MONTY PYTHON'S
FAMOUS WORDS
Nudge, nudge, know what I mean ?
The Hungarian Phrasebook Sketch
The Spanish Inquisition Sketch
NUDGE, NUDGE, KNOW WHAT I MEAN ?
Man: 'Evening, squire!
Squire: (stiffly) Good evening.
Man: Is, uh,...Is your wife a goer, eh? Know whatahmean, know whatahmean,
nudge nudge, know whatahmean, say no more?
Squire: I, uh, I beg your pardon?
M: Your, uh, your wife, does she go, eh, does she go, eh?
S: (flustered) Well, she sometimes "goes", yes.
M: Aaaaaaaah bet she does, I bet she does, say no more, say no more,
knowwhatahmean, nudge nudge?
S: (confused) I'm afraid I don't quite follow you.
M: Follow me. Follow me. That's good, that's good! A nod's as good as a
wink to a blind bat!
S: Are you, uh,...are you selling something?
M: SELLING! Very good, very good! Ay? Ay? Ay?
(pause)
M: Oooh! Ya wicked Ay! Wicked Ay! Oooh hooh! Say No MORE!
S: Well, I, uh....
M: Is, your uh, is your wife a sport, ay?
S: Um, she likes sport, yes!
M: I bet she does, I bet she does!
S: As a matter of fact she's very fond of cricket.
M: 'Oo isn't? Likes games, eh? Knew she would. Likes games, eh? She's been
around a bit, been around?
S: She has traveled, yes. She's from Scarsdale.
(pause)
M: SAY NO MORE!!
M: Scarsdale, saynomore, saynomore, saynomore, squire!
S: I wasn't going to!
M: Oh! Well, never mind. Dib dib?
Is your uh, is your wife interested in....photography, ay?
"Photographs, ay", he asked him knowlingly?
S: Photography?
M: Snap snap, grin grin, wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more?
S: Holiday snaps, eh?
M: They could be, they could be taken on holiday. Candid, you know,
CANDID photography?
S: No, no I'm afraid we don't have a camera.
M: Oh. (leeringly) Still, mooooooh, ay? Mwoohohohohoo, ay? Hohohohohoho, ay?
S: Look... are you insinuating something?
M: Oh, no, no, no...yes.
S: Well?
M: Well, you're a man of the world, squire.
S: Yes...
M: I mean, you've been around a bit, you know, like, you've, uh....
You've "done it"....
S: What do you mean?
M: Well, I mean like,....you've SLEPT, with a lady....
S: Yes....
M: What's it like?
Colonel (Graham Chapman): get some discipline into those chaps, Sergeant
Major!
Sargeant (John Cleese, shouting throughout): Right sir! Good evening, class.
All (mumbling): Good evening.
Sargeant: Where's all the others, then?
All: They're not here.
Sgt.: I can see that. What's the matter with them?
All: Dunno.
Chapman (member of class): Perhaps they've got 'flu.
Sgt.: Huh! 'Flu, eh? They should eat more fresh fruit. Ha. Right. Now,
self-defence. Tonight I shall be carrying on from where we got to last
week when I was showing you how to defend yourselves against anyone who
attacks you with armed with a piece of fresh fruit.
(Grumbles from all)
Palin: Oh, you promised you wouldn't do fruit this week.
Sgt.: What do you mean?
Jones: We've done fruit the last nine weeks.
Sgt.: What's wrong with fruit? You think you know it all, eh?
Palin: Can't we do something else?
Idle (Welsh): Like someone who attacks you with a pointed stick?
Sgt.: Pointed stick? Oh, oh, oh. We want to learn how to defend ourselves
against pointed sticks, do we? Getting all high and mighty, eh? Fresh
fruit not good enough for you eh? Well I'll tell you something my lad.
When you're walking home tonight and some great homicidal maniac comes
after you with a bunch of loganberries, don't come crying to me! Now,
the passion fruit. When your assailant lunges at you with a passion
fruit...
All: We done the passion fruit.
Sgt.: What?
Chapman: We done the passion fruit.
Palin: We done oranges, apples, grapefruit...
Jones: Whole and segments.
Palin: Pomegranates, greengages...
Chapman: Grapes, passion fruit...
Palin: Lemons...
Jones: Plums...
Chapman: Mangoes in syrup...
Sgt.: How about cherries?
All: We did them.
Sgt.: Red *and* black?
All: Yes!
Sgt.: All right, bananas.
(All sigh.)
Sgt.: We haven't done them, have we? Right. Bananas. How to defend yourself
against a man armed with a banana. Now you, come at me with this
banana. Catch! Now, it's quite simple to defend yourself against a man
armed with a banana. First of all you force him to drop the banana;
then, second, you eat the banana, thus disarming him. You have now
rendered him 'elpless.
Palin: Suppose he's got a bunch.
Sgt.: Shut up.
Idle: Suppose he's got a pointed stick.
Sgt.: Shut up. Right now you, Mr Apricot.
Chapman: 'Arrison.
Sgt.: Sorry, Mr. 'Arrison. Come at me with that banana. Hold it like that,
that's it. Now attack me with it. Come on! Come on! Come at me!
Come at me then! (Shoots him.)
Chapman: Aaagh! (dies.)
Sgt.: Now, I eat the banana. (Does so.)
Palin: You shot him!
Jones: He's dead!
Idle: He's completely dead!
Sgt.: I have now eaten the banana. The deceased, Mr Apricot, is now 'elpless.
Palin: You shot him. You shot him dead.
Sgt.: Well, he was attacking me with a banana.
Jones: But you told him to.
Sgt.: Look, I'm only doing me job. I have to show you how to defend
yourselves against fresh fruit.
Idle: And pointed sticks.
Sgt.: Shut up.
Palin: Suppose I'm attacked by a man with a banana and I haven't got a gun?
Sgt.: Run for it.
