Mrs. Conclusion (Chapman): Hullo, Mrs. Premise.
Mrs. Premise (Cleese): Hullo, Mrs. Conclusion.
Conclusion: Busy Day?
Premise: Busy? I just spent four hours burying the cat.
Conclusion: *Four hours* to bury a cat?
Premise: Yes - it wouldn't keep still.
Conclusion: Oh - it wasn't dead, then?
Premise: No, no - but it's not at all well, so as we were going to be on the
safe side.
Conclusion: Quite right - you don't want to come back from Sorrento to a dead
cat. It'd be so anticlimactic. Yes, kill it now, that's what I
say. We're going to have to have our budgie put down.
Premise: Really - is it very old?
Conclusion: No, we just don't like it. We're going to take it to the vet
tomorrow.
Premise: Tell me, how do they put budgies down, then?
Conclusion: Well, it's funny you should ask that, because I've just been
reading a great big book about how to put your budgie down, and
apparently you can either hit them with the book, or you can shoot
them just there, just above the beak.
Premise: Just there? Well, well, well. 'Course, Mrs Essence flushed hers
down the loo.
Conclusion: No, you shouldn't do that - no, that's dangerous. They *breed* in
the *sewers*!
(apologies to Es for implied cruelty to cats......)
Aye, very passable, that, very passable bit of risotto.
Difficult one, Keith.
The restaurant car on the train mentioned below does not contain any details to whether a risotto was in fact served..........but it may have been..........
Scene: a stage representation of a traditional(?) English sitting room. An
old man lies dead on the floor. A man and a woman enter.
Woman: ...Anyways John, you can catch the 11:30 from Hornchurch and be at
Leicester by 1:00, oh and there's a buffet car, and--(notices dead man)
Oh! Daddy!
John: (looking equally shocked) My hats, Sir Horace!
Woman: Has he....been?
John: Yes, after breakfast. But that doesn't matter now, he's dead!
Woman: (distressed) Oh!, poor daddy....
John: Looks like I shan't be catching the 11:30 now....
Woman: Oh, no, John! (insistant) You musn't miss your train!
John: (sympathetically) How can I think of catching a train when I should be
here helping you?
Woman: Oh, John, thank you. (cheerfully) Anyways you could always catch the
9:30 tommorrow; it goes by Caton and Chipsdale.
John: (Enthusiastically) Oh the 9:45 is even better!
Woman: Oh but you'd have to change at Lands Green.
John: Yes, but there's only a seven-minute wait.
Woman: Oh yes, of course! I'd forgotten it was Friday. (returning to
distressed tone of voice) Oh... who could have done this?
(Enter Lady Patridge)
Lady Partridge: (flustered) Oh do hurry Sir Horace, your train leaves in 28
minutes and if you don't catch the 10:15, you won't catch the
3:45 which leaves at..(sees his body lying on the
floor) Oh!
John: (solemnly) I'm afraid Sir Horace won't be catching the 10:15, Lady
Partridge.
LP: Has he been..??
Woman: (cheerily) Yes, after breaksfast!
John: Lady Partridge, I'm afraid you can cancel his seat reservation.
LP: (sits down in nearby chair despondantly) Oh, and it was back
to the engine 4th coach along so that he could see the graveyard signs
outside Swanborough.
John: Not anymore, Lady Patridge, the line's been closed....
LP: Closed?!--Not Swanborough!?
John: I'm afraid so.
(Enter Inspector Davis through the same door as everybody else)
Davis: Roight, nobody move, I'm Inspector Davis of Scotland Yard.
John: My word, you were here quickly, Inspector!
Davis: Yeah, I caught the 8:55 Pullman express from 'round Hornchurch.
All: Oh, that's a very good train, yes, excellent, it's a wonderful line....
(Enter Tony through a garden window)
Tony: Hello everyone!
All: Tony!
Tony: Where's Daddy? (notices stiff) Oh! Has he been...?
All: Yes, after breakfast!
Tony: Then he....won't be needing his seat reservation on the 10:15?
John: Exactly!
Tony: As, I suppose, as his eldest son, it must go to me...(bends over towards
body)
Davis: Just a minute, Tony. (Tony backs off from body)
There's a small matter of... murder!
