And now for something completely different.

[Myste]

Son: (coming in the door) 'Ello Mum. 'Ello Dad.
Klaus: 'Ello son.
S: There's a dead bishop on the landing, dad!
K: Really?
Mum: Where's it from?
S: Waddya mean?
M: What's its diocese?
S: Well, it looked a bit Bath and Wells-ish to me...
K: (getting up and going out the door) I'll go and have a look.
M: I don't know...kids bringin' 'em in here....
S: It's not me!
M: I've got three of 'em down by the bin, and the dustmen won't touch 'em!
K: (coming back in) Leicester.
M: 'Ow d'you know?
K: Tattooed on the back o' the neck. I'll call the police.
M: Shouldn't you call the church?
S: Call the church police!
K: All right. (shouting) The Church Police!

[Cail]

"Someday son, all this will be yours."

"What, the curtains?"

[Kymbierlee]

Dung, sir.
What?
We've got your dung sir.
What dung?
Your dung- threehundredweight of heavy droppings.
I didn't order any dung.
Yes you did. You ordered it through the book of the month club........


Dead Indian. You can put him on top of the dung.
He's not dead.
Oh well, probably a faulty cooker.


LOL! Lovin this!

[Kymbierlee]

LOL, Cail!


No!! No singing!!!!!

[Gadget nee Jemcheeta]

This thread is truly enriching my insanity.

[Kymbierlee]

Jem- No more mystery Science Theater 3000 until you become sensical again! It's pretty bad when on the Monty Python thread you are accused of nonsense

[Kymbierlee]

It is sure helping to save mine.

[Cail]

"F*ck off!!!"

"How shall we f*uck off, Lord?"

[Kymbierlee]

Ah, Ring Kichard, yes... but surely that's not an anagram, that's a spoonerism.

If you're going to split hairs, I'm going to piss off. (Exit)

[Kymbierlee]

Kym, you're a livin' doll!!!


Thanks, Fist- you are pretty OK yourself. (This is where Jem goes back into Mystery Science Theater 3000 mode, I am afraid).

How do you highlight quotes from other people's posts, by the way?

[I'm Murrin]

How do you highlight quotes from other people's posts, by the way?

Either click 'quote' at the top-right of the post, or use the BBCode - in the full reply screen, click on the 'Quote' button to add the code, or you can just type it:
{quote}place quote here{/quote}

(replace { and } with [ and ] )

[Kymbierlee]

Thanks, Murrin!!

[Fist and Faith]

Hmm, something along these lines...

Customer: I'd like to buy an ant.

Store Staff: Yes sir.

C: What do you feed them?

SS: You don't.

C: You don't feed them? How do they live?

SS: They don't. They die.

C: They die?!?

SS: Sure they die, if you don't feed them.

"I would tax all foreigners living abroad."

"I would tax all nudes in my bed. No! Not tax. Uhhhh..... Welcome!"

[Fist and Faith]

(Scene: Large study with maps and photographs on the wall and a large desk at which sits Sir George Head.)

Sir: Next please.

(Bob walks into the room and up to the desk.)

Sir: (looking up) One at a time please.

Bob: There is only me, sir.

Sir: (putting a hand over one eye) So there is. Take a . . .

Bob: Seat?

Sir: Seat! Take a seat. So! (looking over to Bob's right) You want to join my mountaineering expedition do you? (keeps looking off to right)

Bob: (rather uncertain) Me, sir?

Sir: Yes.

Bob: Yes, I'd very much like to, sir.

Sir: Jolly good, jolly good. (he ticks the sheet and then looks straight at Bob) And how about you?

Bob: There is only me, sir.

Sir: (putting hand over eye and looking both at Bob and to Bob's right) Well, bang goes his application then. (he tears up form) Now let me fill you in. I'm leading this expedition and we're going to climb both peaks of Mount Kilimanjaro.

Bob: I thought there was only one peak, sir.

Sir: (getting up, putting one hand over one eye again and going to large map of Africa on wall and peering at it at point-blank range) Well, that'll save a bit of time. Well done. Now the object of this expedition is to see if we can find any traces of last year's expedition.

Bob: Last year's expedition?

Sir: Yes, my brother was leading that, they were going to build a bridge between the two peaks... (pauses to again look at map with one hand over eye) My idea I'm afraid. Now, I ought to tell you that I have practically everyone I need for this expedition ... so what special qualifications do you have?

