby, when you first started in the...
Ross: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but I don't like being called "Eddie Baby".
Host: What?
Ross: I don't like being called "Eddie Baby".
Host: (pause) Did I call you "Eddie Baby"?
Ross: Yes, you did! Now if you could get on with the interview...
Host: I don't think I did call you "Eddie Baby".
Ross: You did!
Host: Did I call him "Eddie Baby"?
(Audience murmurs of 'yes' etc.)
Host: I didn't really call you "Eddie Baby", did I, sweetie?
Ross: Don't call me "sweetie"!
Host: Can I call you "sugar plum"?
Ross: No.
Host: "Pussycat"?
Ross: No!
Host: "Angel drawers"?
Ross: No you may not! Get on with it!
Host: Can I call you "Frank"?
Ross: (suspiciously) Why "Frank"?
Host: It's a nice name. Richard Nixon's got a hedgehog called Frank.
Ross: What IS going on?
Host: Now Frank -- Fran -- Frannie -- little Frannie-pooh...
Ross: No. I'm leaving. I'm off. I'm going. I've never... (exits)
Host: (loudly) Tell us about your latest film, Sir Edward.
Ross: (nearly offstage) What?
Host: Tell us about your latest film, Sir Edward, if you'd be so very kind.
Ross: None of this "Pussycat" nonsense?
Host: Promise. (Pats seat next to him.) Please, Sir Edward.
Ross: My latest film?
Host: Yes, Sir Edward.
Ross: Well the idea, funnily enough, is based on an idea I had when I first joined the industry in 1919. Of course, in those days I was only the tea boy and...
Host: Oh shut up!
It's the Arts
(Interview with Sir Edward Ross)
Announcer: Good evening and welcome to another edition of It's the Arts. And we kick off this evening with Cinema.
Host: Good evening. One of the most prolific film directors of this age, or indeed of any age, is Sir Edward Ross, back in his native country for the first time for five years to open a season of his works at the National Film Theatre, and we are indeed fortunate to have him with us in this studio tonight.
Ross: Good evening.
Host: Edward... you don't mind if I call you Edward?
Ross: No, not at all.
Host: Because it does worry some people - I don't know why - but they are a little sensitive so I take the precaution of asking on these occasions.
Ross: No, that's fine.
Host: So Edward's all right. Splendid. I'm sorry to have brought it up.
Ross: No, no, please. Edward it is.
Host: Well thank you very much for being so helpful. And it's more than my job's worth to, er...
Ross: Yes, quite.
Host: Makes it rather difficult to establish a rapport - put the other person at his ease...
Ross: Quite.
Host: Silly little point but it does seem to matter. Still, er, least said the better. Ted, when you first started you... I hope you don't mind if I call you Ted, er, I mean as opposed to Edward?
Ross: No, no, everyone calls me Ted.
Host: Well of course it's shorter, isn't it.
Ross: Yes it is.
Host: And much less formal!
Ross: Yes, Ted, Edward or anything!
Host: Thank you. Um, incidentally, do call me Tom. I don't want you bothering with this 'Thomas' nonsense! Ha ha ha ha! Now where were we? Ah yes. Eddie Baby, when you first started in the...
Ross: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but I don't like being called "Eddie Baby".
Host: What?
Ross: I don't like being called "Eddie Baby".
Host: (pause) Did I call you "Eddie Baby"?
Ross: Yes, you did! Now if you could get on with the interview...
Host: I don't think I did call you "Eddie Baby".
Ross: You did!
Host: Did I call him "Eddie Baby"?
(Audience murmurs of 'yes' etc.)
Host: I didn't really call you "Eddie Baby", did I, sweetie?
Ross: Don't call me "sweetie"!
Host: Can I call you "sugar plum"?
Ross: No.
Host: "Pussycat"?
Ross: No!
Host: "Angel drawers"?
Ross: No you may not! Get on with it!
Host: Can I call you "Frank"?
Ross: (suspiciously) Why "Frank"?
Host: It's a nice name. Richard Nixon's got a hedgehog called Frank.
Ross: What IS going on?
Host: Now Frank -- Fran -- Frannie -- little Frannie-pooh...
Ross: No. I'm leaving. I'm off. I'm going. I've never... (exits)
Host: (loudly) Tell us about your latest film, Sir Edward.