Tony: Oh but surely he just shot himself and then hid the gun!
L.P.: (incredulously) How could anyone shoot himself and then hide the gun
without first cancelling his reservation?
Tony: Well, I must dash, or I'll be late for the 10:15!
Davis: (blocking him) I suggest you murdered your father for his seat
reservation!
Tony: I may have had the motive, Inspector, but I could not have done it. For
I have just arrived from Gillingham on the 8:13, and here is my
restaurant car ticket to prove it!
Woman: But the 8:13 doesn't *have* a restaurant car!
John: It's a standing buffet only!
Tony: Did I say the 8:13?--I meant the 7:58 Stopping Train.
L.P.: But the 7:58 arrived at Swindon at 8:19 owing to annual points
maintainance at...Winsborough Junction!
John: (interrogating) So how did you make the connection with the 8:13 which
left 6 minutes earlier?
Tony: Simple, I caught the 7:16 Forworth Special, arriving at Swindon at 8:09.
Woman: But the 7:16 only stops at Swindon on alternate Thursdays!
L.P. SURELY you mean the Holiday-Maker Special!
Tony: Oh yes!, how daft of me!, of course, I came on the Holiday-Maker
Special, calling at Bedforth, Comer, Bendetton, Sutton, Wallingham and
Gillingham.
Davis: (accusing) *That's* Sundays Only!
(pause)
Tony: DAMN!--Alright!, I confess. I did it, I killed him for his reservation!
But you won't take me alive!!!! I'm going to throw myself on the 10:12
from Reading!
John: Don't be a fool, Tony! Don't do it!...the 10:12 has the new narrow-
traction bogeys!, you wouldn't stand a chance!
Tony: Exactly!(runs out door)
(Dramatic Musical Swell)
(Curtains)
Gavin Millarrrrrrrrrr [John Cleese] writes:
Neville Shunt's latest West End Success, "It all Happened on the 11.20 from
Hainault to Redhill via Horsham and Reigate, calling at Carshalton Beeches,
Malmesbury, Tooting Bec and Croydon West," is currently appearing at the Limp
Theatre, Piccadilly. What Shunt is doing in this, as in his earlier nine
plays, is to express the human condition in terms of British Rail.
Some people have made the mistake of seeing Shunt's work as a load of rubbish
about railway timetables, but clever people like me who talk loudly in
restaurants see this as a deliberate ambiguity, a plea for understanding in a
mechanised mansion. The points are frozen, the beast is dead. What is the
difference? What indeed is the point? The point is frozen, the beast is late
out of Paddington. The point is taken. If La Fontaine's elk would spurn Tom
Jones the engine must be our head, the dining car our aesophagus, the guards
van our left lung, the cattle truck our shins, the first class compartment the
piece of skin at the nape of the neck and the level crossing an electric elk
called Simon. The clarity is devastating. But where is the ambiguity? Over
there in a box. Shunt is saying the 8.15 from Gillingham when in reality he
means the 8.13 from Gillingham. The train is the same, only the time is
altered. Ecce homo, ergo elk. La Fontaine knew its sister and knew her bloody
well. The point is taken, the beast is moulting, the fluff gets up your nose.
The illusion is complete; it is reality, the reality is illusion and the
ambiguity is the only truth. But is the truth, as Hitchcock observes, in the
box? No, there isn't room, the ambiguity has put on weight. The point is
taken, the elk is dead, the beast stops at Swindon, Chabrol stops at nothing,
I'm having treatment and La Fontaine can get knotted.
Aye, very passable, that, very passable bit of risotto.
Nothing like a good glass of Château de Chasselas, eh, Josiah?
Graham Chapman: Good glass of ChÆ’teau de Chasselas, ain't just that, sire?
Terry Jones: Oh, you're right there, Obadiah.
Graham Chapman: Right.
Eric Idle: Who would have thought, thirty years ago, we'd all be sitting here drinking Chateau de Chaselet, eh?
All: Aye, aye.
Michael Palin: Them days we were glad to have the price of a cup of tea.
Graham Chapman: Right! A cup of cold tea!
Michael Palin: Right!
Eric Idle: Without milk or sugar!
Terry Jones: Or tea!
Michael Palin: In a cracked cup and all.