Bob: Well, sir...

Sir: Yes, you first.

Bob: There is only me, sir.

Sir: (to Bob's right) I wasn't talking to you. (to Bob) Carry on.

Bob: Well I'm a fully qualified mountaineer.

Sir: Mountaineer? Mountaineer... (opens a dictionary) Where the devil are they? "mound..." "mount..." "mountain..." Ah, "mountaineer" - 'two men skilled in climbing mountains'. Jolly good, well you're in. Congratulations, both of you. Well, er, what are your names?

Bob: Arthur Wilson.

Sir: Arthur Wilson, right well look, I'll call you (to Bob) Arthur Wilson one, and you (to Bob's right) Arthur Wilson two, just to avoid confusion.

Bob: Are you actually leading this expedition sir?

Sir: Yes, we are leading this expedition to Africa.

Bob: And what routes will you both be taking?

Sir: Good questions... shall I? Well we'll be leaving on January 22nd and taking the following routes. (goes over to large map, clearly labelled Surrey) The A23s through Purleys down on the main roads near Purbrights avoiding Leatherheads and then taking thc A231s entering Rottingdeans from the North. From Rottingdeans we go through Africa to Nairobis. We take the South road out of Nairobis for about twelve miles and then ask.

Bob: Does anyone speak Swahili, sir?

Sir: Oh, yes, I think most of them do down there.

Bob: Does anyone in our party speak Swahili sir?

Sir: Oh, well Matron's got a smattering.

Bob: Apart from the two Matrons ...

Sir: Good God, I'd forgotten about her.

Bob: Apart from them, who else is coming on the expedition, sir?

Sir: Well we've got the Arthur Brown twins, two botanists called Machin, the William Johnston brothers ...

Bob: Two of them?

Sir: No four of them, a pair of identical twins ... and a couple of the Ken Spinoza quads - the other two pulled out. And of course you two.

Bob: And none of these are mountaineers?

Sir: Well you two are, and we've got a brace of guides called Jimmy Blenkinsop... because Kilimanjaro is a pretty tricky climb you know, most of it's up until you reach the very very top, and then it tends to slope away rather sharply. But Jimmy's put his heads together and worked out a way up. (opens door) Jimmy? (Jimmy walks in wearing full climbing gear) I don't believe you've met. Jimmy Blenkinsop - Arthur Wilson, Arthur Wilson -Jimmy Blenkinsop... Arthur Wilson two -James Blenkinsop one, James Blenkinsop one - Arthur Wilson two. Carry on Jimmies.

Jimmy: (to Bob, reassuring him) Don't worry about the er ... (puts hand over eye) We'll get him up somehow. (Jimmy proceeds to walk round the room clambering over every single piece of available furniture. He doesn't stop talking. Causing a complete wreckage, he clambers over the desk, onto a bookcase and round the room knocking furniture over, meanwhile he is saying..) Now the approach to Kilimanjaro is quite simply over the foothills, and then we go on after that to ... ohh... to set a base camp, somewhere in the region of the bottom of the glacier when... (Jimmy staggers out healong through the door. There are loud crashing noises)

Sir: He'll be leading the first assault.

Bob: Well I'm afraid I shan't be coming on your expedition sir, as I've absolutely no confidence in anyone involved in it.

(Bob gets up and walks out slamming the door.)

Sir: Oh dear. (pause - look over at other? Bob) Well how about you?

Bob: (sitting in chair at other angle of desk) Well I'm game, sir.

(Cut back to two sirs, double image, split screen.)

Sir: So are we.

[Kymbierlee]

Fist- I forgot all about that one!!!!!!!!!! LOL. You must be an even bigger fan than me.




"No, sorry, sorry...................medical experiments for all of you I'm afraid."

[Fist and Faith]

ANYTHING GOES


Cut to a courtroom in the 1940s. A courtmartial is in progress. An elderly general presides, with two others on either side of him. There is a defence counsel, a prosecutor, a clerk of court, and two men guarding the prisoner.

Presiding General (Terry J.): Sapper Walters, you stand before this court accused of carrying out the war by other than warlike means -- to wit, that you did on April 16th, 1942, dress up as a bag of dainties, flick wet towels at the enemy during an important offensive ...

Walters (Eric): Well, sir ...

Presiding General: Shut up! Colonel Fawcett for the prosecution ...

Fawcett (Michael): Sir, we all know ...