Jones: You could stand and scream for help.
Sgt.: Yeah, you try that with a pineapple down your windpipe.
Jones: A pineapple?
Sgt.: Where? Where?
Jones: No I just said: a pineapple.
Sgt.: Oh. Phew. I thought my number was on that one.
Jones: What, on the pineapple?
Sgt.: Where? Where?
Jones: No, I was just repeating it.
Sgt.: Oh. Oh. I see. Right. Phew. Right that's bananas then. Now the
raspberry. There we are. 'Armless looking thing, isn't it? Now you,
Mr Tin Peach.
Jones: Thompson.
Sgt.: Thompson. Come at me with that raspberry. Come on. Be as vicious as
you like with it.
Jones: No.
Sgt.: Why not?
Jones: You'll shoot me.
Sgt.: I won't.
Jones: You shot Mr. Harrison.
Sgt.: That was self-defence. Now come on. I promise I won't shoot you.
Idle: You promised you'd tell us about pointed sticks.
Sgt.: Shut up. Come on, brandish that raspberry. Come at me with it. Give
me Hell.
Jones: Throw the gun away.
Sgt.: I haven't got a gun.
Jones: You have.
Sgt.: Haven't.
Jones: You shot Mr 'Arrison with it.
Sgt.: Oh, that gun.
Jones: Throw it away.
Sgt.: Oh all right. How to defend yourself against a redcurrant -- without a
gun.
Jones: You were going to shoot me!
Sgt.: I wasn't.
Jones: You were!
Sgt.: No, I wasn't, I wasn't. Come on then. Come at me. Come on you weed!
You weed, do your worst! Come on, you puny little man. You weed...
(Sgt. pulls a lever in the wall--CRASH! a 16-ton weight falls on Jones)
Jones: Aaagh.
Sgt.: If anyone ever attacks you with a raspberry, just pull the lever and the
16-ton weight will fall on top of him.
Palin: Suppose there isn't a 16-ton weight?
Sgt.: Well that's planning, isn't it? Forethought.
Palin: Well how many 16-ton weights are there?
Sgt.: Look, look, look, Mr Knowall. The 16-ton weight is just _one way_ of
dealing with a raspberry killer. There are millions of others!
Idle: Like what?
Sgt.: Shootin' him?
Palin: Well what if you haven't got a gun or a 16-ton weight?
Sgt.: Look, look. All right, smarty-pants. You two, you two, come at me then
with raspberries. Come on, both of you, whole basket each.
Palin: No guns.
Sgt.: No.
Palin: No 16-ton weights.
Sgt.: No.
Idle: No pointed sticks.
Sgt.: Shut up.
Palin: No rocks up in the ceiling.
Sgt.: No.
Palin: And you won't kill us.
Sgt.: I won't.
Palin: Promise.
Sgt.: I promise I won't kill you. Now. Are you going to attack me?
Palin & Idle: Oh, all right.
Sgt.: Right, now don't rush me this time. Stalk me. Do it properly. Stalk
me. I'll turn me back. Stalk up behind me, close behind me, then in
with the redcurrants! Right? O.K. start moving. Now the first thing
to do when you're being stalked by an ugly mob with redcurrants is to --
release the tiger!
(He does so. Growls. Screams.)
Sgt.: The great advantage of the tiger in unarmed combat is that he eats not
only the fruit-laden foe but also the redcurrants. Tigers however do
not relish the peach. The peach assailant should be attacked with a
crocodile. Right, now, the rest of you, where are you? I know you're
hiding somewhere with your damsons and prunes. Well I'm ready for you.
I've wired meself up to 200 tons of gelignite, and if any one of you so
much as makes a move we'll all go up together!
Right, right. I warned you. That's it...
(Explosion.)
Scene: A large posh office. Two clients, well-dressed city gents, sit facing
a large table at which stands Mr. Tid, the account manager of the
architectural firm.
(original cast: Mr Tid, Graham Chapman; Mr Wiggin, John Cleese; City Gent One,
Michael Palin; Client 2:, Terry Jones; Mr Wymer, Eric Idle)
Mr. Tid (Graham Chapman): Well, gentlemen, we have two architectural designs
for this new residential block of yours and I
thought it best if the architects themselves
explained the particular advantages of their
designs.
There is a knock at the door.
Mr. Tid: Ah! That's probably the first architect now. Come in.
Mr. Wiggin enters.
Mr. Wiggin (John Cleese): Good morning, gentlemen.
Clients: Good morning.
Mr. Wiggin: This is a 12-storey block combining classical neo-Georgian feature s
with the efficiency of modern techniques. The tenants arrive here
and are carried along the corridor on a conveyor belt in extreme
comfort, past murals depicting Mediterranean scenes, towards the
rotating knives. The last twenty feet of the corridor are heavily
soundproofed. The blood pours down these chutes and the mangled
flesh slurps into these....
Client 1: Excuse me.
Mr. Wiggin: Yes?
Client 1: Did you say 'knives'?
Mr. Wiggin: Rotating knives, yes.
Client 2: Do I take it that you are proposing to slaughter our tenants?
Mr. Wiggin: ...Does that not fit in with your plans?
Client 1: Not really. We asked for a simple block of flats.
Mr. Wiggin: Oh. I hadn't fully divined your attitude towards the tenants. You
see I mainly design slaughter houses.
Clients: Ah.
Mr. Wiggin: Pity.
Clients: Yes.
Mr. Wiggin: (indicating points of the model) Mind you, this is a real beaut.
None of your blood caked on the walls and flesh flying out of the
windows incommoding the passers-by with this one.
(confidentially) My life has been leading up to this.
Client 2: Yes, and well done, but we wanted an apartment block.
Mr. Wiggin: May I ask you to reconsider.
Clients: Well....
Mr. Wiggin: You wouldn't regret this. Think of the tourist trade.