Ross: (nearly offstage) What?
Host: Tell us about your latest film, Sir Edward, if you'd be so very kind.
Ross: None of this "Pussycat" nonsense?
Host: Promise. (Pats seat next to him.) Please, Sir Edward.
Ross: My latest film?
Host: Yes, Sir Edward.
Ross: Well the idea, funnily enough, is based on an idea I had when I first joined the industry in 1919. Of course, in those days I was only the tea boy and...
Host: Oh shut up!
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a broken fan belt and a leaky tire.
What would you do if you were attacked by a banana?(Don't let this out but from about the ages of 19-22 I did a lot of lefthanded cig smoking,watching Python,George Carlin,listening to The Dead and eating cheetos)and although I consider them unproductive years,I by no means consider them wasted years
"And now for something completely different".
-
Gadget nee Jemcheeta
- The Gap Into Spam
- Posts: 2040
- Joined: Wed Oct 06, 2004 2:05 pm
- Location: Cleveland
-
Kymbierlee
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 624
- Joined: Sun Nov 14, 2004 11:11 pm
- Location: Pennsylvania, USA
- Contact:
Bump, cause I miss it.
And The Esmer will probably enjoy it.
And I saw Spamalot on Broadway, and it ROCKED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
In honor of that, here is a classic:
We're knights of the round table
We dance whene'er we're able
We do routines and chorus scenes
With footwork impeccable.
We dine well here in Camelot
We eat ham and jam and spam a lot.
We're knights of the Round Table
Our shows are formidable
But many times
We're given rhymes
That are quite unsingable
We're opera mad in Camelot
We sing from the diaphragm a loooooooooooooooot.
Booming basses. A routine where XYLOPHONISTS play parts of KNIGHTS'
armour producing a pleasing effect. Someone steps on a stoat. A
prisoner in manacles claps along. It is all very silly.
In war we're tough and able.
Quite indefatigable
Between our quests
We sequin vests
And impersonate Clark Gable
It's a busy life in Camelot.
I have to push the pram a lot.
ARTHUR
No, on second thought, let's not go to Camelot. It is a silly place.
HAHAHAHA! I still crack up whenever I hear it!
Kym
And The Esmer will probably enjoy it.
And I saw Spamalot on Broadway, and it ROCKED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
In honor of that, here is a classic:
We're knights of the round table
We dance whene'er we're able
We do routines and chorus scenes
With footwork impeccable.
We dine well here in Camelot
We eat ham and jam and spam a lot.
We're knights of the Round Table
Our shows are formidable
But many times
We're given rhymes
That are quite unsingable
We're opera mad in Camelot
We sing from the diaphragm a loooooooooooooooot.
Booming basses. A routine where XYLOPHONISTS play parts of KNIGHTS'
armour producing a pleasing effect. Someone steps on a stoat. A
prisoner in manacles claps along. It is all very silly.
In war we're tough and able.
Quite indefatigable
Between our quests
We sequin vests
And impersonate Clark Gable
It's a busy life in Camelot.
I have to push the pram a lot.
ARTHUR
No, on second thought, let's not go to Camelot. It is a silly place.
HAHAHAHA! I still crack up whenever I hear it!
Kym
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a broken fan belt and a leaky tire.
-
The Laughing Man
- The Gap Into Spam
- Posts: 9033
- Joined: Sun Aug 28, 2005 4:56 pm
- Location: LMAO
(The Esmer feels flirted with.... )ARTHUR: Well, I am king!
DENNIS: Oh king, eh, very nice. And how d'you get that, eh? By exploiting the workers! By 'anging on to outdated imperialist dogma which perpetuates the economic and social differences in our society. If there's ever going to be any progress with the--
WOMAN: I didn't know we had a king. I thought we were an autonomous collective.
DENNIS: You're fooling yourself. We're living in a dictatorship. A self-perpetuating autocracy in which the working classes--
DENNIS: I told you. We're an anarcho-syndicalist commune. We take it in turns to act as a sort of executive officer for the week. But all the decision of that officer have to be ratified at a special bi-weekly meeting-- By a simple majority in the case of purely internal affairs,-- But by a two-thirds majority in the case of more major--
WOMAN: Well, how did you become king then?