Presiding General: Shut up!

Fawcett: I'm sorry?

Presiding General: Carry on.

Fawcett: Sir, we all know the facts of this case; that Sapper Walters, being in possession of expensive military equipment, to wit one Lee Enfield .303 rifle and 72 round of ammunition, valued at a hundred and forty pounds three shillings and sixpence, chose instead to use wet towels to take an enemy command post in the area of Basingstoke ...

Presiding General: Basingstoke? Basingstoke in Hampshire?

Fawcett: No, no, no, sir, no.

Presiding General: I see, carry on.

Fawcett: The result of his action was that the enemy ...

Presiding General: Basingstoke where?

Fawcett: Basingstoke Westphalia, sir.

Presiding General: Oh I see. Carry on.

Fawcett: The result of Sapper Walters's action was that the enemy received wet patches upon their trousers and in some cases small red strawberry marks upon their thighs ...

Presiding General: I didn't know there was a Basingstoke in Westphalia.

Fawcett: (slightly irritated) It's on the map, sir.

Presiding General: What map?

Fawcett: (more irritably) The map of Westphalia as used by the army, sir.

Presiding General: Well, I've certainly never heard of Basingstoke in Westphalia.

Fawcett: (patiently) It's a municipal borough sir, twenty-seven miles north north east of Southhampton. Its chief manufactures ...

Presiding General: What ... Southhampton in Westphalia?

Fawcett: Yes sir ... bricks ... clothing. Nearby are remains of Basing House, burned down by Cromwell's cavalry in 1645 ...

Presiding General: Who compiled this map?

Fawcett: Cole Porter, sir.

Presiding General: (incredulously) Cole Porter?? Who wrote `Kiss Me Kate'??

Fawcett: No, alas not, sir ... this was Cole Porter who wrote `Anything Goes'. Sir, I shall seek to prove that the man before this court ...

Presiding General: That's the same one! (he sings) 'In olden days a glimpse of stocking ...'

Fawcett: I beg your pardon, sir?

Presiding General: (singing) 'In olden days a glimpse of stocking, was looked on as something shocking, now heaven knows, anything goes ...'

Fawcett: No, this one's different, sir.

Presiding General: How does it go?

Fawcett: What, sir?

Presiding General: How does your `Anything Goes' go?

Walters: Can I go home now?

Presiding General: Shut up! (to Fawcett) Come on!

Fawcett: Sir, really, this is rather ...

Presiding General: Come on, how does your `Anything Goes' go?

Fawcett: (clearing his throat and going into an extraordinary tuneless and very loud song)

Anything goes in.
Anything goes out!
Fish, bananas, old pyjamas,
Mutton! Beef! and Trout!
Anything goes in ...

Presiding General: No, that's not it ... carry on.

Fawcett: With respect sir, I shall seek to prove that the man before you in the dock being in the possession of the following: one pair of army boots, value three pounds seven and six, one pair of serge trousers, value two pounds three and six, one pair of gaiters value sixty-eight pounds ten shillings, one ...

Presiding General: Sixty-eight pounds ten shillings for a pair of gaiters?

Fawcett: (dismissively) They were special gaiters, sir.

Presiding General: Special gaiters?

Fawcett: Yes, sir, they were made in France. One beret costing fourteen shillings, one pair of ...

Presiding General: What was special about them?

Fawcett: Oh ... (as if he can hardly be bothered to reply) they were made of a special fabric, sir. The buckles were made of empire silver instead of brass. The total value of the uniform was there ...

Presiding General: Why was the accused wearing special gaiters?

Fawcett: (irritably) They were a presentation pair, from the regiment. The total value of the uniform ...

Presiding General: Why did they present him with a special pair of gaiters?

Fawcett: Sir, it seems to me totally irrelevant to the case whether the gaiters were presented to him or not, sir.

Presiding General: I think the court will be able to judge that for themselves. I want to knoe why the regiment presented the accused with a special pair of gaiters.

Fawcett: (stifling his impatience) He ... used to do things for them. The total value ...

Presiding General: What things?

Fawcett: (exasperated) He .. he used to oblige them, sir. The total value...

Presiding General: Oblige them?

Fawcett: Yes, sir. The total value of the uniform ...

Presiding General: How did he oblige them?

Fawcett What sir?

Presiding General: How did he oblige them?