Client 1: I'm sorry. We want a block of flats, not an abattoir.
Mr. Wiggin: ...I see. Well, of course, this is just the sort of blinkered
philistine ignorance I've come to expect from you non-creative
garbage. You sit there on your loathsome spotty behinds squeezing
blackheads, not caring a tinker's cuss for the struggling artist.
You excrement, you whining hypocritical toadies with your colour TV
sets and your Tony Jacklin golf clubs and your bleeding masonic
secret handshakes. You wouldn't let me join, would you, you
blackballing bastards. Well I wouldn't become a Freemason if you
went down on your stinking knees and begged me.
Client 2: We're sorry you feel that way but we did want a block of flats,
nice though the abattoir is.
Mr. Wiggin: Oh sod the abattoir, that's not important.
(He dashes forward and kneels in front of them.)
But if any of you could put in a word for me I'd love to be a
mason. Masonry opens doors. I'd be very quiet, I was a bit on
edge just now but if I were a mason I'd sit at the back and not get
in anyone's way.
Client 1: (politely) Thank you.
Mr. Wiggin: ...I've got a second-hand apron.
Client 2: Thank you.
(Mr. Wiggin hurries to the door but stops...)
Mr. Wiggin: I nearly got in at Hendon.
Client 1: Thank you.
Mr. Wiggin exits. Mr Tid rises.
Mr. Tid: I'm sorry about that. Now the second architect is Mr. Wymer of Wymer
and Dibble.
(Mr. Wymer enters, carrying his model with great care. He places it on the
table.)
Mr. Wymer: Good morning gentlemen. This is a scale model of the block, 28
stories high, with 280 apartments. It has three main lifts and two
service lifts. Access would be from Dibbingley Road.
(The model falls over. Mr Wymer quickly places it upright again.)
The structure is built on a central pillar system with...
(The model falls over again. Mr Wymer tries to make it stand up, but it won't,
so he has to hold it upright.)
...with cantilevered floors in pre-stressed steel and concrete.
The dividing walls on each floor section are fixed by recessed
magnalium-flanged grooves.
(The bottom ten floors of the model give way and it partly collapses.)
By avoiding wood and timber derivatives and all other inflammables
we have almost totally removed the risk of....
(The model is smoking. The odd flame can be seen. Wymer looks at the city
gents.)
Frankly, I think the central pillar may need strengthening.
Client 2: Is that going to put the cost up?
Mr. Wymer: I'm afraid so.
Client 2: I don't know we need to worry too much about strengthening
that. After all, these are not meant to be luxury flats.
Client 1: Absolutely. If we make sure the tenants are of light build and
relatively sedentary and if the weather's on our side, I think we
have a winner here.
Mr. Wymer: Thank you.
(The model explodes.)
Client 2: I quite agree.
Mr. Wymer: Well, thank you both very much.
(They all shake hands, giving the secret Mason's handshake.)
Cut to Mr. Wiggin watching at the window.
Mr. Wiggin (turning to camera): It opens doors, I'm telling you.
CHARACHTERS:
Voiceover (V)
Boy (SB)
Bicycle repair man (B)
Supermen (S1...3)
Superman in need (SIN)
V: This man is no ordinary man. This is Mr. H G Superman. To all
appearances, he looks like any other law-abiding citizen. But Mr F G
Superman has a secret identity. When trouble strikes at any time, at
any place, he is ready to become... BICICLE REPAIR MAN!
SB: Hey, there's a bicycle broken, up the road.
B: <Hmmmmm. This sounds like a job for.. BRM.... but how to change
without revealig my secret identity?>
S1: If only BRM were here!
B: Yes, wait, I think I know where I can find him. Look over there!
Caption: FLASH!
S1-3: BRM, but how?
S1: Oh look... is it a stockbroker?
S2: Is t a quantity Surveyor?
S3: Is it a church warden?
S1-3: NO! It's BRM!
SIN: MY! BRM! Thank goodness you've come! Look! <Oooh Err - SR>
Caption: Clink!
Screw!
Bend!
Inflate!
Alter Saddle!
S2: Why, he's mending it with his own hands!
S1: Se how he uses a spanner to tighten that nut!
SIN: Oh, Oh BRM, how can I ever repay you?
B: Oh, you don't need to guv. It's all in a days work for... BRM!
S1-3: Our Hero!
V: Yes! whenever bicyxles are broken, or menaced by international
communism, BRM is ready!
Customer: (entering the bookshop) Good morning.
Proprietor (John Cleese): Good morning, sir. Can I help you?
C: Er, yes. Do you have a copy of "Thirty Days in the Samarkind Desert with
the Duchess of Kent" by A. E. J. Eliott, O.B.E.?
P: Ah, well, I don't know the book, sir....
C: Er, never mind, never mind. How about "A Hundred and One Ways to
Start a Fight"?
P: ...By?
C: An Irish gentleman whose name eludes me for the moment.
P: Ah, no, well we haven't got it in stock, sir....
C: Oh, well, not to worry, not to worry. Can you help me with "David
Coperfield"?
P: Ah, yes, Dickens.
C: No....
P: (pause) I beg your pardon?
C: No, Edmund Wells.
P: I... *think* you'll find Charles Dickens wrote "David Copperfield", sir....
C: No, no, Dickens wrote "David Copperfield" with *two* Ps. This is
"David Coperfield" with *one* P by Edmund Wells.
P: "David Coperfield" with one P?
C: Yes, I should have said.
P: Yes, well in that case we don't have it.
C: (peering over counter) Funny, you've got a lot of books here....
P: (slightly perturbed) Yes, we do, but we don't have "David Coperfield"
with one P by Edmund Wells.
C: Pity, it's more thorough than the Dickens.
P: More THOROUGH?!?
C: Yes...I wonder if it might be worth a look through all your "David Copper-
field"s...
P: No, sir, all our "David Copperfield"s have two P's.