Eric Idle: Oh, we never used to have a cup! We used to have to drink out of a rolled-up newspaper!
Graham Chapman: The best we could manage was to suck on a piece of damp cloth.
Terry Jones: But you know, we were happy in those days, although we were poor.
Michael Palin: Because we were poor!
Terry Jones: Right!
Michael Palin: My old dad used to say to me: "Money doesn't bring you happiness, son!"
Eric Idle: He was right!
Michael Palin: Right!
Eric Idle: I was happier then and I had nothing! We used to live in this tiny old tumbled-down house with great big holes in
the roof.
Graham Chapman: House! You were lucky to live in a house! We used to live in one room, all twentysix of us, no furniture,
half the floor was missing, we were all huddled together in one corner for fear of falling.
Terry Jones: You were lucky to have a room! We used to have to live in the corridor!
Michael Palin: Oh, we used to dream of living in a corridor! Would have been a palace to us! We used to live in an old
watertank on a rubbish tip. We'd all woke up every morning by having a load of rotten fish dumped all over us! House, huh!
Eric Idle: Well, when I say a house, it was just a hole in the ground, covered by a sheet of tarpaulin, but it was a house to us!
Graham Chapman: We were evicted from our hole in the ground. We had to go and live in a lake!
Terry Jones: You were lucky to have a lake! There were 150 of us living in a shoebox in the middle of the road!
Michael Palin: A cardboard box?
Terry Jones: Aye!
Michael Palin: You were lucky! We lived for three months in a rolled-up newspaper in a septic tank! We used to have to go
up every morning, at six o'clock and clean the newspaper, go to work down the mill, fourteen hours a day, week in, week out,
for six pence a week, and when we got home, our dad would slash us to sleep with his belt!
Graham Chapman: Luxury! We used to have to get up out of the lake at three o'clock in the morning, clean the lake, eat a
handful of hot grubble, work twenty hours a day at mill, for two pence a month, come home, and dad would beat us around
the head and neck with a broken bottle, if we were lucky!
Terry Jones: Well, of course, we had it tough! We used to have to get up out of the shoebox in the middle of the night, and
lick the road clean with our tongues! We had to eat half a handful of freezing cold grubble, work twenty-four hours a day at
mill for four pence every six years, and when we got home, our dad would slice us in two with a breadknife!
Eric Idle: Right! I had to get up in the morning, at ten o'clock at night, half an hour before I went to bed, eat a lump of cold
poison, work twenty-nine hours a day down mill and pay millowner for permission to come to work, and when we got home,
our dad would kill us and dance about on our graves, singing Hallelujah!
Michael Palin: Aah. Are you trying to tell the young people of today that, and they won't believe you!
All: No, no they won't!
Here's a nice one to show that the latest film 'The DaVinci Code' is actually jumping on the Monty Python bandwagon.....
Renaissance Choir: [Gregorian Chant]
Servant: A Michelangelo to see you, your Holiness.
Pope: Who?
Servant: Michelangelo, the famous renaissance artist whose best known works include the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, and
the celebrated statue of David.
Pope: Ah. Very well...
Servant: In 1514 he returned to Florence and de...
Pope: All right, that's enough, that's enough, they've got it now!
Servant: Oh.
Michelangelo: Good evening, your Holiness.
Pope: Evening, Michelangelo. I want to have a word with you about this painting of yours, "The Last Supper."
Michelangelo: Oh, yeah?
Pope: I'm not happy about it.
Michelangelo: Oh, dear. It took me hours.
Pope: Not happy at all.
Michelangelo: Is it the jello you don't like?
Pope: No.
Michelangelo: Ah, no, I know, they do have a bit of colour, don't they? Oh, I know, you don't like the kangaroo?
Pope: What kangaroo?
Michelangelo: No problem, I'll paint him out.
Pope: I never saw a kangaroo!
Michelangelo: Uuh...he's right in the back. I'll paint him out! No sweat, I'll make him into a disciple.
Pope: Aah.
Michelangelo: All right?
Pope: That's the problem.
Michelangelo: What is?
Pope: The disciples.
Michelangelo: Are they too Jewish? I made Judas the most Jewish.
Pope: No, it's just that there are twenty-eight of them.
