The Airline Pilots Sketch
-------------------------

by John Cleese & Graham Chapman

Transcribed from the video:
"John Cleese on How To Irritate People"

The Cast   Captain:       John Cleese
           First Officer: Graham Chapman
           Steward:       Michael Palin

(The sketch opens in an aeroplane cockpit.
 The Captain and the First Officer are whistling idly.
 They are obviously very bored.)

C:  I spy with my little eye something beginning with S.
FO: Sky.
C:  Mm-hm.
FO  I spy with my little eye something beginning with C.
C:  Cloud.
FO: Yeah.
    Oh God, I'm so bored.
C:  I'm fed up with that game.  Let's play another game.
    I know what..
FO: What?

(The Captain picks up a microphone.)

C:  (over intercom) "Hello, this is your Captain speaking.
    There is absolutely no cause for concern."
    That'll get them thinking.

(The First Officer reaches for the microphone.)

C:  No, no, no, no.  Not yet, not yet.  Let it sink in.
    They'll be thinking, er, 'What is there no cause for alarm
    about?  Are the wings on fire?'
    (over intercom)  "The wings are not on fire."
    Now they're thinking, er, 'why should he say that?'
    So we say...

(The Steward enters.)

FO: Oh, how are we doing?
S:  (looks down the aisle) They've stopped eating;
    Looking a bit worried...
C:  Good.
S:  Hang on, one of them is going to the washroom.
C:  Is he there yet?
S:  He's just closing the door... NOW!
C:  One... Two... Three..
FO: (over intercom) "Please return to your seats and fasten your
    seat-belts immediately."
S:  Yes... here he comes, going up the aisle like the clappers.
    I'll do the worried walk now.

(He leaves.)

FO: Right. Safety regulations.
C:  (agreeing) Safety regulations.
FO: (over intercom) "Please listen carefully.  I want you, I want
    to remind you of some of the safety regulations.
    In the case of emergency it is vitally important to..."

(The Captain makes a radio-static type noise.)

FO: "as the warning buzzer sounds."
C:  "Bzzzz"

(They both laugh.)

C:  Oh, that's got them rattled.
S:  (enters) Great, great! (exit)

C:  Hey, I've got an idea!
    "Hello, you will find your life-jackets under your seats."
FO: No, they're on the racks.
C:  Sh, shh, let them scrabble a bit.
    "I'm sorry, you will ind them on the racks above your heads."
FO: Aaah!
S:  (back again) Great, great, that was marvellous!
FO: Right.  Gobbledegook.
C:  Oh, yes.
FO  "The scransons above your heads are now ready to flange.
    Please unfasten your safety belts and press the emergency
    photoscamps on the back of the seats in front of you."
S:  (looks out) Marvellous, milling about, climbing over the seats.
FO: "Please find the emergency sprill in the washroom at the back 
    and release it..."
C:  "but do not unfasten your safety belts."
S:  That got them back to their seats.
FO: "The emergency sprill MUST be released..."
C:  "but do not leave your seats."
FO: "Do not panic."
C:  "Tea will now be served."
FO: "Inflate your life-jackets"
C:  "and extinguish all cigarettes."
FO: "Please remove the luggage from the racks above your heads and
    place it on the racks on the other side of the aircraft."
C:  "Except for hand luggage..."
FO: "which you should sit on."

(They are in fits of laughter.)

C:  Now have a look.
S:  (looks) Hang on... hang on... they've all jumped out!

(They laugh, pointing downwards and looking out of the windows.
 After a while the laughter dies away.
 There is a lengthy pause.)

C:  You know, I wouldn't be surprised if there was some trouble
    about this.

(They burst out laughing again.  The sketch ends.) 


**** The man who speaks in anagrams (From the 3rd series of Monty Python)  ****
**** Transcribed 7/18/87 by Jonathan Partington                            ****
**** ( JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK )                              ****
 
 
Palin: Hello, good evening and welcome to another edition of Blood Devastation
       Death War and Horror, and later on we'll be meeting a man who *does*
       gardening.  But first on the show we've got a man who speaks entirely in
       anagrams.
Idle:  Taht si crreoct.
Palin: Do you enjoy it?
Idle:  I stom certainly od. Revy chum so.
Palin: And what's your name?
Idle:  Hamrag - Hamrag Yatlerot
Palin: Well, Graham, nice to have you on the show.  Now, where do you come
       from?
Idle:  Bumcreland.
Palin: Cumberland?
Idle:  Stah't it sepricely.
Palin: And I believe you're working on an anagram version of Shakespeare?
Idle:  Sey, sey - taht si crreoct, er - ta the mnemot I'm wroking on "The
       Mating of the Wersh".
Palin: "The Mating of the Wersh"? By William Shakespeare?
Idle:  Nay, by Malliwi Rapesheake.
Palin: And what else?
Idle:  "Two Netlemeng of Verona", "Twelfth Thing", "The Chamrent of Venice"....
Palin: Have you done "Hamlet"?
Idle:  "Thamle". 'Be ot or bot ne ot, tath is the nestquoi.'
Palin: And what is your next project?
Idle:  "Ring Kichard the Thrid".
Palin: I'm sorry?
Idle:  'A shroe! A shroe! My dingkom for a shroe!'
Palin: Ah, Ring Kichard, yes...  but surely that's not an anagram, that's a
       spoonerism.
Idle:  If you're going to split hairs, I'm going to piss off.  (Exit)
 
 
**** end of file ANAGRAM PYTHON  ****
**** From:       JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK ****
****   The tale of Sir Galahad: ANTHRAX PYTHON                             ****
****   Transcribed, expressly for the Python collection at BBoard@Yalevmx  ****
****   from the tape of the film                                           ****
****   by Malcolm Dickinson ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET ) 3/11/87             ****
 
****   Transcript #10 from the film.                                       ****
****   Continued from transcript #9, ROBIN PYTHON.                         ****
 
Sir Galahad, making his way through deep forest in the middle of a terrible
thunderstorm, comes upon a dark, tall castle.  At the top of the tower glows a
stunning image of the Holy Grail.  A wolf howls.
 
He struggles to the door of the castle, upon which, while standing in the
pouring rain, he bangs with his armored glove.
 
Galahad: <banging> Open the door!
         <banging again> Open the door!
                         In the name of King Arthur, open the door!
 
The door creaks open, and Galahad falls onto the stone floor of the castle.
Looking up, he sees the faces of three young women dressed all in white.
 
Women: Hello!
       Hello!
       Hello!
 
Zoot:    Welcome, gentle Sir Knight, to the Castle Anthrax!
Galahad: (confused) The Castle Anthrax??
Zoot:    Yes... (disappointed) It's not a very good name, is it?
         (brightening) Oh, But *we* are nice!  And we will attend to your
         every, *every* need!
Galahad: You are the keepers of the Holy Grail?
Zoot:    The what?
Galahad: The Grail... it is here....
Zoot:    Oh, but you are tired, and you must rest a while!
         Midget!  Creeper!
Other women: Yes, Sir Zoot!
Zoot:    Prepare a *bed* for our guest.
Others:  Yes, Sir Zoot.  Thank you, Sir Zoot!  Thank you, Sir Zoot!  Thank you-
Zoot:    Away, Away, vile etessence!
         (to Galahad) The beds here are warm and soft...
                      And very, *very* big.
Galahad: (protesting) Well, look, I..I, uh--
Zoot:    What is your name, handsome knight?
Galahad: Sir Galahad.... the Chaste.
Zoot:    Mine is Zoot... just, Zoot.
         Oh, but come!  (starts to lead him upstairs)
Galahad: No, *please*!  In god's name, show me the Grail!!
Zoot:    Oh, you have suffered much!  You are delerious!
Galahad: (urgently) No, look, I have seen it!  It is here, it--
Zoot:    Sir Galahad!  You would not be so un-gallant as to refuse our
         hospitality!
Galahad: (pause) Well, I--I, uh.... (looks at feet, fingers edge of shield)
Zoot:    (leading him upstairs)
         Oh... I'm afraid our life must seem very dull and quiet compared to
         yours.  We are but 8 score younge blondes and brunettes...  all
         between sixteen and 19-and-a-half...  cut off in this castle with no
         one to protect us!  Oh...  it is a lonely life.  Bathing...
         dressing...  undressing...  knitting exciting underwear....  We are
         just not used to handsome knights!
(she leads him to a bed and sits him down; he tries to get up.)
         Nay, nay, come, come!  You may lie here.  (pushes him down on the bed)
         (seeing blood on his armour) Oh!!  But you are wounded!
Galahad: No, no.. i-it's nothing!
Zoot:    Oh, you must see the doctors immediately!
         (he starts to get up and leave)
         (pushing him back down) No, no, please!  Lie down.
 
She claps her hands twice; two sixteen-year old girls arrive.
Piglet:  Well... what seems to be the trouble?
Galahad: (incredulous) They're DOCTORS?
Zoot:    Uh... they have a basic medical training, yes....
Galahad once again tries to get up and leave.  Zoot, quite adept at it by this
time, pushes him back down on the bed.
         Oh, come, come... you must try to rest.
         Doctor Piglet, Doctor Winston; practice your art. (leaves)
 
The two girls sit on the bed and relieve Galahad of his shield, which he's
been holding in front of him during the whole scene.
 
Winston: *Try* to relax...
Galahad: Are you sure that's absolutely necessary?
Piglet:  We *must* examine you....
         (lifts up a flap of his kilt)
Galahad: There's nothing wrong with *that*!
Winston: Please.... we *are* doctors.
 
(They begin to proceed with the examination when a metallic "bong" is heard
from Galahad's nether region.  He grabs his shield and jumps out of bed.)
 
Galahad: Ach!  That cannot be!  I am sworn to Chastity!
Winston: Back to your bed at once!
Galahad: Torment me no longer!  I have seen the Grail!
Piglet:  There's no grail here...
Galahad: I have seen it, I have seen it!
         (he runs through the curtain into another room.)
         I have--
(suddenly he looks around, and realizes that this room is filled with young
women, all in their nightclothes.  Some are brushing their hair, some are
eating various sorts of suggestive fruits...  As he passes through them, each
one whispers "Hello!".  He runs out of the chamber, into a staircase, where he
almost runs into...)
 
         Zoot!!
Zoot:    No, I am Zoot's identical twin sister, Dingo.
Galahad: Oh.  Well, excuse me, I-- (starting to go by her down the stairs)
Dingo:   (standing in his way) Where are you going?
Galahad: I seek the Grail!   I have seen it, here, in this castle!
Dingo:   (sudden realization)  No... oh, no!!
         Bad, *bad* Zoot!
Galahad: What is it?
Dingo:   Oh, wicked, bad, *naughty* Zoot!
         She has been setting a light to our beacon, which, I've just
         remembered, is grail-shaped.  It's not the first time we've had this
         problem....
Galahad: (incredibly disappointed) It's not the real Grail????!
Dingo:   Oh, wicked, bad, naughty, *evil* Zoot!
         (leading him back into the room with all the women in it)
         She is a *naughty* person....  and she must pay the penalty!
         And here in Castle Anthrax, we have but one punishment for setting
         alight the grail-shaped beacon:  You must tie her down on a bed,
         and *spank* her.
Others:  A spanking, a spanking!!!
Dingo:   You must spank her well, and after you have spanked her, you may deal
         with her as you like.  And then......  spank me!
Others:  And spank me!
         And me!
         And me!
         And me!
Dingo:   Yes, you must give us all a good spanking!!
Others:  A spanking, a spanking, there's going to be a spanking tonight!!!!!
Dingo:   ...and after the spanking.... the Oral Sex!!
Others:  (amid squeals of delight) The oral sex, the oral sex!!!
Galahad: Well, I could stay a *bit* longer...
 
(suddenly, Sir Launcelot and two other nondescript knights come storming into
 the room, swords drawn.)
 
Launcelot: Sir Galahad!
Galahad:   Oh, hello...
Launcelot: (taking him by the arm) Quick!
Galahad:   What?
Launcelot: (dragging him out of the room) Quick!!
Galahad:   Why?
Launcelot: You are in great peril!!!
Dingo:     No he isn't!
Launcelot: Silence, FOUL TEMPTRESS!!!
Galahad:   Hey look, she's got the point...
Launcelot: Come on, we must cover your escape!
Galahad:   (being dragged out)  Look, I'm FINE!
Launcelot  (now dragging him into the entrance hall) COME ON...
Dingo:     Sir Galahad...
Galahad:   Look, I can tackle this lot *singlehanded*.
Dingo:     Yes, let him tackle us singlehanded!!
Others:    Yes, yes!!! Singlehanded!!!!!
Launcelot: No, Sir Galahad.  Come!!  (continues dragging him out)
Galahad:  No really, honestly, I can cope.  I can handle this lot *easily*.
Dingo:    Oh, Yes, let him handle us *easily*.....
Others:   Yes, yes....
Galahad:  Please, please.  I can defeat them; there's only a hundred and fifty
          of them! (is dragged out the door)
Dingo:    Yes, yes, he'll beat us easily...  we haven't a chance!
Others:   No, we haven't a chance!  We haven't a chance!!!
(the door slams behind the departed knights)
Dingo:    Oh, *shit*.
 