C: Are you quite sure?
P: Quite.
C: Not worth just looking?
P: Definitely not.
C: Oh...how 'bout "Grate Expectations"?
P: Yes, well we have that....
C: That's "G-R-A-T-E Expectations," also by Edmund Wells.
P: (pause) Yes, well in that case we don't have it. We don't have anything
by Edmund Wells, actually: he's not very popular.
C: Not "Knickerless Knickleby"? That's K-N-I-C-K-E-R-L-E-S-S.
P: (taciturn) No.
C: "Khristmas Karol" with a K?
P: (really quite perturbed) No....
C: Er, how about "A Sale of Two Titties"?
P: DEFINITELY NOT.
C: (moving towards door) Sorry to trouble you....
P: Not at all....
C: Good morning.
P: Good morning.
C: (turning around) Oh!
P: (deep breath) Yesss?
C: I wonder if you might have a copy of "Rarnaby Budge"?
P: No, as I say, we're right out of Edmund Wells!
C: No, not Edmund Wells - Charles Dikkens.
P: (pause - eagerly) Charles Dickens??
C: Yes.
P: (excitedly) You mean "Barnaby Rudge"!
C: No, "Rarnaby Budge" by Charles Dikkens. That's Dikkens with two Ks, the
well-known Dutch author.
P: (slight pause) No, well we don't have "Rarnaby Budge" by Charles Dikkens
with two Ks, the well-known Dutch author, and perhaps to save time I
should add that we don't have "Karnaby Fudge" by Darles Chickens, or
"Farmer of Sludge" by Marles Pickens, or even "Stickwick Stapers" by
Farles
Wickens with four M's and a silent Q!!!!! Why don't you try W. H. Smith's?
C: Ah did, They sent me here.
P: DID they.
C: Oh, I wonder...
P: Oh, do go on, please.
C: Yes...I wonder if you might have "The Amazing Adventures of Captain Gladys
Stoutpamphlet and her Intrepid Spaniel Stig Amongst the Giant Pygmies of
Beckles"...volume eight.
P: (after a pause for recovery) No, we don't have that...funny, we've got a lot
of books here...well, I musn't keep you standing here...thank you,--
C: Oh, well do, do you have-- ---\
P: No, we haven't. No, we haven't. |
C: B-b-b-but-- |
P: Sorry, no, it's one o'clock now, we're |
closing for lunch-- |
C: Ah, I--I saw it-- |-------loud arguments
P: I'm sorry-- |
C: I saw it over there! I saw it... |
P: What? What? WHAT?!? ---/
C: I saw it over there: "Olsen's Standard Book of British Birds".
P: (pause; trying to stay calm) "Olsen's Standard Book of British Birds"?
C: Yes...
P: O-L-S-E-N?
C: Yes....
P: B-I-R-D-S??
C: Yes.....
P: (beat) Yes, well, we do have that, as a matter of fact....
C: The expurgated version....
P: (pause; politely) I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that...?
C: The expurgated version.
P: (exploding) The EXPURGATED version of "Olsen's Standard Book of British
Birds"?!?!?!?!?
C: (desperately) The one without the gannet!
P: The one without the gannet-!!! They've ALL got the gannet!! It's a
Standard British Bird, the gannet, it's in all the books!!!
C: (insistent) Well, I don't like them...they wet their nests.
P: (furious) All right! I'll remove it!! (rrrip!) Any other birds you don't
like?!
C: I don't like the robin...
P: (screaming) The robin! Right! The robin! (rrrip!) There you are, any
others you don't like, any others?
C: The nuthatch?
P: Right! (flipping through the book) The nuthatch, the nuthatch, the
nuthatch, 'ere we are! (rrriiip!) There you are! NO gannets, NO robins,
NO nuthatches, THERE's your book!
C: (indignant) I can't buy that! It's torn!
P: (incoherent noise)
C: Ah, I wonder if you have--
P: God, ask me anything!! We got lots of books here, you know, it's a
bookshop!!
C: Er, how 'bout "Biggles Combs his Hair"?
P: No, no, we don't have that one, funny!
C: "The Gospel According to Charley Drake"?
P: No, no, no, try me again!
C: Ah...oh, I know! "Ethel the Aardvark goes Quantity Surveying".
P: No, no, no, no, no,...What? WHAT??????
C: "Ethel the Aardvark goes Quantity Surveying".
P: "Ethel the Aa--" YES!!!YES!!! WE'VE GOT IT!! (throwing books wildly about)
I-I've seen it somewhere!!! I know it!!! Hee hee hee hee hee!!! Ha ha hoo
ho---WAIT!! WAIT!! Is it?? Is it??? (triumphant) YES!!!!!! Here we are,
"Ethel the Aardvark goes Quantity Surveying"!!!!! There's your book!!
(throwing it down) Now, BUY IT!!!
C: (quickly) I don't have enough money.
P: (desperate) I'll take a deposit!
C: I don't have ANY money!
P: I'll take a check!!
C: I don't have a checkbook!
P: I've got a blank one!!
C: I don't have a bank account!!
P: RIGHT!!!! I'll buy it FOR you! (ring) There we are, there's your change,
there's some money for a taxi on the way home, there's your book, now, now..
C: Wait, wait, wait!
P: What? What?!? WHAT?!? WHAT???!!
C: I can't read!!!
P: (staggeringly long pause; very quietly) You can't...read. (pause) RIGHT!!!
Sit down!! Sit down!! Sit!! Sit!! Are you sitting comfortably???
Right!!! (opens book) "Ethel the Aardvark was hopping down the river valley
one lovely morning, trottety-trottety-trottety, when she might a nice little
quantity surveyor..." (fade out)
Mother: (turning off radio) liberal rubbish! Klaus!
Klaus: Yeah?
M: Whaddaya want with yer jugged fish?
K: 'Alibut.