ARTHUR: The Lady of the Lake,... [angels sing] ...her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite, held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water signifying by Divine Providence that I, Arthur, was to carry Excalibur. [singing stops] That is why I am your king!
DENNIS: Listen, strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.
ARTHUR: Be quiet!
DENNIS: Well, but you can't expect to wield supreme executive power just 'cause some watery tart threw a sword at you!
ARTHUR: Shut up!
DENNIS: I mean, if I went 'round saying I was an emperor just because some moistened bint had lobbed a scimitar at me, they'd put me away!
ARTHUR: Shut up, will you. Shut up!
DENNIS: Ah, now we see the violence inherent in the system.
ARTHUR: Shut up!
DENNIS: Oh! Come and see the violence inherent in the system! Help, help! I'm being repressed!
ARTHUR: Bloody peasant!
DENNIS: Oh, what a give-away. Did you hear that? Did you hear that, eh? That's what I'm on about. Did you see him repressing me? You saw it, didn't you?
Arthur tries to enter a castle guarded by French soldiers
ARTHUR: If you will not show us the Grail, we shall take your castle by force!
FRENCH GUARD: You don't frighten us, English pig-dogs! Go and boil your bottom, sons of a silly person. I blow my nose at you, so-called Arthur King, you and all your silly English k-nnnnniggets. Thpppppt! Thppt!Thppt!
GALAHAD: What a strange person.
ARTHUR: Now look here, my good man--
FRENCH GUARD: I don't wanna talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper! I fart in your general direction! You mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!
GALAHAD: Is there someone else up there we could talk to?
FRENCH GUARD: No, now go away or I shall taunt you a second time-a!
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Kymbierlee
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 624
- Joined: Sun Nov 14, 2004 11:11 pm
- Location: Pennsylvania, USA
- Contact:
Esmer- I knew it! What is it about liberals and Monty Python?
"A WITCH, A WITCH!! WE'VE FOUND A WITCH!! BURN HER!!" etc.
Cut to a strangely-dressed knight, SIR BEDEVERE, who attaches a coconut
to a white bird, a European swallow, perhaps, and lets it fly off.
The villagers approach, still screaming. As they reach BEDEVERE the
apparent leader of the bunch steps forward.
FIRST VILLAGER
We have found a witch. May we burn her?
ALL
Burn her! Burn! Burn her! Burn her!
BEDEVERE
How do you know she is a witch?
SECOND VILLAGER
She looks like one!
ALL
Right! Yeah! Yeah!
BEDEVERE (gesturing boredly)
Bring her forward.
As they scream excitedly they drop before BEDEVERE a YOUNG GIRL (Connie)
dressed in some sort of witches' garb. She protests.
WITCH
I am not a witch. I am not a witch!
BEDEVERE
But you are dressed as one.
WITCH (gestures to crowd)
They dressed me up like this.
ALL
We didn't, we didn't!
WITCH
And this isn't my nose, It is a false one.
BEDEVERE grabs her nose. It snaps. It is on a string.
BEDEVERE
Well?
FIRST VILLAGER
... Well, we did do the nose.
BEDEVERE
The nose?
FIRST VILLAGER
And the hat. But she is a witch.
SECOND VILLAGER
Yeah.
ALL
Burn her! Right! Yeah! Yeah!
BEDEVERE
Did you dress her up like this?
FIRST VILLAGER
No!
FIRST, SECOND AND THIRD VILLAGERS
No, no. No. No. No.
FIRST VILLAGER
Yes.
SECOND VILLAGER
Yes.
FIRST VILLAGER
Yes. Yeah, a bit.
FIRST, SECOND, AND THIRD VILLAGERS
A bit, a bit, a bit.
FIRST VILLAGER
She has got a wart.
A cough.
BEDEVERE
What makes you think she is a witch?
THIRD VILLAGER
Oh, she turned me into a newt.
BEDEVERE
A newt?
Silence. The VILLAGER looks around guiltily.
THIRD VILLAGER
I got better.
ALL
Burn her anyway!! Burn her, burn her!!
BEDEVERE
Quiet! Quiet! Quiet! Quiet! There are ways of telling whether
she is a witch.
ARTHUR and PATSY ride up and watch with interest.
ALL
Are there? Ah? What are they? Tell us. Tell us.