Outside, Launcelot and the other two knights are still walking Galahad away
from the castle door.
 
Launcelot: We were in the nick of time; you were in great peril!
Galahad:   I *don't* think I was.
Launcelot: Yes you were, you were in *terrible* peril.
Galahad:   Look.  Let me go back in there and *face* the peril.
Launcelot: No, it's too perilous.
Galahad:   But my duty as a knight is to stop as much peril as I can.
Launcelot: No, we've got to find the Holy Grail.  Come on.
Galahad:   Oh, let me have just a *little bit* of Peril?
Launcelot: No; it's unhealthy.
Galahad:   I bet you're gay!
Launcelot: (indignant) No I'm not!
 
(up on scene 24)
 
Voice over: Sir Launcelot had saved Sir Galahad from almost *certain*
temptation.  But they were still no nearer the Grail.
Meanwhile, King Arthur and Sir Bedevere, not more than a swallow's flight
away, had discovered something.
 
(music up)
 
Oh, that's an *unladen* swallow's flight, obviously.
I mean, they were more than two *laden* swallows' flights away.
Four, really, if they had a coconut on a line between them.
I mean, if the birds were walking, and dragging--
 
( crowd says "GET ON WITH IT!!")
 
Oh, anyway.  On to Scene 24, which is a smashing scene with some lovely acting,
 n which Arthur discovers a vital clue.  And in which there aren't any
swallows, although I think you can hear a starling--
(he is clubbed from behind)
 
**** Following scene 24, which has not been transcribed due to its         ****
**** essential lack of funny bits, the film is continued in                ****
**** NI PYTHON, transcript #11.                                            ****
 
**** end of file ANTHRAX PYTHON 3/11/87 M.M.D.                             ****
****  The Architects Sketch                                                **** 
****  by John Cleese and Graham Chapman;                                   **** 
****  from "Monty Python's Flying Circus", 20 October 1970                 **** 
****  Transcribed 9/14/87 by Dawn Whiteside ( SCIUA@MCMASTER.BITNET )      *****
                                                                                
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.               
                                                                                
                                                                                
**** end of file ARCHITEC PYTHON   9/15/87  ****                                
****   The Argument Sketch                                                 ****
****   transcribed from a tape of the record of                            ****
****   Monty Python Live at City Center                                    ****
****   by Malcolm Dickinson ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )     4/3/86          ****
 
 
A man walks into an office.
 
Man: Good morning, I'd like to have an argument, please.
Receptionist: Certainly, sir.  Have you been here before?
Man: No, this is my first time.
Receptionist: I see, well we'll see who's free at the moment.
              Mr. Bakely's free, but he's a little bit concilliatory.  No.
              Try Mr. Barnhart, room 12.
Man: Thank you.
 
He enters room 12.
 
Angry man: WHADDAYOU WANT?
Man: Well, Well, I was told outside that...
Angry man: DON'T GIVE ME THAT, YOU SNOTTY-FACED HEAP OF PARROT DROPPINGS!
Man: What?
A: SHUT YOUR FESTERING GOB, YOU TIT!  YOUR TYPE MAKES ME PUKE!  YOU VACUOUS
   STUFFY-NOSED MALODOROUS PERVERT!!!
M: Yes, but I came here for an argument!!
A: OH!  Oh!  I'm sorry!  This is abuse!
M: Oh!  Oh I see!
A: Aha!  No, you want room 12A, next door.
M: Oh...Sorry...
A: Not at all!
A: (under his breath) stupid git.
 
The man goes into room 12A.  Another man is sitting behind a desk.
 
Man: Is this the right room for an argument?
Other Man:(pause) I've told you once.
Man:  No you haven't!
Other Man: Yes I have.
M: When?
O: Just now.
M: No you didn't!
O: Yes I did!
M: You didn't!
O: I did!
M: You didn't!
O: I'm telling you, I did!
M: You didn't!
O: (breaking into the developing argument) Oh I'm sorry, is this a five minute
   argument, or the full half hour?
M: Ah!  (taking out his wallet and paying) Just the five minutes.
O: Just the five minutes.  Thank you.
   Anyway, I did.
M: You most certainly did not!
O: Now let's get one thing perfectly clear: I most definitely told you!
M: Oh no you didn't!
O: Oh yes I did!            ___
M: Oh no you didn't!           
O: Oh yes I did!                
M: Oh no you didn't!             
O: Oh yes I did!                  
M: Oh no you didn't!               
O: Oh yes I did!                    
M: Oh no you didn't!                 
O: Oh yes I did!                      > very fast
M: Oh no you didn't!                 /
O: Oh yes I did!                    /
M: No you DIDN'T!                  /
O: Oh yes I did!                  /
M: No you DIDN'T!                /
O: Oh yes I did!                /
M: No you DIDN'T!              /
O: Oh yes I did!           ___/
M: Oh look, this isn't an argument!
 
(pause)
 
O: Yes it is!
M: No it isn't!
 
(pause)
 
M: It's just contradiction!
O: No it isn't!
M: It IS!
O: It is NOT!
M: You just contradicted me!
O: No I didn't!
M: You DID!
O: No no no!
M: You did just then!
O: Nonsense!
M: (exasperated) Oh, this is futile!!
 
(pause)
 
O: No it isn't!
M: Yes it is!
   (pause)
   I came here for a good argument!
O: AH, no you didn't, you came here for an *argument*!
M: An argument isn't just contradiction.
O: Well!  it CAN be!
M: No it can't!
   An argument is a connected series of statement intended to establish a
   proposition.
O: No it isn't!
M: Yes it is!  'tisn't just contradiction.
O: Look, if I *argue* with you, I must take up a contrary position!
M: Yes but it isn't just saying "no it isn't".
O: Yes it is!
M: No it isn't!
O: Yes it is!
M: No it isn't!
O: Yes it is!
M: No it ISN'T!  Argument is an intellectual process.  Contradiction is just
   the automatic gainsaying of anything the other person says.
O: It is NOT!
M: It is!
O: Not at all!
M: It is!
 
>DING!<       The Arguer hits a bell on his desk and stops.
 
O: Thank you, that's it.
M: (stunned) What?
 
O: That's it.  Good morning.
M: But I was just getting interested!
O: I'm sorry, the five minutes is up.
M: That was never five minutes!!
O: I'm afraid it was.
M: (leading on)  No it wasn't.....
 
(pause)
O: (dirty look) I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to argue any more.
M: WHAT??
O: If you want me to go on arguing, you'll have to pay for another five
   minutes.
M: But that was never five minutes just now!
   (pause... the Other Man raises his eyebrows)
   Oh Come on!
   Oh this is...
   This is ridiculous!
O: I told you...
   I told you, I'm not allowed to argue unless you PAY!
M: Oh all right.  (takes out his wallet and pays again.)  There you are.
O: Thank you.
M: (clears throat) Well...
O: Well WHAT?
M: That was never five minutes just now.
O: I told you, I'm not allowed to argue unless you've paid!
M: Well I just paid!
O: No you didn't!
M: I DID!!!
O: YOU didn't!
M: I DID!!!
O: YOU didn't!
M: I DID!!!
O: YOU didn't!
M: I DID!!!
O: YOU didn't!
M: (unable to talk straight he's so mad) I don't want to argue about it!
O: Well I'm very sorry but you didn't pay!
M: Ah HAH!!  Well if I didn't pay, why are you arguing???  Ah HAAAAAAHHH!
   Gotcha!
 
O: (pause) No you haven't!
M: Yes I have!
   If you're arguing, I must have paid.
O: Not necessarily.
   I *could* be arguing in my spare time.
 
 
****  end of ARGUMENT PYTHON, last revised 12/8/86   ****
****    The Barber Shop Sketch                                             ****
****    From Monty Python's Flying Circus                                  ****
****    And "And Now for Something Completely Different"                   ****
****    Transcribed by Dave Bregman ( FAC1037@UOFT01.BITNET )              ****
****    and edited by Malcolm Dickinson ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )         ****
 
 
                     The Barbershop Sketch
 
Customer: Hello, is this the Barbershop Sketch?
Barber:   Y-y-yes sir.  B-b-b-be with you in a minute.
 
(The barber is now washing and re-washing his hands, trying to remove the
 obvious blood-stains from them and his coat.)
 
Barber:   H-h-how would you like it sir?
Customer: Just short back and sides.
Barber:   How do you do that?
Customer: Oh, you know, just short back and sides.
Barber:   It's not a... a razor cut, RAZOR CUT BLOOD ARTERY MURDER SPUrt.. arr...
Customer: No, just ordinary short back and sides, you know...
Barber:   It's just s-s-s-scissors then...
Customer: Yes.
Barber:   You wouldn't rather forget all about it?
Customer: What?
Barber:   You wouldn't prefer to have it just combed?
Customer: Oh, no.. I want something cut off!
Barber:   Cut, CUT HEART HITCHCOCK MURDER BLOOD PSYCHO HOMICIDE SPURT ARTERY
          TREMOR CORTEX Arrrgg...!
 
(The barber fakes a few quick snips.)
 
Barber:   There, finished.
Customer: I beg your pardon?
Barber:   I've finished cutting, cutting, CUTTING, CUTTING YOUR HAIR!
Customer: Well, you haven't even done any cutting yet.
Barber:   All right, I confess I didn't cut your hair.  I hate hair.  I-I I
          can't bear cutting it.  I have this uncontrolable fear whenever I see
          hair.  My mother said I was a fool!  She said the only way to
          overcome my fear would be to become a barber.  I didn't want to be a
          barber.
 
  I wanted to be... A *LUMBERJACK*!
  (music up)
 
****  Continued in LUMBERJK PYTHON  ****
 
****  end of file BARBER PYTHON 8/30/87  ****
****  The "Buying a Bed" sketch                                            ****
****  from "Monty Python's Flying Circus"                                  ****
****  Transcribed 5/14/87 by                                               ****
****  Jonathan Partington ( JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK )         ****
****  and edited by Bret Shefter ( SHEBREB@YALEVM.BITNET ) 9/5/87          ****
 
 
Husband (Terry Jones):  Hello, my wife and I would like to buy a bed, please.
Mr Lambert (Graham Chapman): Certainly sir, I'll get someone to help you.
Wife (Carol Cleveland): Thank you.
Lambert: Mr Verity!
Mr Verity (Eric Idle): Can I help you, sir?
Husband:  Yes, we'd like a bed, a double bed, and I wondered if you'd got one
          for about fifty pounds.
Verity:   Oh no, I'm afraid not, sir.  Our cheapest bed is eight hundred
          pounds, sir.
Husband & Wife: Eight hundred pounds?
Lambert: Excuse me, sir, but before I go, I ought to have told you that Mr
         Verity does tend to exaggerate.  Every figure he gives you will be
         ten times too high.
Husband: I see.
Lambert: Otherwise he's perfectly all right.
Husband: I see. Er... your cheapest double bed then is eighty pounds?
Verity:  Eight hundred pounds, yes, sir.
Husband: I see. And how wide is it?
Verity:  It's sixty feet wide.
Husband: Yes...
Wife:    (whispers) Sixty feet!
Husband: (whispers) Six foot wide, you see.
Wife:    (whispers) Oh.
Husband: ...and the length?
Verity:  The length is ...  er ...  just a moment.  Mr Lambert, what is the
         length of the Comfidown Majorette?
Lambert: Ah. Two foot long.
Husband: Two foot long?
Verity:  Yes, remembering of course that you have to multiply everything Mr
         Lambert says by three.  It's nothing he can help, you understand.
         Otherwise he's perfectly all right.
Husband: I see, I'm sorry.
Verity:  But it does mean that when he says a bed is two foot long, it is in
         fact sixty foot long, all right?
Husband: Yes, I see.
Verity:  That's without the mattress, of course.
Husband: How much is that?
Verity:  Er, Mr Lambert will be able to tell you that.  Lambert!  Could you
         show these twenty good people the dog kennels, please?
Husband: Dog kennels? No, no, the mattresses!
Verity:  I'm sorry, you have to say 'dog kennel' to Mr Lambert, because if you
         say 'mattress' he puts a bucket* over his head.  I should have
         explained.  Otherwise he's perfectly all right.
Husband: Oh. Ah. I see.  Er, excuse me, could you show us the dog kennels,
         please, hm?
Lambert: Dog kennels?
Husband: Yes, we want to look at the dog kennels, hm.
Lambert: Ah yes, well that's the pets' department, second floor.
Husband: No, no, no, we want to see the DOG KENNELS.
Lambert  (irritated): Yes, second floor.
Husband: No, we don't want to see dog kennels, it's just that Mr Verity said
         that...
Lambert: Oh dear, what's he been telling you now?
Husband: Well, he said we should say 'dog kennels' instead of saying
         'mattresses'.
 