Michelangelo: Oh, well, another one will never matter, I'll make the kangaroo into another one.
Pope: No, that's not the point.
Michelangelo: All right. Well, I'll lose the kangaroo. Be honest, I wasn't perfectly happy with it.
Pope: That's not the point. There are twenty-eight disciples!
Michelangelo: Too many?
Pope: Well, of course it's too many!
Michelangelo: Yeah, I know that, but I wanted to give the impression of a real last supper. You know, not just any old last
supper. Not like a last meal or a final snack. But you know, I wanted to give the impression of a real mother of a blow-out,
you know?
Pope: There were only twelve disciples at the last supper.
Michelangelo: Well, maybe some of the others came along afterw...
Pope: There were only twelve altogether.
Michelangelo: Well, maybe some of their friends came by, you know?
Pope: Look! There were just twelve disciples and our Lord at the last supper. The Bible clearly says so.
Michelangelo: No friends?
Pope: No friends.
Michelangelo: Waiters?
Pope: No.
Michelangelo: Cabaret?
Pope: No!
Michelangelo: You see, I like them, they help to flesh out the scene, I could lose a few, you know I could...
Pope: Look! There were only twelve disciples at...
Michelangelo: I've got it! I've got it! We'll call it "The Last But One Supper"!
Pope: What?
Michelangelo: Well there must have been one, if there was a last supper there must have been a one before that, so this, is the
"Penultimate Supper"! The Bible doesn't say how many people were there, does it?
Pope: No, but...
Michelangelo: Well there you are, then!
Pope: Look! The last supper is a significant event in the life of our Lord, the penultimate supper was not! Even if they had a
conjurer and a mariachi band. Now, a last supper I commissioned from you, and a last supper I want! With twelve disciples
and one Christ!
Michelangelo: One?!
Pope: Yes one! Now will you please tell me what in God's name possessed you to paint this with three Christs in it?
Michelangelo: It works, mate!
Pope: Works?
Michelangelo: Yeah! It looks great! The fat one balances the two skinny ones.
Pope: There was only one Redeemer!
Michelangelo: Ah, I know that, we all know that, what about a bit of artistic license?
Pope: A one Messiah is what I want!
Michelangelo: I'll tell you what you want, mate! You want a bloody photographer! That's you want. Not a bloody creative
artist to crease you up...
Pope: I'll tell you what I want! I want a last supper with one Christ, twelve disciples, no kangaroos, no trampoline acts, by
Thursday lunch, or you don't get paid!
Michelangelo: Bloody fascist!
Pope: Look! I'm the bloody pope, I am! May not know much about art, but I know what I like!
Of course, the Pythons were preceded by the _ _ _ _ _ .
Fill in the blanks and you will receive a prize -
A new pair of fully fashioned cardboard knees.........
Seagoon:
I was right! Eccles, what are you doing out after feeding time?
Eccles:
I signed a contract that fooled me – fooled me mark you – into taking this piano back to England.
Seagoon:
What? You must be an idiot to sign a contract like that. Heh heh. Now help me get this piano back to England. Together... lift.
Omnes:
[General straining sounds, with piano plonks]
Seagoon:
Watch the old tenor's friend... heave... No, no, no. It's too heavy. It's too heavy. Put it down.
FX:
[Thud, plonk]
Eccles:
Here... it's lighter when you let go, i'n' it?
Seagoon:
I have an idea. We'll saw the legs off. Eccles? Give me that special piano leg saw that, er, that you just happen to be carrying. Ha ha ha. Thank you... now.
Eccles:
[sings under:]
FX:
[sawing wood followed by wood dropping on floor]
FX:
[sawing wood followed by wood dropping on floor]
FX:
[sawing wood followed by wood dropping on floor]
FX:
[sawing wood followed by wood dropping on floor]
Seagoon:
There! I've sawn off all four legs.
German:
Strange.. The first time I've known of a piano with four legs.
The Python thread
)
Mrs. Conclusion (Chapman): Hullo, Mrs. Premise.
Mrs. Premise (Cleese): Hullo, Mrs. Conclusion.
Conclusion: Busy Day?
Premise: Busy? I just spent four hours burying the cat.