Fawcett: (more and more irritated) He ... um ... used to make them happy in little ways, sir. The total value of the uniform could therefore not have been less than ...

Presiding General: Did he touch them at all?

Fawcett: Sir! I submit that this is totally irrelevant.

Presiding General: I want to know how he made them happy.

Fawcett: (losing his temper) He used to ram things up their ...

Presiding General: (quickly) All right! All right! No need to spell it out! What er ... what has the accused to say?

Walters: (taken off guard) What, me?

Presiding General: Yes. What have you got to say?

Walters: What can I say? I mean, how can I encapsulate in mere words my scorn for any military solution? The fultility of modern warfare? And the hypocrisy by which contemporary government applies one standard to violence within the community and another to violence perpetrated by one community upon another?

Defence Counsel (Terry G.): I'm sorry, but my client has become pretentious. I will say in his defence that he has suffered ...

Fawcett: Sir! We haven't finished the prosecution!

Presiding General: Shut up! I'm in charge of this court. (to the court) Stand up! (everyone stands up) Sit down! (everyone sits down) Go moo! (everyone goes moo; the presiding general turns to Fawcett) See? Right, now, on with the pixie hats! (everyone puts on pixie hats with large pointed ears) And order in the skating vicar. (a vicar skates in, and everyone bursts into song)

Anything goes in. Anything goes out!
Fish, bananas, old bananas,
Mutton! Beef! and Trout!
Anything goes in. Anything goes out........

[Kymbierlee]

HAHA!! There it was in all of it's glory! I love it!

[Fist and Faith]

A classic!

[Kymbierlee]

Buying an Ant


Chris: Hello? Hello?

(A strange rubber-masked head appears from below the other side of the counter and gesticulates at him making a strange noise. This soon stops.)

First Assistant: Oh, I'm terribly sorry... (he takes off the mask to reveal a straight forward assistant) I thought you were someone else.

Chris: Oh I see, yes.

First Assistant: I'm sorry sir, can I help you?

Chris: Yes, yes, as a matter of fact you can, actually I was interested in . the possibility... of purchasing one of your ... can I ask who you thought I was?

First Assistant: What?

Chris: Who did you think I was... just then... when you thought I was somebody.

First Assistant: Oh, it's no one you'd know, sir.

Chris: Well I might know them.

First Assistant: It's possible, obviously, but I think it's really unlikely.

Chris: Well, I know quite a lot...

First Assistant: I mean he's hardly likely to move in your circles, sir...

Chris: Why, is he very rich?

First Assistant: Oh, no, I didn't mean that, sir.

Chris: Is he a lord or something?

First Assistant: Oh, no, not at all.

Chris: Well look, this is very easy to settle. What is his name?.

First Assistant: What?

Chris: What is his name?

First Assistant: Well... er...

Chris: Yes?

First Assistant: Michael Ellis.

Chris: Who?

First Assistant: Michael Ellis.

Chris: I see.

First Assistant: Do you know him, sir?

Chris: Er ... Michael Ellis. Michael Ellis...

First Assistant: You don't

Chris: Well, I don't remember the name.

First Assistant: I think you would remember him, sir.

Chris: Why do you say that?

First Assistant: Well, would you remember a man six foot nine inches high, forty-sh, and he's got a long scar from here to here and absolutely no nose?

Chris: ... oh, I think I do remember somebody like that...

First Assistant: Well, that's not Michael Ellis.

Chris: What?

First Assistant: He's a small man about this high with a high-pitched voice.

Chris: Right, I'm not going to buy an ant from you now.

First Assistant: (distressed) Oh, no, please.

Chris: No. You've not been properly trained. I demand another assistant.

First Assistant: Oh, no, come on... please...

Chris: No, I want another assistant.

First Assistant: All right! I'll get another assistant. (he disappears behind a curtain)

Chris: Thank you.

(The same assistant reappears with a long mandarin-style Chinese moustache.)

First Assistant: (high-pitched voice) Hello sir, can I help you, sir?

Chris: No, I want a different assistant.

First Assistant: I am sir, I'm Mr Abanazar, sir.

Chris: Don't be silly.

First Assistant: (normal voice) Oh no, please, please, please let me help you...

Chris: No! I want another assistant.

First Assistant: Oh, no, come on, please...

Chris: If you don't give me another assistant.,.