(Lambert puts bucket on his head)
 
Husband: Oh dear. Hello? Hello? Hello?
Verity:  (approaching) Did you say 'mattress'?
Husband: Well, yes, er...
Lambert: (muffled) I'm not coming out!
Verity:  I did *ask* you not to say 'mattress', didn't I?
Husband: But I mean, er...
Lambert: (muffled) I'm not!
Husband: Oh.
Verity:  Now I've got to get him to the fish tank and sing.
Husband: Oh.
Verity:  (sings) And did those feet, in ancient time...
Another assistant (John Cleese): (walking up, hearing the singing) Oh dear,
                                 did somebody say mattress to Mr Lambert?
Husband: Yes, I did.
(Assistant gives nasty look at Husband)
Verity:  (still singing) ...walk upon England's mountains green...
(Assistant joins in)     ...and was the Holy Lamb of God...
 
(Lambert removes bucket; Verity and Assistant immediately stop singing;
assistant leaves.)
 
Verity:  He should be all right now, but don't...you know...*don't*!
Husband: No, no.  (to Lambert) Excuse me, could we see the dog kennels please?
Lambert  (irritated): Yes, pets department, second floor.
Husband: No, no, no. Those dog kennels, like that. You see?
Lambert: Mattresses?
Husband: (relieved) Yes.
Lambert: But if you want a mattress, why not say 'mattress'?
Husband: (nervously) Ha ha, I mean...
Lambert: I mean, it's a little confusing for me when you say 'dog kennel' if
         you want a mattress.  Why not just say 'mattress'?
Husband: But you put a bucket over your head last time we said 'mattress'.
 
(Lambert puts the bucket over his head again)
 
Verity: (running on the scene again) Oh dear! (sings) And did those feet...
Assistant:  (to Husband) We *did* ask!
                  (duet) ...in ancient times,
                         walk upon England's mountains green...
 
(singing continues throughout the next few lines of dialogue)
 
Yet another assistant (Michael Palin): (running in)
                                     Did somebody say 'mattress' to Mr Lambert?
 
(Cleese points angrily towards the Husband and Wife)
 
Verity: *Twice*!
Other Assistant: (shouting throughout the store) Hey, everybody!  Somebody
                 said 'mattress' to Mr Lambert -- *twice*!
                 (joins in the singing)
 
(Organ music swells and they carry on singing)
 
Verity: It's not working, we need more!
 
(The entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir begins to sing in the background. Sounds
 of water splashing; eventually Lambert removes the bucket again and they stop
 singing)
 
Lambert: I'm sorry, can I help you?
Wife:    (brightly) We want a mattress!
 
(Lambert puts the bucket over his head again. Verity, husband and assistants
 all groan and glare accusingly at wife)
 
Wife:    But it's my only line!!!
 
*N.B.  In the television version it was a paper bag, on the record it was a
bucket (better sound effects?)
**** end of BED PYTHON 5/14/87 ****
 
To:               CLARINET@YALEVM
From:             JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK
                  (JRP1%CAM.PHX@UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF)
Authentic-sender: MAIL01@UK.AC.CAMBRIDGE.ENGINEERING.SERC-ICF
 
Church Bells from Monty Python's "Contractual Obligations" Album  
 
(Sound: Church bells, lots of them, ringing.)
 
Man: I wish those bloody bells would stop.
Wife: Oh, it's quite nice dear, it's Sunday, it's the church.
M: What about us atheists?  Why should we 'ave to listen to that
   sectarian turmoil?
W: You're a lapsed atheist, dear.
M: The principle's the same. The Mohmedans don't come 'round here
   wavin' bells at us! We don't get Buddhists playing bagpipes in our
   bathroom! Or Hindus harmonizing in the hall! The Shintus don't
   come here shattering sheet glass in the shithouse, shouting slogans-
W: All right, don't practice your alliteration on me.
M: Anyway, when I membership card and blazer badge back from the
   League of Agnostics, I shall urge the executive to lodge a protest
   against that religious racket! Pass the butter knife!
W: WHAT??
M: PASS THE BUTTER KNIFE!! (pause) THANK YOU! IF ONLY WE HAD SOME
   KIND OF MISSILE!
W: 'OLD ON, I'LL CLOSE THE WINDOW.
M: WHAT?!
W: I SAID, I'LL CLOSE THE WINDOW!
 
(Sound: Window closing, bells get faint, but are still there)
 
M: If only we had some kind of missile, we could take the steam out
   of those bells.
W: Well, you could always use the number 14-St. Joseph-the-somewhat-
   divine-on-the-hill ballistic missile.  It's in the attic.
M: What ballistic missile would this be, then?
 
(Sound: Bells begin to get increasingly louder)
 
W: I made it for you, it's your birthday present!
M: Just what I wanted, 'ow nice of you to remember, my pet.
   'ERE!
W: WHAT?
M: THOSE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER!
W: WHAT?
M: THOSE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER!!
W: THE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER! OOOH, LOOK!
M: WHAT?
W: THE CHURCH, IT.. ITS COMING CLOSER! ITS COMING DOWN THE 'ILL!
M: WHAT A LIBERTY!
W: ITS TURNING INTO OUR LANE! WELL, YOU BETTER GO PUT IT OUT OF
   IT'S MISERY.
M: WHERE'S THIS MISSILE, THEN?
W: IT'S IN THE ATTIC. PRESS THE BUTTON MARKED CHURCH!
M: 'OW DO I AIM IT?
W: IT AUTOMATICALLY HOMES IN ON THE NEAREST PLACE OF WORSHIP!
M: BUT THAT'S ST. MARKS!
W: IT ISN'T NOW, LOOK!! OH, ITS OP'NING THE GATE.
M: WHAT? USE THE MEGAPHONE!
W: IT'S OP'NING THE GATE!! 'HURRY UP, ITS TRAMPLING OVER THE AZALIAS!
 
(Sound: Missle launch, explosion, bells diminish)
 
M: Did I 'it it?
W: Yes, right up the aisle.
M: Well I've always said, There's nothing an agnostic can't do if
   he really doesn't know whether he believes in anything or not.
****   The Big Nose Scene from "Monty Python's Life of Brian"              ****
****   Transcribed 4/28/86 by                                              ****
****   Dwayne A. X. E. E. ( CS107124@YUSOL.BITNET )                        ****
****   and edited by Malcolm Dickinson ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )          ****
 
 
Titles on Screen:
 
                         Judea  A.D. 33
 
                         Saturday Afternoon
 
                         About Tea-Time
 
(We hear the distant voice of Jesus Christ floating towards us and cut to see
 him standing at the summit of a hill.  Around him as we track backwards are
 thousands of people, listening to his words:)
 
Jesus:  How blest are the sorrowful, for they shall find consolation.
        How blest are those of gentle spirit.
        They shall have the earth for their posession.
        How blest are those who hunger and thirst to see right prevail.
        They shall be satisfied...
 
(CHRIST's voice gets fainter as we pull back from him revealing the enormous
 size of the crowd.  Standing nearby, isolated but alert, is a large contingent
 of Roman soldiers drawn up in serried ranks, armed, impassive, on foreign
 extra-weekend duty, keeping an eye on a large and potentially anti-Roman
 crowd.)
 
(We are a long way back from JESUS now, on another hillside towards the back
 of this huge multitude.  His voice is barely audible on the wind.  People are
 straining to hear.  The camera comes to rest by Mandy, older now by thirty-
 three years, but still a ratbag.)
 
Mandy:     Speak up!
Brian:     Mum!  Sh!
Mandy:     Well I can't hear a thing!  Let's go to the stoning.
Big-nose:  Sh!
Brian:     You can go to a stoning any time.
Mandy:     Oh, come on Brian!
Big-nose:  Will you be quiet?
Big-nose's wife: Don't pick your nose.
Big-nose:        I wasn't picking my nose ...  I was scratching.
Wife:            You were picking it while you were talking to that lady.
Big-nose:        I wasn't.
Wife:        Leave it alone...give it a rest...
Cheeky Man:  Do you mind?  I can't hear a word he's saying.
Wife:        Don't you "do you mind" me...I'm talking to my husband.
Cheeky Man:  Well go and talk to him somewhere else!  I can't hear a bloody
             thing!
Big-nose:    Don't you swear at my wife.
Cheeky Man:  I was only asking her to shut up so we can hear what he's saying,
             Big-nose.
Wife:        Don't you call my husband "Big-nose."
Cheeky Man:  Well he has got a big nose.
 
(Suddenly another rather well-heeled Jew in a toga turns around.  He constantly
 has trouble with his toga and has to keep pushing it back in place.  His voice
 is very cultured.  A small boy is holding a large parasol over his head.
 He is Gregory and he is out for the day with his wife.)
 
Gregory:     Could you be quiet, please?
             (to Cheeky Man) What was that?
Cheeky Man:  I don't know...I was too busy talking to Big-nose.
Man Further Forward:  I think it was "Blessed are the Cheesemakers."
Wife:        What's so special about the cheesemakers?
Gregory:     It's not meant to be taken literally.  Obviously it refers to any
             manufacturers of dairy products.
Cheeky Man:  See, if you hadn't been going on, you'd have heard that, Big-nose.
Big-nose:    Hey, if you say that once more, I'll smash your fucking face in.
Cheeky Man:  Better keep listening...might be a bit about "Blessed are the big
             noses."
Brian:       Oh, lay off him!
Cheeky Man:  (rounding on Brian) You're not so bad yourself, Conchface.  Where
             are you two from?  Nose City?
Big-nose:    Listen!  I said one more time...mate and I'll take you to the
             fucking cleaners.
Wife:        Language!  And don't pick your nose!
Big-nose:      I wasn't going to pick my nose.  I was going to thump him.
Other Person:  I think it was "Blessed are the Greek."
Gregory:       *The* Greek?
Other Person:  Apparently he's going to inherit the earth.
Gregory:       Did anyone catch his name?
Big-nose:      I'll thump him if he calls me Big-nose again.
Cheeky Man:  Oh shut up, Big-nose.
Big-nose:    Ooh!  Right!  I warned you...I really will slug you so hard...
Wife:        Oh it's the *Meek*...blessed are the Meek!  That's nice, I'm glad
             they're getting something, 'cause they have a hell of a time.
Cheeky Man:  Listen, I'm only telling the truth...you have got a very big nose.
Big-nose:    (trying desperately to control his anger)
             *Your* nose is going to be three foot wide across your face when
             I've finished with you.
Cheeky Man:  Who hit yours then?  Goliath's big brother?
Big-nose:      Oooh...oohh...aargh...ah
               (supreme self-control)
               That's your last warning...
Mrs. Gregory:  Oh do pipe d...
 
(Big-nose lets fly an almighty punch, but the Cheeky Man ducks and he hits Mrs.
 Gregory hard in the face.  Horrible crunching of fist on bone.  A general
 scuffle breaks out.)
 
Big-nose:  Silly bitch, getting in the way.
Mandy:     Brian!  Come on, let's go to the stoning.
Brian:     All right.
 
****   Here endeth Part Three of Life of Brian (of Nazareth)               ****
****   Please send your comments, praise, complaints or                    ****
****   copyright infringement lawsuits to ...                              ****
****   Dwayne A. X. E. E. ( CS107124@YUSOL.BITNET )                        ****
e*** The Dead Bishop on the Landing sketch                                 ****
**** from Monty Python's Flying Circus.                                    ****
**** Transcribed from tape by                                              ****
**** Malcolm Dickinson ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )  4/3/86                  ****
 
 
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.
(pause)
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 Leicester!
(thunder)
Voice of the Lord: The one in the braces, 'e 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 by the bin 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.
 