Conclusion: *Four hours* to bury a cat?
Premise: Yes - it wouldn't keep still.
Conclusion: Oh - it wasn't dead, then?
Premise: No, no - but it's not at all well, so as we were going to be on the
safe side.
Conclusion: Quite right - you don't want to come back from Sorrento to a dead
cat. It'd be so anticlimactic. Yes, kill it now, that's what I
say. We're going to have to have our budgie put down.
Premise: Really - is it very old?
Conclusion: No, we just don't like it. We're going to take it to the vet
tomorrow.
Premise: Tell me, how do they put budgies down, then?
Conclusion: Well, it's funny you should ask that, because I've just been
reading a great big book about how to put your budgie down, and
apparently you can either hit them with the book, or you can shoot
them just there, just above the beak.
Premise: Just there? Well, well, well. 'Course, Mrs Essence flushed hers
down the loo.
Conclusion: No, you shouldn't do that - no, that's dangerous. They *breed* in
the *sewers*!
(apologies to Es for implied cruelty to cats......)
Aye, very passable, that,
)
Aye, very passable, that, very passable bit of risotto.
RE: Aye, very passable,
)
Difficult one, Keith.
The restaurant car on the train mentioned below does not contain any details to whether a risotto was in fact served..........but it may have been..........
Scene: a stage representation of a traditional(?) English sitting room. An
old man lies dead on the floor. A man and a woman enter.
Woman: ...Anyways John, you can catch the 11:30 from Hornchurch and be at
Leicester by 1:00, oh and there's a buffet car, and--(notices dead man)
Oh! Daddy!
John: (looking equally shocked) My hats, Sir Horace!
Woman: Has he....been?
John: Yes, after breakfast. But that doesn't matter now, he's dead!
Woman: (distressed) Oh!, poor daddy....
John: Looks like I shan't be catching the 11:30 now....
Woman: Oh, no, John! (insistant) You musn't miss your train!
John: (sympathetically) How can I think of catching a train when I should be
here helping you?
Woman: Oh, John, thank you. (cheerfully) Anyways you could always catch the
9:30 tommorrow; it goes by Caton and Chipsdale.
John: (Enthusiastically) Oh the 9:45 is even better!
Woman: Oh but you'd have to change at Lands Green.
John: Yes, but there's only a seven-minute wait.
Woman: Oh yes, of course! I'd forgotten it was Friday. (returning to
distressed tone of voice) Oh... who could have done this?
(Enter Lady Patridge)
Lady Partridge: (flustered) Oh do hurry Sir Horace, your train leaves in 28
minutes and if you don't catch the 10:15, you won't catch the
3:45 which leaves at..(sees his body lying on the
floor) Oh!
John: (solemnly) I'm afraid Sir Horace won't be catching the 10:15, Lady
Partridge.
LP: Has he been..??
Woman: (cheerily) Yes, after breaksfast!
John: Lady Partridge, I'm afraid you can cancel his seat reservation.
LP: (sits down in nearby chair despondantly) Oh, and it was back
to the engine 4th coach along so that he could see the graveyard signs
outside Swanborough.
John: Not anymore, Lady Patridge, the line's been closed....
LP: Closed?!--Not Swanborough!?
John: I'm afraid so.
(Enter Inspector Davis through the same door as everybody else)
Davis: Roight, nobody move, I'm Inspector Davis of Scotland Yard.
John: My word, you were here quickly, Inspector!
Davis: Yeah, I caught the 8:55 Pullman express from 'round Hornchurch.
All: Oh, that's a very good train, yes, excellent, it's a wonderful line....
(Enter Tony through a garden window)
Tony: Hello everyone!
All: Tony!
Tony: Where's Daddy? (notices stiff) Oh! Has he been...?
All: Yes, after breakfast!
Tony: Then he....won't be needing his seat reservation on the 10:15?
John: Exactly!
Tony: As, I suppose, as his eldest son, it must go to me...(bends over towards
body)
Davis: Just a minute, Tony. (Tony backs off from body)
There's a small matter of... murder!
Tony: Oh but surely he just shot himself and then hid the gun!
L.P.: (incredulously) How could anyone shoot himself and then hide the gun
without first cancelling his reservation?