First Assistant: No, no, I'll be very good, sir, really. (he becomes exaggeratedly polite) Good morning, sir... how are you, sir... bit parky outside today... isn't it, sir... ? A very nice suit you've got there, sir... you had a very close shave this morning, sir...

Chris: Right I'm goingl

First Assistant: No, no, please... (he takes off his moustache) I'll get another assistant... (he rings the bell on the counter.)

(After a pause, very slowly indeed an identical mask to the first appears over the top of the counter right next to the first assistant, making the same noise very quietly. The first assistant sees him, starts and nudges him hard.)

Second Assistant: Woooooo ....ooooooo...

First Assistant: It's not him!

(The second assistant makes a disappointed noise and disappears below.)

Chris: (pointing over the counter at the disappeared assistant) I don't want him!

First Assistant: Oh please, give him a chance!

Chris: No!

Second Assistant: (appearing from below counter without a mask, looking immaculate) Yes, sir, can I be of any assistance?

Chris: Oh no, come on, don't try that!

Second Assistant: I'm sorry, sir... try what?

Chris: YoU know perfectly well what I mean.

Second Assistant: I'm afraid I don't, sir.

Chris: You were down behind there with a silly mask on going wooo-ooo...

Second Assistant: I don't think I was, sir.

Chris: All right, get the manager.

Second Assistant: There seems to have been some sort of misunderstanding, sir.

Chris: Manager!

First Assistant: This is the manager, sir.

Chris: What?

Second Assistant: (in a silly voice) Yes, I'm the manager.

Chris: Manager! (he keeps calling)

Second Assistant: It's a smashing store this, I can't recommend it too highly, well-lit, rat-free. It's a joy to manage. Oh yes, the freshest haddock in London, second floor, third floor Ribena, ants here, television and flame throwers over there, behind them our dinner-wagon exhibition closes at six...

First Assistant: (nudging him) Quick!

(They both disappear under the counter. The real manager arrives and presents himself to Chris.)

Real Manager: Yes, sir? Can I help you, sir?

Chris: (noticing the 'manager' badge on his lapel) Yes, I want to complain about the assistants on this counter.

Real Manager: I'm sorry to hear that, sir, which ones?

Chris: Well, they're hiding now.

Real Manager: Sir?

Chris: They're hiding, down there behind the counter.

Real Manager: I see, sir. (he goes round counter, looks, but obviously can't see them; Chris goes round to join in the search)... well... there's nobody down here, sir.

Chris: They must have crawled through here, and made their escape through 'Soft Toys'. (he points)

Real Manager: Yes, of course.

Chris: They were wearing masks and making silly noises and one of them pretended to be the manager. He spoke like this.. (he does an impression)

Real Manager: Ah! I think I've got it, sir, I think I've got it! I'ts rag week.

Chris: Ragweek?

Real Manager: Yes, you know, for charity, sir.

Chris: Oh! I see. Some local college or university?

Real Manager: No, no it's the store's rag week.

Chris: The store's rag week?

Real Manager: Yes. The senior staff don't join in much - it's for the trainees really...

Chris: It's not very good for business is it?

Real Manager: Oh, It's for charity, sir. People are awfully good about it, you know. (he rattles a collecting tin)

Chris: Yes, yes, of course. (he puts a coin in)

Real Manager: Right, sir, I'll get you a senior assistant - ants, was it?

Chris: Yes, please.

Real Manager: (calling) Mr Snetterton? (Mr Snetterton approaches immediately; he is clearly the first assistant with very bad short crew-cut wig on) Could you look after this gentleman, Mr Snetterton?

Chris: I don't want him!

First Assistant: Oh please! Give me a chance!

Chris: No!

Real Manager: All right - Mr Hartford!

Hartford: Yes - good morning, sir - can I help you?

Chris: Yes, please, I'm interested in buying an ant.

Hartford: Ah yes - and what price were you thinking of paying, sir?

Chris: Oh, well, I hadn't actually got as far as that.

Hartford: Well sir, they start about half a p. but they can go as high as three p. or even three and a half p. for a champion - inflation I'm afraid...

Chris: Well, I should think one about one and a half p., please.

Hartford: Ah yes, well you should get a very serviceable little animal for that, sir. Quite frankly the half pence ones are a bit on the mangy side ... What length was sir thinking of?.

Chris: Oh ... medium?

Hartford: Medium. Medium. Here we are, sir. (he tips some ants - which we can't see - out into a special ring on counter) That one there is an Ayrshire, and that one there is a King George bitch I think ... and that one killing the little flitbat is an Afghan.