 
**** end of file BISHOP PYTHON  8/30/87                       ****
****  BLACKMAIL!!!!!                                                       ****
****  Transcribed from "Monty Python Live at City Center 1974" by          ****
****  Malcolm Dickinson ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )  4/3/86.                ****
 
 
(Music up-- wild applause and cheers from the audience)
 
Announcer:
 
Hello!  Hello!  Hello!  Thank you,thank you.
Hello good evening and welcome, to BLACKMAIL!  Yes, it's another edition of
the game in which you can play with *yourself*.  (applause)
And to start tonight's show, let's see our first contestant, all the way from
Manchester, on the big screen please:  MRS. BETTY TEAL!
(applause, which suddenly stops when the clap track tape breaks)
'Ello, Mrs. Teal, lovely to have you on the show.  Now Mrs. Teal, if you're
looking in tonight, this is for 15 pounds: and is to stop us from revealing
the name of your LOVER IN BOLTON!!  So, Mrs. Teal, send us 15 pounds, by
return of post please, and your husband Trevor, and your lovely children
Diane, Janice, and Juliet, need never know the name... of your LOVER IN
BOLTON!
 
(applause; organ music.  Shot of the organist, who has an afro and is stark
naked.)
 
Thank you Onan!  And now: a letter, a hotel registration book, and a series of
photographs, which could add up to divorce, premature retirement, and possible
criminal proceedings for a company director in Bromsgrove.  He's a freemason,
and a conservative M.P., so that's 3,000 pounds please Mr. S... thank you...
to stop us from revealing:
     Your name,
     The name of the three other people involved,
     The youth organization to which they belonged,
 and The shop where you bought the equipment!
 
(organ music)
 
But right now, yes everyone is the moment you've all been waiting for; it's
time for our Stop the Film spots!  As you know, the rules are very simple.  We
have taken a film which contains compromising scenes and unpleasant details
which could wreck a man's career.  (gasp)  But, the victim may 'phone me at
any moment, and stop the film.  But remember the money increases as the film
goes on, so-o-o-o: the longer you leave it, the *more* you have to pay!
Tonight, Stop the Film visits the little Thames-side village of Thames Ditton.
 
(music--announcer's voice over)
 
Well, here we go, here we go now, let's see...where's our man.
Oh yes, there he is behind the tree now....
Mm, boy, this is fun, this is good fun....
He looks respectable, so we should be in for some real...real chucks here....
A member of the government, could be a brain surgeon, they're the worst....
wHOW!  Look at the *size* of that.....briefcase.
Aah, yes, he's, he's up to the door, rung the doorbell now....
O-oh, who's the little number with the nightie and the whip, eh?  Heh-heh.
Doesn't look like his mother....could be his sister....
If it is he's in real trouble....
And just look at that, they're upstairs already... whoah, boy, this is fun!
A very brave man, our contestant tonight.
Who-ho-ho!!  This is no Tupperware party!
Very brave man, they don't usually get this far...
What's--what's that, what's she's doing to his.....is that a CHICKEN up
there?  No, no, it's just the way she's holding the grapefruit... Whoah, ho
ho...
 
('Phone rings; buzzer goes off; film stops.  Applause)
 
(picking up 'phone)
Hello sir...yes...aha-ha-ha...yes, just in time, sir, that was...what?
No, no, sir, it's alright, we don't morally censor, we just want the
money.  Thank you sir, yes,....what? You.....okay....Thank you for playing the
game, sir, very nice indeed, okay....okay, see you tonight, Dad, bye-bye.
 
Well, that's all from this edition of Blackmail.  Join me next week, same
time, same channel....Join me, two dogs, and a vicar, when we'll be playing
"Pedorasto", the game for all the family.
Thank you, thank you, thank you....
 
 
**** end of file BLCKMAIL PYTHON 8/30/87 ****
HOW YOUR BODY WORKS by A. NOTHER DOCTOR from Monty Python's Brand New 
Papperbok      
 
The human body is indeed a wonderul thing.  Its infinitely complex way of
functioning would take a computer, working flat out, day and night, excluding
Bank Holidays and Christmas, 3,971 years to work out.  The slightest flicker of
the eyelid, the smallest movement of the big toe, involves such extraordinarily
complex processes that the average man, working flat out, excluding Bank
Holidays and Christmas, but *including* weekends, would take 84,643 light years
to work it out.  If you can imagine an Airedale terrier jumping in and out of a
watering can once every 7 minutes for 12 years you have some idea how long that
would take.  And that's only one light year.
 
Even the most simple process that the body can perform -- like paying the
doctor -- would take a piece of asbestos over 9 billion years to work out.  If
you can imagine a man at a cocktail party congratulating the hostess on the
avocado dip 40,000 times every second for 2 1/2 hours twice a week for 28,000
years you can begin to realise what an extraordinarily wonderful thing the
human body is.
 
To put it even more simply, if you can imagine a doctor leaving his lucrative
Harley St. practice to a younger partner, and cruising round the world 4 times
a year, drinking 3 bottles of champagne with a friend's wife every afternoon,
and writing an article on How Your Body Works once every 96 days, you'll get
some idea of why I was struck off the register.  Good evening.
****  The Bookshop Sketch                                                  ****
****  from "Monty Python Live at the Hollywood Bowl"                       ****
****  Transcribed from memory by Bret Shefter ( SHEBREB@YALEVM.BITNET )    ****
****  who was in a weird mood (as usual) on 3/25/86.                       ****
****  Revisions by Malcolm Dickinson ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )  4/3/86    ****
 
 
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)
 
 
**** end of file BOOKSHOP PYTHON 8/30/87  ****
****  SPOT THE BRAINCELL (from Monty Python live at Drury Lane)            ****
****  Transcribed 7/14/87 by Jonathan Partington                           ****
****  ( JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK ).                            ****
 
 
(Banal intro music)
 
Ghastly Quizmaster (Cleese):  Hello, good evening and welcome to the very final
                              edition of your favourite television quiz
                              programme Spot the Braincell.  Thirty minutes of
                              cheerful ritual humiliation of the old and
                              greedy.  And could we have our first contestant,
                              please!
 
(Piano chords. Hostess (Chapman in drag) escorts Old ratbag (Jones in drag)
onto stage.)
 
Quizmaster: Ha ha ha ... ha ha ha. Good evening, Madam! And your name is?
Ratbag:     Yes, Michael.
Quizmaster: Ha ha ha! Jolly good -- and what is your name?
Ratbag:     I go to church regularly.
Quizmaster: Ha ha ha, I see.  And which particular prize do you have eyes for
            this evening?
Ratbag:     I'd like the blow on the head.
Quizmaster: The blow -- on the head!
Ratbag:     Yes, just there, where it hurts.
Quizmaster: Jolly good!  Well now Madam your first question for the blow on
            the head this evening is:  Which great opponent of Cartesian
            dualism resists the reduction of psychological phenomena to a
            physical state and insists there is no point of contact between the
            extended and the unextended?
Ratbag:     I don't know that.
Quizmaster: Well -- have a guess!
Ratbag:     Oh... Henri Bergson?
Quizmaster: ...is the correct answer! (Piano chords)
Ratbag:     Ooh, that was lucky.  I never even heard of him.
Quizmaster: Ha ha ha!
Ratbag:     I don't like darkies.
Quizmaster: Ha ha ha (maniacal cackle) She doesn't like darkies.  Ha ha ha.
            Who does?  Ha ha ha!  Well now, Mrs Scum, your second question for
            the blow on the head is:  What is the main food eaten by penguins?
            What is the principal food that penguins eat?
Ratbag:     Pork luncheon meat.
Quizmaster: No.
Ratbag:     Spam.
Quizmaster: No, no, no, no.  Penguins.  Penguins.
Ratbag:     Horses.
Quizmaster: No.
Ratbag:     Armchairs.
Quizmaster: No, no.  All right, take it easy.  I'll give you a clue.  (Does
            fish impression, opening and closing mouth, puffing up face etc.)
Ratbag:     Oh, I know, I know, I know!  Brian Clough!
Quizmaster: No, ha ha, no.
Ratbag:     Brian Johnstone.
Quizmaster: No.
Ratbag:     Brian Inglis.
Quizmaster: No.
Ratbag:     Brian Forbes.
Quizmaster: No, ha ha.
Ratbag:     Nanette Newman.
Quizmaster: No, ha ha (cackles).  No, now listen, I'll give you one more clue,
            one more clue.  What lives in the sea and gets caught in nets?
Ratbag:     Goats.
Quizmaster: No.
Ratbag:     Underwater goats with snorkels and flippers.
Quizmaster: No, no.
Ratbag:     A buffalo with an aqualung.
Quizmaster: No.
Ratbag:     Reginald Maudling.
Quizmaster: (Pause) Yes, that's near enough.  I'll give you that.  (Piano)
            Right, now you have won tonight's star prize.  Do you still want
            the blow on the head?
Ratbag:     Oh, yes please, Michael.
Quizmaster: (Deliberate Pause) I'm offering you a poke in the eye...
Ratbag:     No no.
Quizmaster: All right then, a punch in the throat.
Ratbag:     No.
Quizmaster: My very last offer Mrs Scum -- a knee in the temple and a dagger
            up the clitoris!  (Piano) (Audience cries of "Take the Money!"
            etc)
Ratbag:     That's very tempting, I've never had one up there before!  No, I'll
            still have the blow on the head.
Quizmaster: Right, the blow on the head.  Mrs Scum, you have won tonight's
            star prize, the blow on the (cackles) (16 ton weight falls on
            Ratbag).
 
 
**** End of file BRAINCEL PYTHON    7/14/87                            ****
**** From:       JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK                  ****
****  The Opening Scene Song from "Monty Python's Life of Brian"           **** 
****  Transcribed by Dwayne A. X. E. E. ( CS107124@YUSOL.BITNET )  4/27/86 **** 
                                                                                
                                                                                
Brian...the babe they called Brian                                              
Grew...grew grew and grew, grew up to be                                        
A boy called Brian                                                              
A boy called Brian                                                              
                                                                                
He had arms and legs and hands and feet                                         
This boy whose name was Brian                                                   
And he grew, grew, grew and grew                                                
Grew up to be                                                                   
Yes he grew up to be                                                            
A teenager called Brian                                                         
A teenager called Brian                                                         
And his face became spotty                                                      
Yes his face became spotty                                                      
And his voice dropped down low                                                  
And things started to grow                                                      
On young Brian and show                                                         
He was certainly no                                                             
No girl named Brian                                                             
Not a girl named Brian                                                          
                                                                                
And he started to shave                                                         
And have one off the wrist                                                      
And want to see girls                                                           
And go out and get pissed                                                       
This man called Brian                                                           
This man called Brian                                                           
                                                                                
                                                                                
****   End of file BRIAN PYTHON                                            **** 
****   Please send your comments, praise, complaints or                    **** 
****   copyright infringement lawsuits to ...                              **** 
****   Dwayne A. X. E. E. ( CS107124@YUSOL.BITNET )                        **** 
****  The Bridgekeeper Scene from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"        ****
****  Transcribed from memory by Bret Shefter '89 (SHEBREB@YALEVM.BITNET)  ****
****  in yet another of his weird moods on 3/25/86                         ****
****  Revised to 99.314156% accuracy with the tape by                      ****
****  Malcolm Dickinson '89 (CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET) on 12/1/86.           ****
 
****  This is transcript #14 in the film                                   ****
****  and is continued, with a slight time lapse, from GRENADE PYTHON      ****
 
 
Narrator: As the horrendous black beast lunged forward, escape for Arthur and
          his knights seemed hopeless.  When suddenly, the animator suffered a
          fatal heart attack!  The cartoon peril was no more.  The quest for
          the Holy Grail could continue.
 
( Arthur and his knights are hacking their way through thick underbrush
  when suddenly... )
 
Arthur:   There it is!  The Bridge of Death!
Robin:    (in despair)  Oh, great.
Arthur:   Look!  There's the old man from Scene 24!
Bedevere: What is he doing here?
Arthur:   He is the keeper of the Bridge of Death.  He asks each traveller
          five questions--
Galahad:  Three questions--
Arthur:   Three questions.  He who answers the five questions--
Galahad:  Three questions--
Arthur:   (perturbed) --three questions, may cross in safety.
Robin:    What if you get a question wrong?
Arthur:   Then you are cast...into the Gorge of Eternal Peril!!!
Robin:    Oh, I won't go!
Galahad:  Who's going to answer the questions?
Arthur:   Sir Robin!
Robin:    (suprised)  Yes?
Arthur:   (continuing) Brave Sir Robin, you go.
 