Tony: Well, I must dash, or I'll be late for the 10:15!
Davis: (blocking him) I suggest you murdered your father for his seat
reservation!
Tony: I may have had the motive, Inspector, but I could not have done it. For
I have just arrived from Gillingham on the 8:13, and here is my
restaurant car ticket to prove it!
Woman: But the 8:13 doesn't *have* a restaurant car!
John: It's a standing buffet only!
Tony: Did I say the 8:13?--I meant the 7:58 Stopping Train.
L.P.: But the 7:58 arrived at Swindon at 8:19 owing to annual points
maintainance at...Winsborough Junction!
John: (interrogating) So how did you make the connection with the 8:13 which
left 6 minutes earlier?
Tony: Simple, I caught the 7:16 Forworth Special, arriving at Swindon at 8:09.
Woman: But the 7:16 only stops at Swindon on alternate Thursdays!
L.P. SURELY you mean the Holiday-Maker Special!
Tony: Oh yes!, how daft of me!, of course, I came on the Holiday-Maker
Special, calling at Bedforth, Comer, Bendetton, Sutton, Wallingham and
Gillingham.
Davis: (accusing) *That's* Sundays Only!
(pause)
Tony: DAMN!--Alright!, I confess. I did it, I killed him for his reservation!
But you won't take me alive!!!! I'm going to throw myself on the 10:12
from Reading!
John: Don't be a fool, Tony! Don't do it!...the 10:12 has the new narrow-
traction bogeys!, you wouldn't stand a chance!
Tony: Exactly!(runs out door)
(Dramatic Musical Swell)
(Curtains)
Gavin Millarrrrrrrrrr [John Cleese] writes:
Neville Shunt's latest West End Success, "It all Happened on the 11.20 from
Hainault to Redhill via Horsham and Reigate, calling at Carshalton Beeches,
Malmesbury, Tooting Bec and Croydon West," is currently appearing at the Limp
Theatre, Piccadilly. What Shunt is doing in this, as in his earlier nine
plays, is to express the human condition in terms of British Rail.
Some people have made the mistake of seeing Shunt's work as a load of rubbish
about railway timetables, but clever people like me who talk loudly in
restaurants see this as a deliberate ambiguity, a plea for understanding in a
mechanised mansion. The points are frozen, the beast is dead. What is the
difference? What indeed is the point? The point is frozen, the beast is late
out of Paddington. The point is taken. If La Fontaine's elk would spurn Tom
Jones the engine must be our head, the dining car our aesophagus, the guards
van our left lung, the cattle truck our shins, the first class compartment the
piece of skin at the nape of the neck and the level crossing an electric elk
called Simon. The clarity is devastating. But where is the ambiguity? Over
there in a box. Shunt is saying the 8.15 from Gillingham when in reality he
means the 8.13 from Gillingham. The train is the same, only the time is
altered. Ecce homo, ergo elk. La Fontaine knew its sister and knew her bloody
well. The point is taken, the beast is moulting, the fluff gets up your nose.
The illusion is complete; it is reality, the reality is illusion and the
ambiguity is the only truth. But is the truth, as Hitchcock observes, in the
box? No, there isn't room, the ambiguity has put on weight. The point is
taken, the elk is dead, the beast stops at Swindon, Chabrol stops at nothing,
I'm having treatment and La Fontaine can get knotted.
..and I thought we were the
)
..and I thought we were the crazy ones..
Close, but no cigar...
....another clue...
Aye, very passable, that, very passable bit of risotto.
Nothing like a good glass of Château de Chasselas, eh, Josiah?
RE: ..and I thought we were
)
Graham Chapman: Good glass of ChÆ’teau de Chasselas, ain't just that, sire?
Terry Jones: Oh, you're right there, Obadiah.
Graham Chapman: Right.
Eric Idle: Who would have thought, thirty years ago, we'd all be sitting here drinking Chateau de Chaselet, eh?
All: Aye, aye.
Michael Palin: Them days we were glad to have the price of a cup of tea.
Graham Chapman: Right! A cup of cold tea!
Michael Palin: Right!
Eric Idle: Without milk or sugar!
Terry Jones: Or tea!
Michael Palin: In a cracked cup and all.