BEDEVERE
Tell me ... what do you do with witches?
ALL
Burn! Burn them up! Burn!
BEDEVERE
And what do you burn, apart from witches?
FIRST VILLAGER
More witches!!
Silence. A pause.
SECOND VILLAGER
... Wood?
BEDEVERE
So why do witches burn?
Pause.
THIRD VILLAGER (softly)
... Because they're made of wood...?
BEDEVERE
Good.
The PEASANTS stir uneasily and then come round to this conclusion.
ALL
Oh yeah.
BEDEVERE
So how do we tell whether she is made of wood?
FIRST VILLAGER
Build a bridge out of her!
BEDEVERE
Ah ... but can you not also make bridges out of stone?
ALL
Oh. Yes, of course ... um ...
BEDEVERE
Does wood sink in water?
FIRST VILLAGER
No, no.
SECOND VILLAGER
No, it floats! It floats!
FIRST VILLAGER
Throw her into the pond!
ALL
The pond! Throw her into the pond!
BEDEVERE
What also floats in water?
FIRST VILLAGER
Bread!
SECOND VILLAGER
Apples!
THIRD VILLAGER
Uh, very small rocks! ( I love John Cleese!)
FIRST VILLAGER
Cider!
SECOND VILLAGER
Grea -- Gravy!
FIRST VILLAGER
Cherries!
SECOND VILLAGER
Mud!
THIRD VILLAGER
Uh, churches! Churches!
SECOND VILLAGER
Lead! Lead!
ARTHUR (forcefully, from out of nowhere)
A duck.
They all turn and look at ARTHUR. BEDEVERE looks up very impressed.
BEDEVERE
Exactly. So ... logically ...
FIRST VILLAGER
(He is catching on now)
If she ... weighs the same as a duck ... she's made of wood.
BEDEVERE
And therefore?
ALL
A witch! A witch! ... A duck! Fetch a duck.
BEDEVERE
Very good. We shall use my largest scales.
He leads them a few yards to a very strange contraption indeed, made of
wood and rope and leather. A duck is procured from Mr. Innes. They put
the GIRL in one pan and the duck in another. Each pan is supported by a
wooden stave. BEDEVERE checks each pan then ... ARTHUR looks on with
interest.
BEDEVERE
Right! Remove the supports.
Two PEASANTS knock them away. The GIRL and the duck swing slightly but
balance, to the mob's delight.
ALL
A witch! A witch! A witch!
WITCH
It's a fair cop.
All
Burn her! Burn her! Let's make her into a ladder.
"A WITCH, A WITCH!! WE'VE FOUND A WITCH!! BURN HER!!" etc.
Cut to a strangely-dressed knight, SIR BEDEVERE, who attaches a coconut
to a white bird, a European swallow, perhaps, and lets it fly off.
The villagers approach, still screaming. As they reach BEDEVERE the
apparent leader of the bunch steps forward.
FIRST VILLAGER
We have found a witch. May we burn her?
ALL
Burn her! Burn! Burn her! Burn her!
BEDEVERE
How do you know she is a witch?
SECOND VILLAGER
She looks like one!
ALL
Right! Yeah! Yeah!
BEDEVERE (gesturing boredly)
Bring her forward.
As they scream excitedly they drop before BEDEVERE a YOUNG GIRL (Connie)
dressed in some sort of witches' garb. She protests.
WITCH
I am not a witch. I am not a witch!
BEDEVERE
But you are dressed as one.
WITCH (gestures to crowd)
They dressed me up like this.
ALL
We didn't, we didn't!
WITCH
And this isn't my nose, It is a false one.
BEDEVERE grabs her nose. It snaps. It is on a string.
BEDEVERE
Well?
FIRST VILLAGER
... Well, we did do the nose.
BEDEVERE
The nose?
FIRST VILLAGER
And the hat. But she is a witch.
SECOND VILLAGER
Yeah.
ALL
Burn her! Right! Yeah! Yeah!
BEDEVERE
Did you dress her up like this?
FIRST VILLAGER
No!
FIRST, SECOND AND THIRD VILLAGERS
No, no. No. No. No.
FIRST VILLAGER
Yes.
SECOND VILLAGER
Yes.
FIRST VILLAGER
Yes. Yeah, a bit.