(pause)
 
Robin:     Hey...I've got a great idea!  Why doesn't Launcelot go?
Launcelot: Yes, let me go, my liege.  I will take it singlehanded.
           (about to draw sword) I shall make a feint to the North-East, and
           then--
Arthur:    No, no, no... hang on, hang on, hang on!
           *Just* answer the five questions--
Galahad:   Three questions--
Arthur:    Three questions as best you can, and we shall watch.  And pray.
Launcelot: (sheathing sword) I understand, my liege.
Arthur:    Good luck, brave Sir Launcelot!  God be with you!
 
(Launcelot approaches the bridge.  Suddenly, the BRIDGEKEEPER speaks. )
 
Bridgekeeper: (cackling nastily)
              STOP!
              Who would cross the Bridge of Death
              Must answer me
              These questions three
              Ere the other side he see.
Launcelot:    (stoically) Ask me your questions, Bridgekeeper. I am not afraid!
Bridgekeeper: (cackling all the while) What...is your name?
Lancelot:     My name is Sir Lancelot of Camelot.
Bridgekeeper: What...is your quest?
Lancelot:     To seek the Holy Grail.
Bridgekeeper: What...is your favorite color?
Lancelot:     Blue.
Bridgekeeper: Right, off you go.
 
(pause)
 
Lancelot: (realizing that was it)  Oh, thank you. Thank you very much!
 
(and off he goes. The knights look at each other.)
 
Robin: That's EASY!!!
(A mad rush for the bridge.  Robin arrives first.  The knights cluster behind.
 A few sniff and wrinkle their noses, and the group backs off.)
 
Bridgekeeper: STOP!
              Who approacheth the Bridge of Death
              Must answer me
              These questions three
              Ere the other side he see.
Robin:        (excitedly) Ask me the questions, Bridgekeeper, I am not afraid.
Bridgekeeper: What...is your name?
Robin:        Sir Robin of Camelot.
Bridgekeeper: What...is you quest?
Robin:        To seek the Holy Grail!
Bridgekeeper: What...is the capital of Assyria?
 
(pause)
 
Robin: (indignant) I don't know THAT!! (An unseen force whisks him up and over
       the side.) AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
 
(The knights pause, realizing this may be a bit tougher than all that.)
 
**** Note: The following bit was cut from the movie. ****
 
Bedevere:     What shall we do, sire?
Arthur:       Well, I'm not sure, but...
Bridgekeeper: (off) What...goes black, white, black, white, black, white?
Sir Gawain:   (off) Uh...er...ah...Babylon? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!
 
****   Movie resumes.   ****
 
( Galahad approaches the bridge. )
 
Bridgekeeper: STOP!
              What...is your name?
Galahad:      Sir Galahad of Camelot!
Bridgekeeper: What...is your quest?
Galahad:      I seek the Grail.
Bridgekeeper: What...is your favorite color?
Galahad: (relieved) Blue! (starts across; oops) No! YELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWW!!!!
 
(Arthur steps forward... the Bridgekeeper cackles some more.)
 
Bridgekeeper: STOP!
Bridgekeeper: What...is *your* name?
Arthur:       It is Arthur, King of the Britons!
Bridgekeeper: What...is your quest?
Arthur:       To seek the Holy Grail!
Bridgekeeper: What...is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?
Arthur:       (brief pause) What do you mean, an African or European swallow?
Bridgekeeper: (confused) Huh? What?  I...I don't know that...
              AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUGGHHHHHHH!
              (he is thrown into the Gorge of Eternal Peril.)
Arthur crosses the bridge.
Bedevere:     (crossing behind Arthur) How do you know so much about swallows?
Arthur:       Well, you have to know these sorts of things when you're a
              king, you know...
 
 
****  Note: The following bit was *also* cut from the movie.               ****
 
                   (Arthur and Bedevere approach a gigantic lake.
                   A boat in the shape of a dragon glides slowly
                   towards them. As they prepare to cross, the
                   same old man suddenly appears before them.)
Boat-keeper: STOP!
             He who would cross the Sea of Fate
             Must answer me these questions twenty-eight!
(Arthur and Bedevere look at each other.  They look at the old man.  They look
 back at each other.  They pick the old man up, throw him in the water, and
 board the ship.)
 
****  Here ends the bit that was cut from the movie, and with it the       ****
****  file BRIDGE PYTHON, transcript #14 from the film,                    ****
****  and with IT, the MONTY PYTHON AND THE HOLY GRAIL transcript series.  ****
 
****    ALWAYS LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE OF LIFE                             ****
****    from Monty Python's "Life of Brian"                                ****
****    Transcribed by Mark Johnson ( markj@sunybcs.BITNET )               ****
 
 
Cheer up, Brian.  You know what they say.
Some things in life are bad,
They can really make you mad.
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle,
Don't grumble, give a wistle!
And this'll help things turn out for the best...
And...
 
(the music fades into the song)
 
...always look on the bright side of life!
(whistle)
 
Always look on the bright side of life...
If life seems jolly rotten,
There's something you've forgotten!
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing,
 
When you're feeling in the dumps,
Don't be silly chumps,
Just purse your lips and whistle -- that's the thing!
And... always look on the bright side of life...
 
(whistle)
Come on!
 
(other start to join in)
Always look on the bright side of life...
(whistle)
 
For life is quite absurd,
And death's the final word.
You must always face the curtain with a bow!
Forget about your sin -- give the audience a grin,
Enjoy it -- it's the last chance anyhow!
 
So always look on the bright side of death!
Just before you draw your terminal breath.
Life's a piece of shit,
When you look at it.
 
Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true,
You'll see it's all a show,
Keep 'em laughing as you go.
Just remember that the last laugh is on you!
 
And always look on the bright side of life...
(whistle)
Always look on the bright side of life
(whistle)
 
 
**** end of file BRIGHT PYTHON ****
****  The Bruces                                                           ****
****  From Monty Python Live at City Center,                               ****
****  Monty Python Live at the Hollywood Bowl, etc.                        ****
****  Transcribed by  EP505RPK@YALEVM.BITNET ,  4/86                       ****
 
Notes from the Transcriber:
"Abbos" is derisive slang for the aborigones.
"Pommeyland" is England.
"Poofters" are homosexuals.
 
 
G'day, Bruce!
Oh, Hello Bruce!
How are you Bruce?
A bit crooked, Bruce.
Where's Bruce?
He's not 'ere, Bruce.
Blimey, it's hot in here, Bruce.
Hot enough to boil a monkey's bum!
That's a strange expression, Bruce.
Well Bruce, I heard the Prime Minister use it. "It's hot enough to boil
 a monkey's bum in here, your Majesty," he said and she smiled quietly
 to herself.
She's a good Sheila Bruce, and not at all stuck up.
Here! Here's the boss-fellow now!
'Ow  are you, Bruce?
G'day Bruce!
Bruce.
Hello Bruce.
Bruce.
How are you, Bruce?
G'day Bruce.
Gentleman, I'd like to introduce man from Pommeyland who is joinin'
 us this year in the philosophy department at the University of
 Walamaloo.
(Everyone) G'day!
Hello.
Michael Baldwin, Bruce. Michael Baldwin, Bruce. Michael Baldwin, Bruce.
Is your name not Bruce?
No, it's Michael.
That's going to cause a little confusion.
Mind if we call you "Bruce" to keep it clear?
Gentlemen, I think we better start the faculty meeting. Before we start,
 though, I'd like to ask the padre for a prayer.
Oh Lord, we beseech Thee, Amen!!
Amen!
Crack two! (Bottles opening)
Now I call upon Bruce to officially welcome Mr. Baldwin to the
 philosophy faculty.
I'd like to welcome the pommey bastard to God's own Earth, and remind
 him that we don't like stuck-up sticky-bates here.
(Everyone) Hear, hear! Well spoken, Bruce!
Bruce here teaches classical philosophy, Bruce there teaches Haegelian
 philosophy, and Bruce here teaches logical positivism. And is also
 in charge of the sheep dip.
What's New-Bruce going to teach?
New-Bruce will be teaching political science, Machiavelli, Benton,
 Lockholm, Sackly, Millbo, Hasset, and Bernerd.
Those are all cricketers!
Aww, spit!
Hails of derisive laughter, Bruce!
(Everyone) Australia, Australia, Australia, Australia, we love you
    amen!
Another two! (Bottles opening)
Any questions?
New-Bruce, are you a Poofter?
Are you a Poofter?
No!
No. Right, I just want to remind you of the faculty rules:
 Rule One! (Everyone) No Poofters!
 Rule Two, no member of the faculty is to maltreat the Abbos in any
           way at all -- if there's anybody watching.
 Rule Three? (Everyone) No Poofters!!
 Rule Four, now this term, I don't want to catch anybody not drinking.
 Rule Five, (Everyone) No Poofters!
 Rule Six, there is NO ... Rule Six.
 Rule Seven, (Everyone) No Poofters!!
 Right, that concludes the readin' of the rules, Bruce.
This here's the wattle, the emblem of our land. You can stick it in
 a bottle, you can hold it in your hand.
Amen!
 
<And now all four Bruces launch into the Philosopher's song>
 
Immanuel Kant was a real piss-ant who was very rarely stable.
Heideggar, Heideggar was a boozy beggar who could
    think you under the table.
David Hume could out-consume Schopenhauer and Hegel.
And Whittgenstein was a beery swine who was just as sloshed as Schlegel.
There's nothing Nieizsche couldn't teach 'ya 'bout the raising of the wrist.
Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed.
John Stewart Mill, of his own free will, after half a pint of shanty was
    particularly ill.
Plato, they say, could stick it away, 'alf a crate of whiskey every day!
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle,
    And Hobbes was fond of his Dram.
And Rene Descartes was a drunken fart:
    "I drink, therefore I am."
Yes, Socrates himself is particularly missed;
A lovely little thinker, but a bugger when he's pissed.
 
 
**** end of file BRUCE PYTHON  4/86   ****
 
[1676]  MON 10/05/87 10:37 BST FROM JRP1@PHX.CAM.AC.UK: Another one for the
       collection; 55 LINES
 
(From Monty Python's Flying Circus)
 
Eric Idle: And now for something completely different. A man with
three buttocks!
 
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.
 
Michael Palin: Oh, sure.
 
Cleese: Ah well, er, Mr Frampton. Erm, is that chair comfortable?
 
Palin: Fine, yeah, fine.
 
Cleese: Mr Frampton, er, vis a vis your... (pause) rump.
 
Palin: I beg your pardon?
 
Cleese: Your rump.
 
Palin: What?
 
Cleese: Er, your derriere. (Whispers) Posterior. Sit-upon.
 
Palin: What's that?
 
Cleese (whispers): Your buttocks.
 
Palin: Oh, me bum!
 
Cleese (hurriedly): Sshhh! Well now, I understand that you, Mr
Frampton, have a... (pause) 50% bonus in the region of what you
say.
 
Palin: I got three cheeks.
 
Cleese: 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.
 
Palin: What? (to cameramen) 'Ere, get that away! I'm not taking
me trousers down on television. What do you think I am?
 
Cleese: Please take them down.
 
Palin: No!
 
Cleese: 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.
 
Palin: I been on Persian Radio, and the Forces' Network!
 
From:       JRP1@PHX.CAM.AC.UK
To:         Clarinet@YALEVM
 
****  The Song of the Knights of Camelot                                   ****
****  from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"                               ****
****  transcribed from tape by                                             ****
****  Malcolm Dickinson '89 ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )    4/3/86           ****
 
**** This is transcript #6 from the movie                                  ****
**** (film continued from WITCH PYTHON)                                    ****
 
Launcelot: Look, my liege!
 
(fanfare)
 
Launcelot: Camelot!
Robin: Camelot!
Galahad: Camelot!
Patsy: (whispered) It's only a model.
Galahad: Shh!
 
Arthur: Knights, I bid you welcome to your new home.  Let us ride...to
        CAMELOT!
 
song:
 
We're knights of the round table, we dance whene're we're able.
We do routines, and border scenes, with footwork imp-e-cable;
We dine well here in Camelot, we eat ham and jam and spamalot.
 
We're knights of the round table, our shows are for-mid-able
Though many times, we're given rhymes, that are quite un-sing-able
We're not so bad in Camelot, we sing from the Dia-phragm alot!
 
Though we're tough and able,
Quite in-de-fa-ti-gable,
Between our quests, we seek incest and impersonate Clark Gable,
It's a busy life in Camelot:
 
I have to push the pram-a-lot!
 
Arthur: On second thought, let's not go to Camelot.  It is a silly place.
Others: Right, right....
 
****    continued in  GRAIL PYTHON, file #7 from the movie                 ****
 
****    end of file CAMELOT PYTHON  4/3/86 M.M.D.                          ****
**** Burying the cat, from the 3rd series of Monty Python                  ****
**** Transcribed 8/15/87 by                                                ****
**** Jonathan Partington ( JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK )          ****
 
 
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*!
 