M: The jugged fish IS 'alibut!
K: Well, what fish 'ave you got that isn't jugged?
M: Rabbit.
K: What, rabbit fish?
M: Uuh, yes...it's got fins....
K: Is it dead?
M: Well, it was coughin' up blood last night.
K: All right, I'll have the dead unjugged rabbit fish.
voice over: one dead unjugged rabbit fish later:
K: (putting down his knife and fork) Well, that was really 'orrible.
M: Aaw, you're always complainin'!
K: Wha's for afters?
M: Rat cake, rat sorbet, rat pudding, or strawberry tart.
K: (eyes lighting up) Strawberry tart?
M: Well, it's got *some* rat in it.
K: 'Ow much?
M: Three. A lot, really.
K: Well, I'll have a slice without so much rat in it.
voice over: One slice of strawberry tart without so much rat in it later:
K: (putting down fork and knife) Appalling.
M: Naw, naw, naw!
Son: (coming in the door) 'Ello Mum. 'Ello Dad.
K: 'Ello son.
S: There's a dead bishop on the landing, dad!
K: Really?
M: 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!
(sirens racing up, followed by a tremendous crash)
(the church police burst in the door)
Detective What's all this then, Amen!
M: Are you the church police?
All the police officers: (in unison) Ho, Yes!
M: There's another dead bishop on the landing, vicar sargeant!
Detective: Uh, Detective Parson, madam. I see... suffrican, or diocisian?
M: 'Ow should I know?
D: It's tatooed on the back o' their neck. (spying the tart) 'Ere, is that rat
tart?
M: yes.
D: Disgusting! Right! Men, the chase is on! Now we should all kneel!
(they all kneel)
All: O Lord, we beseech thee, tell us 'oo croaked Lester!
(thunder)
Voice of the Lord: The one in the braces, he done it!
Klaus: It's a fair cop, but society's to blame.
Detective: Agreed. We'll be charging them too.
K: I'd like you to take the three boddlabin into consideration.
D: Right. I'll now ask you all to conclude this harrest with a hymn.
All: All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The church has nigged them all.
Amen.
THE HUNGARIAN PHRASEBOOK SKETCH
A tobacconist's shop.
Text on screen: In 1970, the British Empire lay in ruins, and foreign
nationalists frequented the streets - many of them Hungarians
(not the streets - the foreign nationals). Anyway, many of
these Hungarians went into tobacconist's shops to buy
cigarettes....
A Hungarian tourist (John Cleese) approaches the clerk (Terry Jones). The
tourist is reading haltingly from a phrase book.
Hungarian: I will not buy this record, it is scratched.
Clerk: Sorry?
Hungarian I will not buy this record, it is scratched.
Clerk: Uh, no, no, no. This is a tobacconist's.
Hungarian: Ah! I will not buy this *tobacconist's*, it is scratched.
Clerk: No, no, no, no. Tobacco...um...cigarettes (holds up a pack).
Hungarian: Ya! See-gar-ets! Ya! Uh...My hovercraft is full of eels.
Clerk: Sorry?
Hungarian: My hovercraft (pantomimes puffing a cigarette)...is full of eels
(pretends to strike a match).
Clerk: Ahh, matches!
Hungarian: Ya! Ya! Ya! Ya! Do you waaaaant...do you waaaaaant...to come
back to my place, bouncy bouncy?
Clerk: Here, I don't think you're using that thing right.
Hungarian: You great poof.
Clerk: That'll be six and six, please.
Hungarian: If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?
I...I am no longer infected.
Clerk: Uh, may I, uh...(takes phrase book, flips through it)...Costs six and
six...ah, here we are. (speaks weird Hungarian-sounding words)
Hungarian punches the clerk.
Meanwhile, a policeman (Graham Chapman) on a quiet street cups his ear as if
hearing a cry of distress. He sprints for many blocks and finally enters the
tobacconist's.
Cop: What's going on here then?
Hungarian: Ah. You have beautiful thighs.
Cop: (looks down at himself) WHAT?!?
Clerk: He hit me!
Hungarian: Drop your panties, Sir William; I cannot wait 'til lunchtime.
(points at clerk)
Cop: RIGHT!!! (drags Hungarian away by the arm)
Hungarian: (indignantly) My nipples explode with delight!
(scene switches to a courtroom. Characters are all in powdered wigs and
judicial robes, except publisher and cop. Characters:
Judge: Terry Jones
Bailiff: Eric Idle
Lawyer: John Cleese
Cop: Graham (still)
Publisher: Michael Palin )
Bailiff: Call Alexander Yalt!
(voices sing out the name several times)
Judge: Oh, shut up!
Bailiff: (to publisher) You are Alexander Yalt?
Publisher: (in a sing-songy voice) Oh, I am.
Bailiff: Skip the impersonations. You are Alexander Yalt?
Publisher: I am.
Bailiff: You are hereby charged that on the 28th day of May, 1970, you did
willfully, unlawfully, and with malice of forethought, publish an
alleged English-Hungarian phrase book with intent to cause a breach
of the peace. How do you plead?
Publisher: Not guilty.
Bailiff: You live at 46 Horton Terrace?
Publisher: I do live at 46 Horton terrace.
Bailiff: You are the director of a publishing company?
Publisher: I am the director of a publishing company.
Bailiff: Your company publishes phrase books?
Publisher: My company does publish phrase books.
Bailiff: You did say 46 Horton Terrace, did you?
Publisher: Yes.
Bailiff: (strikes a gong) Ah! Got him!
(lawyer and cop applaud, laugh)
Judge: Get on with it, get on with it.
Bailiff: That's fine. On the 28th of May, you published this phrase book.
Publisher: I did.
Bailiff: I quote on example. The Hungarian phrase meaning "Can you direct me
to the station?" is translated by the English phrase, "Please fondle
my bum."
Publisher: I wish to plead incompetence.