FIRST, SECOND, AND THIRD VILLAGERS
A bit, a bit, a bit.
FIRST VILLAGER
She has got a wart.
A cough.
BEDEVERE
What makes you think she is a witch?
THIRD VILLAGER
Oh, she turned me into a newt.
BEDEVERE
A newt?
Silence. The VILLAGER looks around guiltily.
THIRD VILLAGER
I got better.
ALL
Burn her anyway!! Burn her, burn her!!
BEDEVERE
Quiet! Quiet! Quiet! Quiet! There are ways of telling whether
she is a witch.
ARTHUR and PATSY ride up and watch with interest.
ALL
Are there? Ah? What are they? Tell us. Tell us.
BEDEVERE
Tell me ... what do you do with witches?
ALL
Burn! Burn them up! Burn!
BEDEVERE
And what do you burn, apart from witches?
FIRST VILLAGER
More witches!!
Silence. A pause.
SECOND VILLAGER
... Wood?
BEDEVERE
So why do witches burn?
Pause.
THIRD VILLAGER (softly)
... Because they're made of wood...?
BEDEVERE
Good.
The PEASANTS stir uneasily and then come round to this conclusion.
ALL
Oh yeah.
BEDEVERE
So how do we tell whether she is made of wood?
FIRST VILLAGER
Build a bridge out of her!
BEDEVERE
Ah ... but can you not also make bridges out of stone?
ALL
Oh. Yes, of course ... um ...
BEDEVERE
Does wood sink in water?
FIRST VILLAGER
No, no.
SECOND VILLAGER
No, it floats! It floats!
FIRST VILLAGER
Throw her into the pond!
ALL
The pond! Throw her into the pond!
BEDEVERE
What also floats in water?
FIRST VILLAGER
Bread!
SECOND VILLAGER
Apples!
THIRD VILLAGER
Uh, very small rocks! ( I love John Cleese!)
FIRST VILLAGER
Cider!
SECOND VILLAGER
Grea -- Gravy!
FIRST VILLAGER
Cherries!
SECOND VILLAGER
Mud!
THIRD VILLAGER
Uh, churches! Churches!
SECOND VILLAGER
Lead! Lead!
ARTHUR (forcefully, from out of nowhere)
A duck.
They all turn and look at ARTHUR. BEDEVERE looks up very impressed.
BEDEVERE
Exactly. So ... logically ...
FIRST VILLAGER
(He is catching on now)
If she ... weighs the same as a duck ... she's made of wood.
BEDEVERE
And therefore?
ALL
A witch! A witch! ... A duck! Fetch a duck.
BEDEVERE
Very good. We shall use my largest scales.
He leads them a few yards to a very strange contraption indeed, made of
wood and rope and leather. A duck is procured from Mr. Innes. They put
the GIRL in one pan and the duck in another. Each pan is supported by a
wooden stave. BEDEVERE checks each pan then ... ARTHUR looks on with
interest.
BEDEVERE
Right! Remove the supports.
Two PEASANTS knock them away. The GIRL and the duck swing slightly but
balance, to the mob's delight.
ALL
A witch! A witch! A witch!
WITCH
It's a fair cop.
All
Burn her! Burn her! Let's make her into a ladder.
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a broken fan belt and a leaky tire.
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The Laughing Man
- The Gap Into Spam
- Posts: 9033
- Joined: Sun Aug 28, 2005 4:56 pm
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Kymbierlee
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 624
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- Contact:
You have got to be right. Fist needs to bail in on this discussion. He is a fellow Pythonite. I have to say, that MP always makes me feel good when the world seems to
CENTURION
Only one survivor, sir.
PILATE
Ah. Thwow him to the floor.
CENTURION
What, sir?
PILATE
Thwow him to the floor.
CENTURION
Ah! [Signals Brian be thrown to the floor.]
BRIAN
Aagh!
PILATE
Hmm. Now, what is your name, Jew?
BRIAN
Brian, sir.
PILATE
Bwian, eh?
BRIAN
No, no. Brian. [The centurion whaps him across the head.] Aagh!
PILATE
Hoohoohoohoo. The little wascal has spiwit.
CENTURION
Has what, sir?
PILATE
Spiwit.
CENTURION (half-smiling)
Yes, he did, sir.