**** End of file CAT PYTHON ****
**** From: JRP1@PHX.CAM.AC.UK ****
****  The Cheese Shop Sketch                                               ****
****  Transcribed from "The Instant Monty Python Record Collection"        ****
****  by Malcolm Dickinson ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )    4/4/86            ****
****  Spelling corrected by Burr ( WEST@YALEVM.BITNET ) to the best of     ****
****  his ad hoc abilities                                                 ****
 
 
                       ***  The Cheese Shoppe   ***
 
 
(a customer walks in the door.)
 
Customer: Good Morning.
Owner:    Good morning, Sir.  Welcome to the National Cheese Emporium!
Customer: Ah, thank you, my good man.
Owner:    What can I do for you, Sir?
C: Well, I was, uh, sitting in the public library on Thurmon Street just now,
   skimming through "Rogue Herrys" by Hugh Walpole, and I suddenly came over
   all peckish.
O: Peckish, sir?
C: Esuriant.
O: Eh?
C: 'Ee, Ah wor 'ungry-loike!
O: Ah, hungry!
C: In a nutshell.  And I thought to myself, "a little fermented curd will do
   the trick," so, I curtailed my Walpoling activites, sallied forth, and
   infiltrated your place of purveyance to negotiate the vending of some cheesy
   comestibles!
O: Come again?
C: I want to buy some cheese.
O: Oh, I thought you were complaining about the bazouki player!
C: Oh, heaven forbid: I am one who delights in all manifestations of the
   Terpsichorean muse!
O: Sorry?
C: 'Ooo, Ah lahk a nice tuune, 'yer forced too!
O: So he can go on playing, can he?
C: Most certainly!  Now then, some cheese please, my good man.
O: (lustily) Certainly, sir.  What would you like?
C: Well, eh, how about a little red Leicester.
O: I'm, a-fraid we're fresh out of red Leicester, sir.
C: Oh, never mind, how are you on Tilsit?
O: I'm afraid we never have that at the end of the week, sir, we get it
   fresh on Monday.
C: Tish tish.  No matter.  Well, stout yeoman, four ounces of Caerphilly, if
   you please.
O: Ah!  It's beeeen on order, sir, for two weeks.  Was expecting it this
   morning.
C: 'T's Not my lucky day, is it?   Aah, Bel Paese?
O: Sorry, sir.
C: Red Windsor?
O: Normally, sir, yes.  Today the van broke down.
C: Ah.  Stilton?
O: Sorry.
C: Ementhal? Gruyere?
O: No.
C: Any Norweigan Jarlsburg, per chance.
O: No.
C: Lipta?
O: No.
C: Lancashire?
O: No.
C: White Stilton?
O: No.
C: Danish Brew?
O: No.
C: Double Goucester?
O: <pause>   No.
C: Cheshire?
O: No.
C: Dorset Bluveny?
O: No.
C: Brie, Roquefort, Pol le Veq, Port Salut, Savoy Aire, Saint Paulin, Carrier
   de lest, Bres Bleu, Bruson?
O: No.
C: Camenbert, perhaps?
O: Ah!  We have Camenbert, yessir.
C: (suprised) You do!  Excellent.
O: Yessir.  It's..ah,.....it's a bit runny...
C: Oh, I like it runny.
O: Well,.. It's very runny, actually, sir.
C: No matter.  Fetch hither the fromage de la Belle France!  Mmmwah!
O: I...think it's a bit runnier than you'll like it, sir.
C: I don't care how fucking runny it is.  Hand it over with all speed.
O: Oooooooooohhh........!   <pause>
C: What now?
O: The cat's eaten it.
C: <pause>    Has he.
O: She, sir.
(pause)
C: Gouda?
O: No.
C: Edam?
O: No.
C: Case Ness?
O: No.
C: Smoked Austrian?
O: No.
C: Japanese Sage Darby?
O: No, sir.
C: You...do *have* some cheese, don't you?
O: (brightly) Of course, sir.  It's a cheese shop, sir.  We've got--
C: No no... don't tell me.   I'm keen to guess.
O: Fair enough.
C: Uuuuuh, Wensleydale.
O: Yes?
C: Ah, well, I'll have some of that!
O: Oh!  I thought you were talking to me, sir.
   Mister Wensleydale, that's my name.
 
(pause)
 
C: Greek Feta?
O: Uh, not as such.
C: Uuh, Gorgonzola?
O: no
C: Parmesan,
O: no
C: Mozarella,
O: no
C: Paper Cramer,
O: no
C: Danish Bimbo,
O: no
C: Czech sheep's milk,
O: no
C: Venezuelan Beaver Cheese?
O: Not *today*, sir, no.
(pause)
C: Aah, how about Cheddar?
O: Well, we don't get much call for it around here, sir.
C: Not much ca--It's the single most popular cheese in the world!
O: Not 'round here, sir.
C: <slight pause> and what IS the most popular cheese 'round hyah?
O: 'Illchester, sir.
C: IS it.
O: Oh, yes, it's staggeringly popular in this manusquire.
C: Is it.
O: It's our number one best seller, sir!
C: I see.  Uuh...'Illchester, eh?
O: Right, sir.
C: All right.  Okay.
   'Have you got any?' he asked, expecting the answer 'no'.
O: I'll have a look, sir...
   nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnno.
C: It's not much of a cheese shop, is it?
O: Finest in the district!
C: (annoyed) Explain the logic underlying that conclusion, please.
O: Well, it's so clean, sir!
C: It's certainly uncontaminated by cheese....
O: (brightly) You haven't asked me about Limburger, sir.
C: Would it be worth it?
O: Could be....
C: Have you --SHUT THAT BLOODY BAZOUKI OFF!
O: Told you sir....
C: (slowly) Have you got any Limburger?
O: No.
C: Figures.
   Predictable, really I suppose.  It was an act of purest optimism to have
   posed the question in the first place.  Tell me:
O: Yessir?
C: (deliberately) Have you in fact got any cheese here at all.
O: Yes,sir.
C: Really?
(pause)
O: No.  Not really, sir.
C: You haven't.
O: Nosir.  Not a scrap.  I was deliberately wasting your time,sir.
C: Well I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to shoot you.
O: Right-0, sir.
 
The customer takes out a gun and shoots the owner.
 
C: What a *senseless* waste of human life.
 
 
**** end of file CHEESHOP PYTHON  ****
****   AN ATHIEST'S SUNDAY BRUNCH      (  file CHURCH PYTHON )             ****
****   Transcribed from Monty Python's "Contractual Obligations" Album     ****
****   by R. "Gumby" Preston ( KL791C@GWUVM.BITNET ), May 1986             ****
****   uploaded to CMS January 1987                                        ****
 
 
(Sound: Church bells, lots of them, ringing.)
 
Man: I wish those bloody bells would stop.
Wife: Oh, it's quite nice dear, it's Sunday, it's the church.
M: What about us atheists?  Why should we 'ave to listen to that
   sectarian turmoil?
W: You're a lapsed atheist, dear.
M: The principle's the same. The Mohmedans don't come 'round here
   wavin' bells at us! We don't get Buddhists playing bagpipes in our
   bathroom! Or Hindus harmonizing in the hall! The Shintus don't
   come here shattering sheet glass in the shithouse, shouting slogans-
W: All right, don't practice your alliteration on me.
M: Anyway, when I membership card and blazer badge back from the
   League of Agnostics, I shall urge the executive to lodge a protest
   against that religious racket! Pass the butter knife!
W: WHAT??
M: PASS THE BUTTER KNIFE!! (pause) THANK YOU! IF ONLY WE HAD SOME
   KIND OF MISSILE!
W: 'OLD ON, I'LL CLOSE THE WINDOW.
M: WHAT?!
W: I SAID, I'LL CLOSE THE WINDOW!
 
(Sound: Window closing, bells get faint, but are still there)
 
M: If only we had some kind of missile, we could take the steam out
   of those bells.
W: Well, you could always use the number 14-St. Joseph-the-somewhat-
   divine-on-the-hill ballistic missile.  It's in the attic.
M: What ballistic missile would this be, then?
 
(Sound: Bells begin to get increasingly louder)
 
W: I made it for you, it's your birthday present!
M: Just what I wanted, 'ow nice of you to remember, my pet.
   'ERE!
W: WHAT?
M: THOSE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER!
W: WHAT?
M: THOSE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER!!
W: THE BELLS ARE GETTING LOUDER! OOOH, LOOK!
M: WHAT?
W: THE CHURCH, IT.. ITS COMING CLOSER! ITS COMING DOWN THE 'ILL!
M: WHAT A LIBERTY!
W: ITS TURNING INTO OUR LANE! WELL, YOU BETTER GO PUT IT OUT OF
   IT'S MISERY.
M: WHERE'S THIS MISSILE, THEN?
W: IT'S IN THE ATTIC. PRESS THE BUTTON MARKED CHURCH!
M: 'OW DO I AIM IT?
W: IT AUTOMATICALLY HOMES IN ON THE NEAREST PLACE OF WORSHIP!
M: BUT THAT'S ST. MARKS!
W: IT ISN'T NOW, LOOK!! OH, ITS OP'NING THE GATE.
M: WHAT? USE THE MEGAPHONE!
W: IT'S OP'NING THE GATE!! 'HURRY UP, ITS TRAMPLING OVER THE AZALIAS!
 
(Sound: Missle launch, explosion, bells diminish)
 
M: Did I 'it it?
W: Yes, right up the aisle.
M: Well I've always said, There's nothing an agnostic can't do if
   he really doesn't know whether he believes in anything or not.
 
**** end of CHURCH PYTHON ****
****  Stake your Claim                                                     ****
****  from "Monty Python's Previous Record"                                ****
****  Transcribed 9/17/87 by Jonathan Partington ( JRP1@PHX.CAM.AC.UK )    ****
 
Game Show Host (John Cleese):  Good evening and welcome to Stake Your Claim.
                               First this evening we have Mr Norman Voles of
                               Gravesend who claims he wrote all Shakespeare's
                               works.  Mr Voles, I understand you claim that
                               you wrote all those plays normally attributed to
                               Shakespeare?
 
Voles (Michael Palin): That is correct. I wrote all his plays and my wife and I
wrote his sonnets.
 
Host: Mr Voles, these plays are known to have been performed in the
early 17th century. How old are you, Mr Voles?
 
Voles: 43.
 
Host: Well, how is it possible for you to have written plays
performed over 300 years before you were born?
 
Voles: Ah well. This is where my claim falls to the ground.
 
Host: Ah!
 
Voles: There's no possible way of answering that argument, I'm
afraid. I was only hoping you would not make that particular
point, but I can see you're more than a match for me!
 
Host: Mr Voles, thank you very much for coming along.
 
Voles: My pleasure.
 
Host: Next we have Mr Bill Wymiss who claims to have built the Taj
Mahal.
 
Wymiss (Eric Idle): No.
 
Host: I'm sorry?
 
Wymiss: No. No.
 
Host: I thought you cla...
 
Wymiss: Well I did but I can see I won't last a minute with you.
 
Host: Next...
 
Wymiss: I was right!
 
Host: ... we have Mrs Mittelschmerz of Dundee who cla... Mrs
Mittelschmerz, what is your claim?
 
Mittelschmerz (Graham Chapman in drag): That I can burrow through an elephant.
 
Host: (Pause) Now you've changed your claim, haven't you. You know
we haven't got an elephant.
 
Mittelschmerz: (Insincerely) Oh, haven't you? Oh dear!
 
Host: You're not fooling anybody, Mrs Mittelschmerz. In your letter
you quite clearly claimed that ... er ... you could be thrown off
the top of Beachy Head into the English Channel and then be
buried.
 
Mittelschmerz: No, you can't read my writing.
 
Host: It's typed.
 
Mittelschmerz: It says 'elephant'.
 
Host: Mrs Mittelschmerz, this is an entertainment show, and I'm not
prepared to simply sit here bickering. Take her away, Heinz!
 
Mittelschmerz: Here, no, leave me alone!
 
(Sound of wind and sea).
 
Mittelschmerz: Oooaaahh! (SPLOSH)
 
 
From:       JRP1@PHX.CAM.AC.UK
To:         Clarinet@YALEVM
 
****   THE DECOMPSING COMPOSERS                                            ****
****   from Monty Python's Contractual Obligations Album                   ****
****   transcribed May, 1986 and uploaded to CMS January 1987              ****
****   by R. "Gumby" Preston ( KL791C@GWUVM.BITNET )                       ****
 
 
Beethoven's gone, but his music lives on,
And Mozart don't go shopping no more.
You'll never meet Lizst or Brahms again,
And Elgar doesn't answer the door.
 