Cop: (stands) Please may I ask for an adjournment, m'lord?
Judge: An adjournment? Certainly not!
(the cop sits down again, emitting perhaps the longest and loudest release of
bodily gas in the history of the universe.)
Judge: Why on earth didn't you say WHY you wanted an adjournment?
Cop: I didn't know an acceptable legal phrase, m'lord.
(cut to ancient footage of old women applauding)
Judge: (banging + swinging gavel) If there's any more stock film of women
applauding, I'll clear the court.
Eric Idle: And now for something completely different. A man with three
buttocks!
Host (John Cleese): I have with me Mr Arthur Frampton who... (pause)
Mr. Frampton, I understand that you - um - as it were...
(pause) Well let me put it another way. Erm, I believe
that whereas most people have - er - two... Two.
Frampton (Michael Palin): Oh, sure.
Host: Ah well, er, Mr Frampton. Erm, is that chair comfortable?
Frampton: Fine, yeah, fine.
Host: Mr Frampton, er, vis a vis your... (pause) rump.
Frampton: I beg your pardon?
Host: Your rump.
Frampton: What?
Host: Er, your derriere. (Whispers) Posterior. Sit-upon.
Frampton: What's that?
Host (whispers): Your buttocks.
Frampton: Oh, me bum!
Host (hurriedly): Sshhh! Well now, I understand that you, Mr Frampton, have
a... (pause) 50% bonus in the region of what you say.
Frampton: I got three cheeks.
Host: Yes, yes, excellent, excellent. Well we were wondering, Mr Frampton,
if you could see your way clear to giving us a quick... (pause) a
quick visual... (long pause). Mr Frampton, would you take your
trousers down.
Frampton: What? (to cameramen) 'Ere, get that away! I'm not taking me
trousers down on television. What do you think I am?
Host: Please take them down.
Frampton: No!
Host: No, er look, er Mr Frampton. It's quite easy for somebody just to
come along here claiming... that they have a bit to spare in the
botty department. The point is, our viewers need proof.
Frampton: I been on Persian Radio, and the Forces' Network!
(voice over) Number ninety-seven: a radio.
Radio Announcer: And now the BBC is proud to present a brand new radio drama
series, "The Death of Mary, Queen of Scots."
Part One: The Beginning.
(music)
Man's voice: Yoo arrr Mary, Queen of Scots?
Woman's voice: I am!
(sound of violent blows being dealt, things being smashed, awful crunching
noises, bones being broken, and other bodily harm being inflicted. All of
this accompanied by screaming from the woman.)
(music fades up and out)
Announcer: Stay tuned for part two of the Radio Four Production of "The Death
of Mary, Queen of Scots", coming up...almost immediately.
(music)
(sound of saw cutting, and other violent sounds as before, with the woman
screaming. Suddenly it is silent.)
Man's voice: I think she's dead.
Woman's voice: No I'm not!
(sounds of physical harm and screaming start again.)
(music fades up and out)
Announcer: that was episode two of "The Death of Mary, Queen of Scots",
specially adapted for radio by Gracie Fields and Joe Frazier. And
now, Radio Four will explode.
(music)
The radio explodes.
Two old women are sitting on the couch listening to the radio when it
explodes. One looks at the other:
1: We'll have to watch the Telly-vision!
2: Aaaaw. (sound of agreement)
(they turn the couch so it's facing the television. One turns the television
on, and they sit down. There is a small penguin sitting on top of the
television set.)
1 & 2: (singing, mumbled) hhmhmhmhmh... mhmmhmh mhmhm hhmhmmhm mhmhmmhmhmh
1: What's that on top of the telly-vision set?
(pause)
2: (matter-of-factly) Looks like a penguin.
(pause)
2: It's been a long time there, now, has it?
1: What's it doin' there?
2: Standin'!
1: I can see that!
(pause)
1: If it laid an egg, it would roll down the back of the telly-vision set.
2: Ummmm. I hadn't thought of that.
1: Unless it's a male.
2: Yes. It looks fairly butch.
(pause)
1: Per'aps it's from next door.
2: (yelling) NEXT DOOR?!? Penguins don't come from NEXT DOOR! They come
from the Antarctic!
1: (yet louder) BURMA!!!
(they both stop short, looking around)
2: Why'd'j say that?
1: I panicked.
2: Oh.
1: Per'aps it's from the zoo.
2: Which zoo?
1: (angrily) 'ow should I know which zoo it's from?!? I'm not Doctor bloody
Bernofsky!!
2: 'Oo's Doctor bloody Bernofsky?
1: He knows everything.
2: Oooh, I wouldn't like that, that'd take all the mystery out of life.
(pause)
2: Besides, if it were from the zoo, it'd have "property of the zoo"
stamped on it.
1: They don't stamp animals "property of the zoo"!! You can't stamp a
huge lion "property of the zoo"!!
2: (confidently) They stamp them when they're small.
1: (snapping back) What happens when they moult?
2: Lions don't moult.
1: No, but penguins do. THERE! I've run rings around you logically.
2: (looks at the camera) OOOOH! INTERCOURSE THE PENGUIN!!!
(The television warms up: a man is sitting behind a news desk)
Man: Hello! Well, it's just after eight o'clock, and time for the
penguin on top of your television set to explode.
(the penguin explodes)
1: 'Ow did 'e know that was going to happen?!
Man: It was an educated guess. And now:
Voice over: Number ninety-eight: the nape of the neck
(A tourist approaches a shepherd. The sounds of sheep and the outdoors
are heard.)
Tourist: Good afternoon.
Shephrd: Eh, 'tis that.
Tourist: You here on holiday?
Shephrd: Nope, I live 'ere.
Tourist: Oh, good for you. Uh...those ARE sheep aren't they?
Shephrd: Yeh.
Tourist: Hmm, thought they were. Only, what are they doing up in the
trees?