Eric Idle: Oh, we never used to have a cup! We used to have to drink out of a rolled-up newspaper!
Graham Chapman: The best we could manage was to suck on a piece of damp cloth.
Terry Jones: But you know, we were happy in those days, although we were poor.
Michael Palin: Because we were poor!
Terry Jones: Right!
Michael Palin: My old dad used to say to me: "Money doesn't bring you happiness, son!"
Eric Idle: He was right!
Michael Palin: Right!
Eric Idle: I was happier then and I had nothing! We used to live in this tiny old tumbled-down house with great big holes in
the roof.
Graham Chapman: House! You were lucky to live in a house! We used to live in one room, all twentysix of us, no furniture,
half the floor was missing, we were all huddled together in one corner for fear of falling.
Terry Jones: You were lucky to have a room! We used to have to live in the corridor!
Michael Palin: Oh, we used to dream of living in a corridor! Would have been a palace to us! We used to live in an old
watertank on a rubbish tip. We'd all woke up every morning by having a load of rotten fish dumped all over us! House, huh!
Eric Idle: Well, when I say a house, it was just a hole in the ground, covered by a sheet of tarpaulin, but it was a house to us!
Graham Chapman: We were evicted from our hole in the ground. We had to go and live in a lake!
Terry Jones: You were lucky to have a lake! There were 150 of us living in a shoebox in the middle of the road!
Michael Palin: A cardboard box?
Terry Jones: Aye!
Michael Palin: You were lucky! We lived for three months in a rolled-up newspaper in a septic tank! We used to have to go
up every morning, at six o'clock and clean the newspaper, go to work down the mill, fourteen hours a day, week in, week out,
for six pence a week, and when we got home, our dad would slash us to sleep with his belt!
Graham Chapman: Luxury! We used to have to get up out of the lake at three o'clock in the morning, clean the lake, eat a
handful of hot grubble, work twenty hours a day at mill, for two pence a month, come home, and dad would beat us around
the head and neck with a broken bottle, if we were lucky!
Terry Jones: Well, of course, we had it tough! We used to have to get up out of the shoebox in the middle of the night, and
lick the road clean with our tongues! We had to eat half a handful of freezing cold grubble, work twenty-four hours a day at
mill for four pence every six years, and when we got home, our dad would slice us in two with a breadknife!
Eric Idle: Right! I had to get up in the morning, at ten o'clock at night, half an hour before I went to bed, eat a lump of cold
poison, work twenty-nine hours a day down mill and pay millowner for permission to come to work, and when we got home,
our dad would kill us and dance about on our graves, singing Hallelujah!
Michael Palin: Aah. Are you trying to tell the young people of today that, and they won't believe you!
All: No, no they won't!
Here's a nice one to show
)
Here's a nice one to show that the latest film 'The DaVinci Code' is actually jumping on the Monty Python bandwagon.....
Renaissance Choir: [Gregorian Chant]
Servant: A Michelangelo to see you, your Holiness.
Pope: Who?
Servant: Michelangelo, the famous renaissance artist whose best known works include the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, and
the celebrated statue of David.
Pope: Ah. Very well...
Servant: In 1514 he returned to Florence and de...
Pope: All right, that's enough, that's enough, they've got it now!
Servant: Oh.
Michelangelo: Good evening, your Holiness.
Pope: Evening, Michelangelo. I want to have a word with you about this painting of yours, "The Last Supper."
Michelangelo: Oh, yeah?
Pope: I'm not happy about it.
Michelangelo: Oh, dear. It took me hours.
Pope: Not happy at all.
Michelangelo: Is it the jello you don't like?
Pope: No.
Michelangelo: Ah, no, I know, they do have a bit of colour, don't they? Oh, I know, you don't like the kangaroo?
Pope: What kangaroo?
Michelangelo: No problem, I'll paint him out.
Pope: I never saw a kangaroo!
Michelangelo: Uuh...he's right in the back. I'll paint him out! No sweat, I'll make him into a disciple.
Pope: Aah.
Michelangelo: All right?
Pope: That's the problem.
Michelangelo: What is?
Pope: The disciples.
Michelangelo: Are they too Jewish? I made Judas the most Jewish.
Pope: No, it's just that there are twenty-eight of them.