Schubert and Chopin used to chuckle and laugh,
Whilst composing a long symphony.
But one hundred and fifty years later,
There's very little of them left to see.
 
The decomposing composers,
There's not much anyone can do.
You can still hear Beethoven,
But Beethoven cannot hear you.
 
Handel and Haydn and Rachmaninoff
Enjoyed a nice drink with their meal.
But nowadays no one will serve them,
And their gravy is left to congeal.
 
Verdi and Wagner delighted the crowds
With their highly original sounds.
The pianos they play are still working,
But they're both six feet underground.
 
The decomposing composers,
There's less of them every year.
You can say what you like to
But there's not much of them left to hear.
 
Claude Akil Debussy.  Died, 1918.
Christof Viliborg Kralk.  Died, 1787.
Carl Maria von Weber.  Not at all well, 1825.
                       Died, 1826.
Giacommo Meiabier.  Still alive, 1863.
                    Not still alive, 1864.
Modest Mussorgsky.  1880, going to parties.
                    No fun anymore, 1881.
Johann Neopok Hummel.  Chattin' away 19 'an a dozen with his friends down at
                       the Pub every evenin', 1836.
                       1837, nothing.
 
****  the Contradiction sketch                                             ****
****  from "Monty Python's Previous Record"                                ****
****  Transcribed 9/17/87 by Jonathan Partington ( JRP1@PHX.CAM.AC.UK )    ****
 
 
Host (John Cleese):  With me now is Norman St. John Polevaulter, who for the
                     last few years has been contradicting people.  St. John
                     Polevaulter, why do you contradict people?
Polevaulter (Graham Chapman): I don't!
Host:        But you... you told me that you did.
Polevaulter: I most certainly did not!
Host:        Oh. I see. I'll start again.
Polevaulter: No you won't!
Host:        Ssh!  I understand you don't contradict people.
Polevaulter: Yes I do!
Host:        And when didn't you start contradicting them?
Polevaulter: I did! In 1952!
Host:        1952.
Polevaulter: 1947!
Host:        23 years ago.
Polevaulter: No!
 
<GONG>
 
**** end of file CONTRA PYTHON 9/19/87 ****
From:       JRP1@PHX.CAM.AC.UK
To:         Clarinet@YALEVM
 
****   THE MEN'S-BEING-EATEN-BY-A-CROCODILE CONTEST                        ****
****   from Monty Python's Contractual Obligations Album                   ****
****   transcribed May, 1986 and uploaded to CMS January 1987              ****
****   by R. "Gumby" Preston ( KL791C@GWUVM.BITNET )                       ****
 
 
(Background music: Sportscast intro)
Newscaster: And right now it's time for athletics, and over to Brian
            Goebells in Paris.
Goebells:   Hello, well you join us here in Paris just a few minutes before the
            start of today's big event:  the final of the Men's-Being-Eaten-
            By-A-Crocodile event.  I'm standing now by the crocodile pit where-
            AAAAAAHHHHH!
 
(FX: Crocodiles eating, French exclamations and sirens)
 
Newscaster: Ah. Well I'm afraid that we've lost Brian. While they're sorting
            that out, we have a report from Barry Loothesom in Lughtborrow on
            the British preparations for this most important event.
Loothesom:  Here at Lughtborrow are the five young men chosen last week to be
            eaten by a crocodile for Britain this summer.  Obviously, the most
            important part of the event is the opening 60 yard sprint towards
            the crocs.  And twenty-two year old Nottingham schoolteacher Gavin
            Watterlow is rated by some not only the fastest but also the
            tastiest British morsel since Barry Gordon got a bronze at
            Helsinki.  In charge of the team is Sergeant Major Harold Duke.
Duke:       Aww, well, you not only got to get in that pit first, you gotta
            get EATEN first.  When you land in front of your croc, and 'e opens
            his mouth, I wanna see you right in there.  Rub your 'ead up
            against 'is taste buds.  And when those teeth bite into your flesh,
            use the perches to thrust yourself DOWN his throat...
Loothesom:  Duke's trained with every British team since 1928, and it's his
            blend of gymnastic knowhow, reptilian expertise and culinary skill
            that's turned many an un-appetizing novice into a crocodilic
            banquet.
Duke:       Well, our chefs have been experimenting for many years to find
            a sauce most likely to tempt the crocodile.  In the past, we've
            concentrated on a fish based sauce, but this year, we are reverting
            to a simple bernaise.
Loothesom:  The British team are worried because Olympic regulations allow
            only the competitor's heads to be sauced.  Gavin Morolowe...
Morolowe:   Yes, well, I mean, (clears throat) you know, four years ago,
            everyone knew the Italians were coating the insides of their legs
            with bolinaise, the Russians have been marinating themselves, One
            of the Germans, Biolek, was caught actually putting, uh, remolarde
            down his shorts.  And the Finns were using tomato flavoured running
            shoes.  Uh, I think there should either be unrestricted garnishing,
            or a single, Olympic standard mayonnaise.
Loothesom:  Gavin, does it ever worry you that you're actually going to be
            chewed up by a bloody, grey crocodile.
 
Morolowe:   The only thing that worries me, Jim, is being the first one down
            that gully.
Loothesom:  Well, the way things are going here at Lughtborrow, it looks as
            though Britan could easily pick up a place in the first seven
            hundred.  But nothing's predictable in this tough, harsh, highly
            competitive world where today's champion is tomorrow's crocodile
            shit.  And back to you, in the studio, Norman.
 
**** end of file CROC PYTHON 9/20/87 ****
****  The Cycling Sketch from Episode 10 of "Monty Python's Flying Circus" ****
****  Transcribed 3/31/87 by                                               ****
****  Jonathan Partington ( JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK )         ****
****  expressly for the BBOARD@YALEVM Python collection                    ****
 
 
                    MONTY PYTHON'S FLYING CIRCUS
 
                            EPISODE 10
 
                     Written and performed by
 
                JOHN CLEESE, MICHAEL PALIN, TERRY JONES,
                ERIC IDLE, GRAHAM CHAPMAN, TERRY GILLIAM
 
THURSDAY, 4TH MAY, 1972
 
(The green, lush Devon countryside.  Theme music.  There are trees in the
background perhaps and the camera is tracking along the hedgerow along a road.
 
We see a head whizzing along, sometimes just above the hedgerow and sometimes
bobbing down out of sight....  occasionally for long periods.
 
Title:                  THE CYCLING TOUR
 
Mr. Pither, the cyclist, bobs up and down a few more times, then disappears
from sight.  There is a crash and clang of a bicycle in collision, mixed with
the scream of a frightened hen, and stifled shout of alarm.  We are still in
long shot and see nothing.  The music stops abruptly on the crash.)
 
Pither (Voice Over):  August 18th.  Fell off near Bovey Tracey.  The pump
caught in my trouser leg, and my sandwiches were badly crushed.
 
(Cut to interior of a transport cafe.  A rather surly proprietor with fag in
mouth is operating an Espresso coffee machine.  Pither, a fussy bespectacled
little man, in sweater, trousers, is leaning over the counter, talking
chattily).
 
Pither: The pump caught in my trouser leg, and my sandwiches were badly
        crushed.
Prop:   35p.  (He goes back to working the machine).
Pither: These sandwiches, however, were an excellent substitute.
 
(Enormous lorry driver comes up to counter)
Driver: Give us ten woods, Barney.
Pither: Hello!
 
(Lorry driver looks at him without interest, goes off with his cigarettes)
 
Pither: It's funny how one can go through life, as I have, disliking bananas
        and being indifferent to cheese, and then be able to eat, and enjoy, a
        banana and cheese sandwich like that.
Prop:   35p please.  (A juke box starts up in the background)
Pither: Ah! I have only a 50. Do you have change?
Prop. (with heavy sarcasm): Well I'll have a look, but I may have to ring the
        bank.
Pither: I'm most awfully sorry.
 
(Prop gives him change)
 
Prop:  15p.
Pither: Oh, that was lucky. Well, all the very best.
        (Pither proffers his hand.  Prop. ignores it)
        Thank you for the excellent banana and cheese sandwich.
 
(He exits busily.  Prop.  looks after him, shakes his head, and absent-mindedly
opens a sandwich and flicks ash in, and closes it up again.)
 
(Cut to hedgerows.  Theme music.  Pither's head bobbing up and down.  At the
same point in the music....  it disappears and there is a crash mingled with
grunting of pig.)
 
Pither (V.O.): August 23rd. Fell off near Budleigh Salterton.
 
(Cut to a woman gardening.  Behind her we see Pither's head peering over the
hedge.)
 
Pither: ...and the pump caught in my trouser leg.
 
(She carries on digging, trying to ignore him)
 
Pither:  And that's why they were damaged...(no reaction)...the eggs...you
remember...the hard-boiled eggs I was telling you about...(he comes round to
the gate and leans familiarly over the gate)...they were in a Tupperware
container, reputedly self-sealing, which fell open on contact with the
tarmacadam surface of the road.  (He looks for a reaction.  She goes on digging
very butch)...the B409...(he looks again for a glimmer of interest)...the
Dawlish road...(again no reaction) That shouldn't really happen to a
self-sealing container, should it?
 
(Lady gardener goes back into house.  Pither waits for a few moments)
 
Pither (shouting):  What do *you* keep your hard-boiled eggs in?  (No reaction)
                    I think in future I shall lash them to the handlebars with
                    adhesive tape.  That should obviate a recurrence of the
                    same problem...well I can't stop here all day...must get
                    on...I'm on a cycling tour of Cornwall.
 
(Cut to hedgerows again.  Pither's head bowling along.  Theme music.  He dips
out of sight.  Crash and a cow moos.)
 
Pither (V.O.):  Aug. 26th.  Fell off near Ottery St. Mary.  The pump caught in
my trouser leg.  Decide to wear short trousers from now on.
 
(Cut to another hedgerow.  Pither's head bowling along.  Short burst of music.
Crash.)
 
Pither (V.O.):  Fell off near Tiverton.  Perhaps a shorter pump is the answer.
 
(Cut to a tiny village high street, deserted save for an old lady.  Pither
cycles into shot, carefully parks his bike by the kerb.  He is in shorts, but
still has his bicycle clips on.  He takes them off and approaches the old
lady.)
 
Pither:   Excuse me, madam, can you tell me of a good bicycle shop in this
          village, where I could find either some means of adapting my present
          pump, or, failing that, purchase a replacement?
Old lady: There's only one shop here.
 
(She points with a shaking finger. Camera pans very slightly to
one side to reveal a shop with a huge four foot high sign:
 
"BICYCLE PUMP CENTRE. SPECIALISTS IN SHORTER BICYCLE PUMPS."
 
another sign:  "SHORT PUMPS AVAILABLE HERE"
 
another sign:  "WE SHORTEN PUMPS WHILE-U-WAIT"
 
The camera shows the shop only for a couple of seconds and pans
back to the old lady and Pither.)
 
Pither: What a stroke of luck.  Now perhaps cycling will become less
        precarious.
 
(Cut to int. of doctor's surgery. A knock on the door).
 
Doctor: Yes?
Nurse:  (sticking her head around the door):  There's a Mr. Pither to see you,
        Doctor.  His bicycle pump got caught in his sock.
Doctor: Alright, nurse, send him in.
 
(Nurse exits, Pither enters in shorts and sweater)
 
Doctor: Morning.
Pither: A very good morning to you too, Doctor
Doctor: I gather you had an accident?
Pither: Yes, my pump got...
Doctor: ...caught in your sock.
Pither: Yes, and my fruit cake was damaged on one side.
Doctor: Well...
Pither: It's got grit all over it.
Doctor: Well now, are you in pain?  (reaching round for his stethoscope and
        coming around desk)
Pither: Oh heavens no.
Doctor: Well where were you hurt?
Pither: I escaped without injury fortunately.
(Pause)
Doctor: Well what is the trouble?
Pither: Could you tell me the way to Iddesley?
Doctor: I'm a doctor, you know.
Pither: Oh yes.  Under normal circumstances I would have asked a policeman or
        a minister of the Church, but finding no one available, I thought it
        better to consult a man with some qualifications, rather than rely on
        the possibly confused testimony of a passer-by.
Doctor: Oh alright.  (He scribbles something on a piece of paper and hands it
        to Pither) Take this to a chemist.
Pither: Thank you.
 
(Ching of door.  Chemist comes out holding the paper and points up the street.
Pither thanks him and mounts his bike.
 