Chris: That's a nice one.

Hartford: Lees see how you get on with him, eh? (he puts it on Chris's hand) Ah yes, he likes you. He's taken to you.

Chris: What do you feed them on?

Hartford: Blancmange.

Chris: Blancmange?

Hartford: I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. No, you don't feed them at all.

Chris: Well, what do they live on?

Hartford: They don't. They die.

Chris: They die?

Hartford: Well of course they do, if you don't feed them.

Chris: I don't understand.

Hartford: You let them die, then you buy another one. It's much cheaper than feeding them and that way you have a constant variety of little companions.

Chris: Oh, I see.

Hartford: That's the advantage of owning an ant.

Chris: Right, well I'll take this one. Oh dear, I've dropped it...

Hartford: Never mind. Here's another one.

Chris: Is there anything else I'll need?

Hartford: Yes, sir - you'll need an ant house. (he produces a birdcage) This is the model we recommend, sir.

Chris: Won't it get out of there?

Hartford: Yes.

Chris: Well what's the point of having the cage?

Hartford: Well, none at all really. And then some pieces of cage furniture which will keep him entertained. (he produces microscopic things) Here's an ant-wheel, ant-swing, and a very nice one here, a little ladder - he can run up there and ring the bell at the top, that's a little trick he can learn.

Chris: Will he live long enough?

Hartford: Not really, no, but it's best to have one just in case, and here's a two-way radio he can play with... and of course you'll need the book. (he produces an apenaive-looking book, thoughtlessly slam it down where the ants were, then hurriedly brushes them away)

Chris: The book?

Hartford: Yes, the book on ants.

Chris: (looking unsure) Yes...

Hartford: So, sir, that is, if I may say so, one hundred and eighty-four pounds one and a half p., sir.

Chris: Will you take a cheque?

Hartford: Yes, sir, if you don't mind leaving a blood-sample, and a piece of skin off the back of the scalp just here, sir ... (indicates a point behind his ear) sorry ... it's just for identification .-. you can't be too careful. (he hands him a little knife and some cotton wool)

Chris: Oh, well I think I'll put it on account.

Hartford: I should, sir... much less painful Anyway sir, you know what they say about an ant. A friend for life, eh? Well, a friend for its life anyway... (Hartford loads the large cage, furniture, two-way radio and the book on ants into a huge box; with some difficulty he finds the ant; he picks it up carefully) His name is Marcus. (he drops him in the big box and pushes it across the counter; the box has on one side, in large letters 'live ant: handle with care '; it has breathing holes in it) If the little chap should go to an early grave, sir, give us a ring and we'll stick a few in an envelope, all right?

Chris: Thanks very much indeed.

Hartford: Not at all, thank you, Mr Ellis.

(Chris turns sharply. The first assistant comes quickly up to Hartford.)

First Assistant: Sssssshh!

Chris: What did you say?

Hartford: I said thank you, Mr Ellis...

First Assistant: It's not him.

Hartford: Oh!

Chris: Why did you say I was Mr Ellis?

Hartford: (innocently) Who?

First Assistant: No, he didn't say that.

Chris: Yes he did. I heard him say 'Thank you, Mr Ellis'.

First Assistant: Oh, no, no - he said 'I'm jealous'.

Chris: What?

First Assistant: I'm jealous of your ant. Goodbye. Goodbye. (waves pointedly)

Chris: (leaving the counter) I don't care who Michael Ellis is!

(Chris passes a shop area labelled 'The Paisley Counter' where two customers are talking to mirrors in thick Irish accents. Chris moves on to lift. A little old lady passes, oblivious to the fact that her shopping trolley is smouldering. The lady passes and Chris is about to enter.)

PA System: Will Mr Michael Ellis please go straight to the manager's office... I'll repeat that... (Chris wheels round and listens) Will Mr Nigel Mellish please go straight to the manager's office.

(Chris narrows his eyes suspiciously and gets into the lift cautiously. Cut to Chris Quinn's home...)

[Alynna Lis Eachann]

Wish I had the script of it, but remember the blancmange skit? Blancmanges winning Wimbledon... the old woman who knit scarves or some such for blancmanges...

And the ever-popular:

"Every sperm is sacred,
every sperm is good.

Ever sperm is wanted,
in your neighborhood."