Shephrd: A fair question and one that in recent weeks 'as been much on
my mind. It's my considered opinion that they're nestin'.
Tourist: Nesting?
Shephrd: Aye.
Tourist: Like birds?
Shephrd: Exactly. It's my belief that these sheep are laborin' under
the misapprehension that they're birds. Observe their be'avior.
Take for a start the sheeps' tendency to 'op about the field
on their 'ind legs. Now witness their attmpts to fly from
tree to tree. Notice that they do not so much fly as...plummet.
<Baaa baaa... flap flap flap ... whoosh ... thud.>
Tourist: Yes, but why do they think they're birds?
Shephrd: Another fair question. One thing is for sure, the sheep is not
a creature of the air. They have enormous difficulty in the
comparatively simple act of perchin'.
<Baaa baaa... flap flap flap ... whoosh ... thud.>
Trouble is, sheep are very dim. Once they get an idea in their
'eads, there's no shiftin' it.
Tourist: But where did they get the idea?
Shephrd: From Harold. He's that most dangerous of creatures, a clever
sheep. 'e's realized that a sheep's life consists of standin'
around for a few months and then bein' eaten. And that's a
depressing prospect for an ambitious sheep.
Tourist: Well why don't just remove Harold?
Shephrd: Because of the enormous commercial possibilities if 'e succeeds.
Scene: A cafe. One table is occupied by a group of Vikings with horned
helmets on. A man and his wife enter.
Man (Eric Idle): You sit here, dear.
Wife (Graham Chapman in drag): All right.
Man (to Waitress): Morning!
Waitress (Terry Jones, in drag as a bit of a rat-bag): Morning!
Man: Well, what've you got?
Waitress: Well, there's egg and bacon; egg sausage and bacon; egg and spam;
egg bacon and spam; egg bacon sausage and spam; spam bacon sausage
and spam; spam egg spam spam bacon and spam; spam sausage spam spam
bacon spam tomato and spam;
Vikings (starting to chant): Spam spam spam spam...
Waitress: ...spam spam spam egg and spam; spam spam spam spam spam spam baked
beans spam spam spam...
Vikings (singing): Spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam!
Waitress: ...or Lobster Thermidor a Crevette with a mornay sauce served in a
Provencale manner with shallots and aubergines garnished with
truffle pate, brandy and with a fried egg on top and spam.
Wife: Have you got anything without spam?
Waitress: Well, there's spam egg sausage and spam, that's not got much spam in
it.
Wife: I don't want ANY spam!
Man: Why can't she have egg bacon spam and sausage?
Wife: THAT'S got spam in it!
Man: Hasn't got as much spam in it as spam egg sausage and spam, has it?
Vikings: Spam spam spam spam (crescendo through next few lines)
Wife: Could you do the egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam then?
Waitress: Urgghh!
Wife: What do you mean 'Urgghh'? I don't like spam!
Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!)
Waitress: Shut up!
Vikings: Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!
Waitress: Shut up! (Vikings stop) Bloody Vikings! You can't have egg bacon
spam and sausage without the spam.
Wife (shrieks): I don't like spam!
Man: Sshh, dear, don't cause a fuss. I'll have your spam. I love it.
I'm having spam spam spam spam spam spam spam beaked beans spam spam
spam and spam!
Vikings (singing): Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!
Waitress: Shut up!! Baked beans are off.
Man: Well could I have her spam instead of the baked beans then?
Waitress: You mean spam spam spam spam spam spam... (but it is too late and
the Vikings drown her words)
Vikings (singing elaborately): Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful
spam! Spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam. Lovely spam!
Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Spam spam
spam spam!
THE SPANISH INQUISITION SKETCH
Graham Chapman: Trouble at mill.
Carol Cleveland: Oh no - what kind of trouble?
Chapman: One on't cross beams gone owt askew on treddle.
Cleveland: Pardon?
Chapman: One on't cross beams gone owt askew on treddle.
Cleveland: I don't understand what you're saying.
Chapman: (slightly irritatedly and with exaggeratedly clear accent)
One of the cross beams has gone out askew on the treddle.
Cleveland: Well what on earth does that mean?
Chapman: *I* don't know - Mr Wentworth just told me to come in here and say
that there was trouble at the mill, that's all - I didn't expect a
kind of Spanish Inquisition.
(JARRING CHORD)
(The door flies open and Cardinal Ximinez of Spain (Palin) enters, flanked by
two junior cardinals. Cardinal Biggles (Jones) has goggles pushed over his
forehead. Cardinal Fang (Gilliam) is just Cardinal Fang)
Ximinez: NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition! Our chief weapon is
suprise...surprise and fear...fear and surprise.... Our two
weapons are fear and surprise...and ruthless efficiency.... Our
*three* weapons are fear, surprise, and ruthless efficiency...and an
almost fanatical devotion to the Pope.... Our *four*...no...
*Amongst* our weapons.... Amongst our weaponry...are such elements as
fear, surprise.... I'll come in again. (Exit and exeunt)
Chapman: I didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition.
(JARRING CHORD)
(The cardinals burst in)
Ximinez: NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition! Amongst our weaponry are such
diverse elements as: fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency, an almost
fanatical devotion to the Pope, and nice red uniforms - Oh damn! (To
Cardinal Biggles) I can't say it - you'll have to say it.
Biggles: What?
Ximinez: You'll have to say the bit about 'Our chief weapons are ...'
Biggles: (rather horrified): I couldn't do that...
(Ximinez bundles the cardinals outside again)
Chapman: I didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition.
(JARRING CHORD)
(The cardinals enter)
Biggles: Er.... Nobody...um....
Ximinez: Expects...
Biggles: Expects... Nobody expects the...um...the Spanish...um...
Ximinez: Inquisition.
Biggles: I know, I know! Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition. In fact,
those who do expect -
Ximinez: Our chief weapons are...