PILATE
No, no, spiwit, siw... uh. Bwavado, a touch of dewwing-do.
CENTURION
Oh, Ah... About eleven, sir.
PILATE (confused)
So. You dare to waid us.
BRIAN
To what sir?
PILATE
Stwike him, centuwion, vewwy woughly.
--[The Centurion stwikes him vewwy woughly.]
BRIAN
Waah!
CENTURION
Oh and uh, throw him to the floor, Sir?
PILATE
What?
CENTURION
Thwow him to the floor again, Sir?
PILATE
Oh, yes. Thwow him to the floor please.
BRIAN
Aagh!
PILATE
Now, Jewish wapscallion.
BRIAN
I'm not Jewish, I'm a Roman!
PILATE
A Woman?
BRIAN
No, no, Roman. [WHAP] Aagh!
PILATE
So, your father was a Woman. Who was he?
BRIAN
He was a centurion in the Jerusalem garrison, sir.
PILATE
Weally? What was his name?
BRIAN
Nortius Maximus.
CENTURION
[laughs loudly, but catches himself at the sight of Pilate's stone face.]
PILATE
Centuwion, do we have anyone of that name in the gawwison?
CENTURION
Well no, sir.
PILATE
Well, you sound vewwy sure. Have you checked?
CENTURION
Well no, sir um... I think it's a joke, sir. Like uh... Sillius Soddus,
or... uh, Biggus Dickus, sir.
GUARD 4
(snigger)
PILATE
What's so funny about Biggus Dickus?
CENTURION
Well it's a joke name, sir.
PILATE
I have a vewwy gweat fwiend in Wome called Biggus Dickus.
GUARD 1
(Snigger)
PILATE
Silence! What is all this insolence? You will find youwself in
gladiatow school vewwy quickly with wotten behaviow like that.
BRIAN
Can I go now sir? [WHAP] Aaaagh!
PILATE
Wait till Biggus Dickus heaws of this!
GUARD 4
[snigger]
PILATE
Wight! Take him away!
CENTURION
Oh sir, he -- he only--
PILATE
No no. I want him fighting wabid wild animals within a week.
CENTURION
Yes, sir. Come on, you.
-- [He leads the still-laughing guard away.]
PILATE
I will not have my fwiends widiculed by the common soldiewy.
[his face turns sly] ...Anybody else feel like a little ... giggle... when I
mention my fwiend Biggus ... Dickus?
GUARD 1
[laughs hysterically]
--[He walks up to guard 2, and speaks exadurately to his face.]
PILATE
What about you?! Do you find it wisable, when I say the name... Biggus...
GUARD 2
Parp.
PILATE
... Dickus?
GUARDS 1 AND 2
[sniggering]
--[He then walks around to Guards 3 and 4 (The ones beside Brian).]
PILATE
He has a wife, you know. You know what she's called? She's called
Incontinentia.
--[longish pause]
Incontinentia Buttocks!
--[The Guards just crack up laughing.]
Stop! What is all this? I've had enough of this wowdy webel sniggewing
behaviow. Silence! You call yourself Pwaetonian guawds? You're not...
--[Bwian, sorry, Brian, seizes his chance, and scarpers.]
Seize him! Seize him! Blow your noses and seize him!
--[Brian runs up a tower trying to escape the pursuing Guards. A Builder
sits at he top of it, slowly hammering away in the sun. He drops his hammer,
and slowly walks down the stairs.]
BUILDER
Hmm? Oh. [whistle]. [He passes Brian and the Guards running up in the
opposite direction] Sorry.
--[Brian reaches the top of the tower, and notices too late that it stops,
and he doesn't.]
BRIAN
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.
--[Not at all surprisingly, a spaceship just happens to be passing by at
that time, and Brian just happens to fall into the cockpit
behind two Aliens.]
KLAATU
Aggz.
NIKTO
Rozak kaibak.
suck. Finally- I leave you with this, because I have to go get some work done.......really
CENTURION
Only one survivor, sir.
PILATE
Ah. Thwow him to the floor.
CENTURION
What, sir?
PILATE
Thwow him to the floor.
CENTURION
Ah! [Signals Brian be thrown to the floor.]
BRIAN
Aagh!
PILATE
Hmm. Now, what is your name, Jew?