Michelangelo: Oh, well, another one will never matter, I'll make the kangaroo into another one.
Pope: No, that's not the point.
Michelangelo: All right. Well, I'll lose the kangaroo. Be honest, I wasn't perfectly happy with it.
Pope: That's not the point. There are twenty-eight disciples!
Michelangelo: Too many?
Pope: Well, of course it's too many!
Michelangelo: Yeah, I know that, but I wanted to give the impression of a real last supper. You know, not just any old last
supper. Not like a last meal or a final snack. But you know, I wanted to give the impression of a real mother of a blow-out,
you know?
Pope: There were only twelve disciples at the last supper.
Michelangelo: Well, maybe some of the others came along afterw...
Pope: There were only twelve altogether.
Michelangelo: Well, maybe some of their friends came by, you know?
Pope: Look! There were just twelve disciples and our Lord at the last supper. The Bible clearly says so.
Michelangelo: No friends?
Pope: No friends.
Michelangelo: Waiters?
Pope: No.
Michelangelo: Cabaret?
Pope: No!
Michelangelo: You see, I like them, they help to flesh out the scene, I could lose a few, you know I could...
Pope: Look! There were only twelve disciples at...
Michelangelo: I've got it! I've got it! We'll call it "The Last But One Supper"!
Pope: What?
Michelangelo: Well there must have been one, if there was a last supper there must have been a one before that, so this, is the
"Penultimate Supper"! The Bible doesn't say how many people were there, does it?
Pope: No, but...
Michelangelo: Well there you are, then!
Pope: Look! The last supper is a significant event in the life of our Lord, the penultimate supper was not! Even if they had a
conjurer and a mariachi band. Now, a last supper I commissioned from you, and a last supper I want! With twelve disciples
and one Christ!
Michelangelo: One?!
Pope: Yes one! Now will you please tell me what in God's name possessed you to paint this with three Christs in it?
Michelangelo: It works, mate!
Pope: Works?
Michelangelo: Yeah! It looks great! The fat one balances the two skinny ones.
Pope: There was only one Redeemer!
Michelangelo: Ah, I know that, we all know that, what about a bit of artistic license?
Pope: A one Messiah is what I want!
Michelangelo: I'll tell you what you want, mate! You want a bloody photographer! That's you want. Not a bloody creative
artist to crease you up...
Pope: I'll tell you what I want! I want a last supper with one Christ, twelve disciples, no kangaroos, no trampoline acts, by
Thursday lunch, or you don't get paid!
Michelangelo: Bloody fascist!
Pope: Look! I'm the bloody pope, I am! May not know much about art, but I know what I like!
Of course, the Pythons were
)
Of course, the Pythons were preceded by the _ _ _ _ _ .
Fill in the blanks and you will receive a prize -
A new pair of fully fashioned cardboard knees.........
Seagoon:
I was right! Eccles, what are you doing out after feeding time?
Eccles:
I signed a contract that fooled me – fooled me mark you – into taking this piano back to England.
Seagoon:
What? You must be an idiot to sign a contract like that. Heh heh. Now help me get this piano back to England. Together... lift.
Omnes:
[General straining sounds, with piano plonks]
Seagoon:
Watch the old tenor's friend... heave... No, no, no. It's too heavy. It's too heavy. Put it down.
FX:
[Thud, plonk]
Eccles:
Here... it's lighter when you let go, i'n' it?
Seagoon:
I have an idea. We'll saw the legs off. Eccles? Give me that special piano leg saw that, er, that you just happen to be carrying. Ha ha ha. Thank you... now.
Eccles:
[sings under:]
FX:
[sawing wood followed by wood dropping on floor]
FX:
[sawing wood followed by wood dropping on floor]
FX:
[sawing wood followed by wood dropping on floor]
FX:
[sawing wood followed by wood dropping on floor]
Seagoon:
There! I've sawn off all four legs.
German:
Strange.. The first time I've known of a piano with four legs.
Eccles:
Hey! I keep fallin' down.
RE: Of course, the Pythons
)
Napoleon's Piano - The Goon Show
RE: RE: Of course, the
)
Gad Moriarty....
RE: RE: RE: Of course,
)
Glad we have some support for The Goons and Moriarty