Biggles: Our chief weapons are...um...er...
Ximinez: Surprise...
Biggles: Surprise and --
Ximinez: Okay, stop. Stop. Stop there - stop there. Stop. Phew! Ah!
...our chief weapons are surprise...blah blah blah. Cardinal,
read the charges.
Fang: You are hereby charged that you did on diverse dates commit heresy
against the Holy Church. 'My old man said follow the--'
Biggles: That's enough. (To Cleveland) Now, how do you plead?
Cleveland: We're innocent.
Ximinez: Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
(Superimposed caption: 'DIABOLICAL LAUGHTER')
Biggles: We'll soon change your mind about that!
(Superimposed caption: 'DIABOLICAL ACTING')
Ximinez: Fear, surprise, and a most ruthless-- (controls himself with a
supreme effort) Ooooh! Now, Cardinal -- the rack!
(Biggles produces a plastic-coated dish-drying rack. Ximinez looks at it and
clenches his teeth in an effort not to lose control. He hums heavily to cover
his anger)
Ximinez: You....Right! Tie her down.
(Fang and Biggles make a pathetic attempt to tie her on to the drying rack)
Ximinez: Right! How do you plead?
Cleveland: Innocent.
Ximinez: Ha! Right! Cardinal, give the rack (oh dear) give the rack a turn.
(Biggles stands their awkwardly and shrugs his shoulders)
Biggles: I....
Ximinez: (gritting his teeth) I *know*, I know you can't. I didn't want to say
anything. I just wanted to try and ignore your crass mistake.
Biggles: I...
Ximinez: It makes it all seem so stupid.
Biggles: Shall I...?
Ximinez: No, just pretend for God's sake. Ha! Ha! Ha!
(Biggles turns an imaginary handle on the side of the dish-rack)
(Cut to them torturing a dear old lady, Marjorie Wilde).
Ximinez: Now, old woman -- you are accused of heresy on three counts -- heresy
by thought, heresy by word, heresy by deed, and heresy by action --
*four* counts. Do you confess?
Wilde: I don't understand what I'm accused of.
Ximinez: Ha! Then we'll make you understand! Biggles! Fetch...THE CUSHIONS!
(JARRING CHORD)
(Biggles holds out two ordinary modern household cushions)
Biggles: Here they are, lord.
Ximinez: Now, old lady -- you have one last chance. Confess the heinous sin
of heresy, reject the works of the ungodly -- *two* last chances. And
you shall be free -- *three* last chances. You have three last
chances, the nature of which I have divulged in my previous utterance.
Wilde: I don't know what you're talking about.
Ximinez: Right! If that's the way you want it -- Cardinal! Poke her with the
soft cushions!
(Biggles carries out this rather pathetic torture)
Ximinez: Confess! Confess! Confess!
Biggles: It doesn't seem to be hurting her, lord.
Ximinez: Have you got all the stuffing up one end?
Biggles: Yes, lord.
Ximinez (angrily hurling away the cushions): Hm! She is made of harder
stuff! Cardinal Fang! Fetch...THE COMFY CHAIR!
(JARRING CHORD)
(Zoom into Fang's horrified face)
Fang (terrified): The...Comfy Chair?
(Biggles pushes in a comfy chair -- a really plush one)
Ximinez: So you think you are strong because you can survive the soft
cushions. Well, we shall see. Biggles! Put her in the Comfy Chair!
(They roughly push her into the Comfy Chair)
Ximinez (with a cruel leer): Now -- you will stay in the Comfy Chair until
lunch time, with only a cup of coffee at eleven.
(aside, to Biggles) Is that really all it is?
Biggles: Yes, lord.
Ximinez: I see. I suppose we make it worse by shouting a lot, do we?
Confess, woman. Confess! Confess! Confess! Confess!
Biggles: I confess!
Ximinez: Not you!
MAN: (entering a shop) Um, excuse me, is this the undertaker's?
UNDERTAKER: Yup, that's right, what can I do for you, squire?
M: Um, well, I wonder if you can help me. My mother has just died
and I'm not quite sure what I should do.
U: Ah, well, we can 'elp you. We deal with stiffs.
M: (aghast) Stiffs?
U: Yea. Now there's three things we can do with your mum. We can bury
her, burn her, or dump her.
M: Dump her?
U: Dump her in the Thames.
M: (still aghast) What?
U: Oh, did you like her?
M: Yes!
U: Oh well, we won't dump her, then. Well, what do you think: burn her,
or bury her?
M: Um, well, um, which would you recommend?
U: Well they're both nasty. If we burn her, she gets stuffed in the flames,
crackle, crackle, crackle, which is a bit of a shock if she's not
quite dead. But quick. And then you get a box of ashes, which you can
pretend are hers.
M: (timidly) Oh.
U: Or, if you don't wanna fry her, you can bury her. And then she'll get
eaten up by maggots and weevils, nibble, nibble, nibble, which isn't
so hot if, as I said, she's not quite dead.
M: I see. Um. Well, I.. I.. I.. I'm not very sure. She's definitely dead.
U: Where is she?
M: In the sack.
U: Let's 'ave a look.
(FX: rustle of bag opening)
U: Umm, she looks quite young.
M: Yes, she was.
U: (over his shoulder) FRED!
F: (offstage) Yea!
U: I THINK WE'VE GOT AN EATER!
F: (offstage) I'll get the oven on!
M: Um, er...excuse me, um, are you... are you suggesting we should
eat my mother?
(pause)
U: Yeah. Not raw, not raw. We cook her. She'd be delicious with a few
french fries, a bit of stuffing. Delicious! (smacks his lips)
M: What! (he stammers)
(pause)
M: Actually, I do feel a bit peckish - No! NO, I can't!
U: Look, we'll eat your mum. Then, if you feel a bit guilty about it
afterwards, we can dig a grave and you can throw up into it.
M: All right.