BRIAN
Brian, sir.
PILATE
Bwian, eh?
BRIAN
No, no. Brian. [The centurion whaps him across the head.] Aagh!
PILATE
Hoohoohoohoo. The little wascal has spiwit.
CENTURION
Has what, sir?
PILATE
Spiwit.
CENTURION (half-smiling)
Yes, he did, sir.
PILATE
No, no, spiwit, siw... uh. Bwavado, a touch of dewwing-do.
CENTURION
Oh, Ah... About eleven, sir.
PILATE (confused)
So. You dare to waid us.
BRIAN
To what sir?
PILATE
Stwike him, centuwion, vewwy woughly.
--[The Centurion stwikes him vewwy woughly.]
BRIAN
Waah!
CENTURION
Oh and uh, throw him to the floor, Sir?
PILATE
What?
CENTURION
Thwow him to the floor again, Sir?
PILATE
Oh, yes. Thwow him to the floor please.
BRIAN
Aagh!
PILATE
Now, Jewish wapscallion.
BRIAN
I'm not Jewish, I'm a Roman!
PILATE
A Woman?
BRIAN
No, no, Roman. [WHAP] Aagh!
PILATE
So, your father was a Woman. Who was he?
BRIAN
He was a centurion in the Jerusalem garrison, sir.
PILATE
Weally? What was his name?
BRIAN
Nortius Maximus.
CENTURION
[laughs loudly, but catches himself at the sight of Pilate's stone face.]
PILATE
Centuwion, do we have anyone of that name in the gawwison?
CENTURION
Well no, sir.
PILATE
Well, you sound vewwy sure. Have you checked?
CENTURION
Well no, sir um... I think it's a joke, sir. Like uh... Sillius Soddus,
or... uh, Biggus Dickus, sir.
GUARD 4
(snigger)
PILATE
What's so funny about Biggus Dickus?
CENTURION
Well it's a joke name, sir.
PILATE
I have a vewwy gweat fwiend in Wome called Biggus Dickus.
GUARD 1
(Snigger)
PILATE
Silence! What is all this insolence? You will find youwself in
gladiatow school vewwy quickly with wotten behaviow like that.
BRIAN
Can I go now sir? [WHAP] Aaaagh!
PILATE
Wait till Biggus Dickus heaws of this!
GUARD 4
[snigger]
PILATE
Wight! Take him away!
CENTURION
Oh sir, he -- he only--
PILATE
No no. I want him fighting wabid wild animals within a week.
CENTURION
Yes, sir. Come on, you.
-- [He leads the still-laughing guard away.]
PILATE
I will not have my fwiends widiculed by the common soldiewy.
[his face turns sly] ...Anybody else feel like a little ... giggle... when I
mention my fwiend Biggus ... Dickus?
GUARD 1
[laughs hysterically]
--[He walks up to guard 2, and speaks exadurately to his face.]
PILATE
What about you?! Do you find it wisable, when I say the name... Biggus...
GUARD 2
Parp.
PILATE
... Dickus?
GUARDS 1 AND 2
[sniggering]
--[He then walks around to Guards 3 and 4 (The ones beside Brian).]
PILATE
He has a wife, you know. You know what she's called? She's called
Incontinentia.
--[longish pause]
Incontinentia Buttocks!
--[The Guards just crack up laughing.]
Stop! What is all this? I've had enough of this wowdy webel sniggewing
behaviow. Silence! You call yourself Pwaetonian guawds? You're not...
--[Bwian, sorry, Brian, seizes his chance, and scarpers.]
Seize him! Seize him! Blow your noses and seize him!
--[Brian runs up a tower trying to escape the pursuing Guards. A Builder
sits at he top of it, slowly hammering away in the sun. He drops his hammer,
and slowly walks down the stairs.]
BUILDER
Hmm? Oh. [whistle]. [He passes Brian and the Guards running up in the
opposite direction] Sorry.
--[Brian reaches the top of the tower, and notices too late that it stops,
and he doesn't.]
BRIAN
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.
--[Not at all surprisingly, a spaceship just happens to be passing by at
that time, and Brian just happens to fall into the cockpit
behind two Aliens.]
KLAATU
Aggz.
NIKTO
Rozak kaibak.
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a broken fan belt and a leaky tire.