Cut to the hedgerows again.  Pither's head.  Theme music...reaches the point
where Pither normally falls off...his head disappears, the music cuts off...
no crash...suddenly Pither's head reappears further on and the music starts up
again)
 
Pither (V.O.): Sept 2nd. Did not fall off outside Iddesley.
 
(Cut to a small market town.  Line of cars.  Pither's head just above the roofs
of cars.  Theme music.  He suddenly disappears, the music stops and there is a
crash.)
 
Pither (V.O.): Fell off in Tavistock.
 
(Cut to a discreet corner of a Watney's pub.  Carpet and soft music.  A
middle-aged businessman and a sexy secretary who obviously want to be alone are
sitting huddled over a table.  On the other side of the table is Pither, with
half pint in front of him.)
 
Pither: My leg got caught in my trousers and that's how the bottle broke.
Girl:   Tell her today, you could ring her.
Man:    I can't. I can't.
Pither: I said you'd never guess.
Man:    16 years we've been together. I can't just ring her up.
Girl:   If you can't do it now, you never will.
Pither: Do you like Tizer?
Man (to Pither): What? No. No.
Girl:   Do you want me or not? It's your decision, James.
Pither: I suppose it is still available in this area?
Girl:   Do you want me or not, James?
Man:    What?
Pither: Tizer.
Girl:   Yes or no.
Pither: Is it still available in this area?
Man (to Pither): I don't know.
Girl:   In that case it's goodbye for ever, James.
Man:    No! I mean yes!
Pither: Oh it is?
Man (to Pither): No.
Girl:   You never *could* make up your mind.
Man:    I can.... I have....
Girl (taking off ring):  Goodbye James.  (She runs out sobbing.)
Man:    No wait, Lucille!
Pither: And does your lovely daughter like Tizer?
Man:    Lucille!
Pither: I wouldn't mind buying *her* a bottle of Tizer....  if it's available
        in this area, that is.
Man (turning on Pither): Would you like me to show you the door?
Pither: Well that's extremely thoughtful of you, but I saw it on the way in.
Man:    You stupid, interfering little rat.
Pither: Oh! The very words of the garage mechanic in Bude!
 
(The man picks Pither up by the scruff of the neck and the seat of his pants.
He carries him bodily towards the door.)
 
Pither: I had just fallen off...and my cheese tartlet had become embedded in
        the...
Man:    Damn your cheese tartlet!  And damn you, sir!
Pither:  ...dynamo hub...  which was not at that time functioning...
 
(He is thrown out.)
 
(Cut to ext.  of pub.  Pither picks himself up.  Sees girl outside sobbing.)
 
Pither: Just had a chat with your dad.
 
(Girl bursts into further tears.  Whistling cheerfully, Pither gets on his
bicycle and, happier than he has been for a long time, he cycles off down the
road and round a corner.  Sounds of car tyre screech and crash of Pither going
straight into a car.)
 
(Cut to interior of car speeding along highway.  Pither is sitting in the back
seat with his bicycle.  The driver, Mr Gulliver, is a bespectacled young man.
He talks with a professional precision.)
 
Pither:   Yes...my rubber instep caught on the rear mud-guard stanchion and...
Gulliver: Really? And what happened to your corned beef rolls?
Pither:   They were squashed out of all recog...  here just a minute.  How did
          you know about the corned beef rolls?
Gulliver: I saw them - or what remained of them - on the road.  I noticed also
          that the lemon curd tart had sustained some superficial damage.
Pither:   The curd had become...
Gulliver: Detached from the pastry base.
Pither (with some surprise): Yes.... that's absolutely right!
Gulliver: Otherwise the contents of the sandwich box were relatively unharmed,
          though I detected small particles of bitumen in the chocolate cup
          cakes.
Pither:   But they were wrapped in foil!
Gulliver: Not the hard chocolate top, I'm afraid.
Pither:   Oh dear, that's the bit I liked.
Gulliver: The ginger biscuit, the crisps and the sausage roll were unharmed.
Pither:   How do you know so much about cycling?
Gulliver: I'm making a special study of accidents involving food.
Pither:   Really?
Gulliver: Do you know that in our laboratories we have produced a cheese
          sandwich that can withstand an impact of 4,000 lbs per square inch?
Pither:   Good heavens!
Gulliver: Amazing, isn't it?  We have also developed a tomato which ejects
          itself when an accident is imminent.
Pither:   Even if it's inside am egg and tomato roll?
Gulliver: Anywhere!  Even if it's in your stomach, and it senses an accident
          it will come up your throat and out of the window.  Do you realise
          what this means?
Pither:   Safer food?
Gulliver: Exactly!  No longer will food be damaged, crushed or squashed by the
          ignorance and stupidity of the driver!  (Becoming slightly messianic)
          Whole picnics will be built to survive the most enormous forces!
          Snacks will be stronger than ever!  An ordinary pot of salad cream,
          treated in our laboratories, has been subjected to the force of a
          9,000 lb steam hammer every day for the last 6 years.  And has it
          broken?
Pither:   Er....
Gulliver: Yes, of course it has!  But there are other things that haven't!....
          the safety straps for sardines for instance.
 
(A tomato leaps up out of the glove compartment and hovers, then it ejects
 itself out of the car window)
 
Pither:   That tomato just ejected itself.
Gulliver: Really?
Pither:   Yes.
Gulliver (embracing Pither): It works! It works!
 
(Crash and cut to black.)
(Fade up on country road.  Pither is cycling along with Gulliver on the back of
the bicycle.  Gulliver has his head bandaged and his arm in a sling.
Occasionally strains of 'Jack in a box' by Clodagh Rogers float towards us as
Gulliver moves rhythmically.)
 
Pither (V.O.):  What a strange turn this cycling tour has taken.  Mr Gulliver
appears to have lost his memory and far from being interested in safer food is
now convinced that he is Clodagh Rogers the young girl singer.  I am taking him
for medical attention.
 
(Cut to Pither and Gulliver cycling into hospital.  Sign: "North Cornwall
District Hospital".)
 
(Cut to nurse receptionist at counter with glass window which lifts up and
down.  Above window small notice:  "Casualty Admissions".  Pither appears)
 
Pither: Good afternoon... is this the Casualty Department?
Nurse: Yes, that's right.
 
(Noise of splintering wood and crash out of view.  Pither and nurse look up.
Cut away to three benches under large 4 ft sign "Casualty".  The front bench
has collapsed in the middle and half a dozen or so patients sitting on it have
slid into a heap in the middle.  Some with scalded hands, bandages etc.  some
with bloody heads.  A negro nurse is on her way to assist.  Cut back to Pither
and nurse.)
 
Nurse: What can I do for you?
(The window comes down on her fingers, she winces sharply in pain.  She pushes
 it up again).
 
Pither: Well, I am at present on a cycling tour of the North Cornwall area
        taking in Bude and...
Nurse:  Could I have your name please?
Pither: My name is Pither.
Nurse:  Hm?
Pither: No...  P I T H E R ...  as in Brotherhood, but with PI instead of the
        BRO and no HOOD.
Nurse:  I see...
Pither: I had already visited Taunton...
 
(Terrific crash.  Cut to trolley on its side, and a bandaged patient under a
 mound of hospital instruments and a nurse standing looking down)
 
Nurse:  Sh!
Pither: ...and was cycling north in...
Nurse:  Where were you injured?
Pither: Just where the A397 Ilfracombe road meets the...
Nurse:  No - on your body...
Pither: Ah no... it's not I who was injured, it's my friend.
 
(Nurse scowls, crumples up paper...  and throws it away.  The piece of paper
hits a smallish cabinet of glass which topples forward.)
 
Nurse:  Tut... Name?
Pither: Pither.
Nurse (long sufferingly): Your *friend's* name.
Pither: Clodagh Rogers...
Nurse:  Clodagh Rogers!
Pither: Well...since about 4:30....
Nurse:  ...well I think you ought to tell Doctor Wu... Doctor!
 
(Cut to doctor on top of step ladder, unloading whisky from a crate balanced on
top of ladders into a medicine cupboard already stacked with whisky bottles.
Doctor whips round knocking off the crate of whisky.)
Doctor: What? Damn!
 
(Cut to patient in a wheelchair being pushed.  The wheelchair completely
collapses and the nurse is left holding the handles.  Quick cut to nurse as
window comes down on her fingers again.)
Nurse: Aaaaaagh!
 
(Doctor comes across to pither, limping slightly, in some pain.)
 
Doctor: Now, what's the trouble?
Pither: I am on a cycling tour of...
Nurse (nursing her fingers): He thinks he's had an accident.
Pither: Yes, I have friend who, as a result of his injuries, has become
        Clodagh Rogers.
Doctor: Don't be silly, man; people don't just become Clodagh Rogers.
Pither: So you may think, but what happened in this case was...
(There is a terrifying crash)
(Cut to doors, which are flying open, knocking over a nurse with
a tray of surgical instruments.  Gulliver comes in...)
 
Gulliver (rushing up to Pither):  No time to lose - we must make for Moscow
tonight.  (Grabs Pither and pulls him out.)
 
(The window comes down on the doctor's fingers.)
Doctor: Aaaaagh!
 
(Gulliver and Pither rush out of doors of Casualty Dept.  They slam the door.
Casualty sign drops on the heads of the people on the third bench.)
 
(Cut to camp fire at midnight in a forest clearing. By the light
of the fire, Pither is writing up his diary.)
 
Pither (V.O.):  Sept 4th.  Well I never.  We are now in the Alpes Maritimes
region of Southern France.  Clodagh seems more intent on reaching Moscow than
on rehearsing her new BBC1 series with Buddy Rich and the Younger Generation.
 
(Gulliver enters the scene.  His head is still bandaged but he has a goatee
beard.)
 
Pither:   Hallo!
Gulliver: We cannot stay here.  We must leave immediately.  There is a ship at
          Marseilles.
Pither:   I did enjoy your song for Europe, Clodagh.
Gulliver: I have seen an agent in the town. My life is in danger.
Pither:   Danger, Clodagh?
Gulliver: Stalin has always hated me.
Pither:   No one hates you, Clodagh.
Gulliver: I will not let myself fall into the hands of these scum.
Pither:   I suggest you have a little lie down, my dear.  There is a busy day
          of concerts and promotional visits tomorrow.
Gulliver: I. One of the founders of the greatest nation on earth.  I!  Who
          Lenin called his greatest friend.
 
(From the darkness we hear French voices.)
 
M. Brun: Taissez-vous. Taissez-vous.
 
Pither:   Oh dear.
Gulliver: I!  who have fought and suffered that our people should live.
 
(Pair of middle class froggies in their prix-unis pyjamas appear.)
 
M. Brun:   Taissez-vous.  Qu'est-ce que le bruit?  C'est impossible.
Pither:    Er... my name is Pither.
M. Brun:   Oh... you are English?
Pither:    Er yes.  I'm on a cycling tour of North Cornwall, taking in Bude.
Gulliver:  I will not be defeated.  I will return to my land and continue the
           fight against this new tyranny.
Pither:    This is Clodagh Rogers, the Irish-born girl singer.
Mme. Brun: Mais oui (sings) Jack-in-a-box, I know whenever love knocks (M.
           Brun joins in) Eh!!  Genevieve, Gerard.  C'est Clodagh Rogers la
           chanteuse Anglaise.
 
(Happy shouts from off as two small froggies in their teens appear in pyjamas
with autograph books and run up to Gulliver.  Gen. offers her book to
Gulliver.)
 
Gulliver: They will never silence me. They will nev...
Gen.:     Excusez-moi Mam'selle Clodagh.  Ecrivez vous votre nom dans mon livre
          des celebrites.  (Gulliver takes book.)  S'il vous plait.  La,
          au-dessous de Denis Compton.  (Gulliver, having signed, hands the
          book back.)  Merci...  oh!  Maman.  Ce n'est pas la belle Clodagh.
Mme. B.:  Quoi?
Gen.:     C'est Trotsky le revolutionaire.
M. B.:    Trotsky!
Mme. B.:  Trotsky ne chante pas.
M. B.:    Un peu.
Mme. B.:  Mais pas professionalement. Tu penses de Lenin.
M. B.:    Lenin!! Quel chanteur: 'If I ruled the world'.
 
(Cut to stock shot of famous Lenin-addressing-the-crowd scene doctored so that
we can dub the words 'Every day would be the first day of spring' onto it.)
(Cut back to clearing as before.)
 
Gulliver: Lenin.  My friend.  I come.  (He dashes off into the forest
          possessed.)
Pither (aux Bruns): Oh excuse me, she's not very well you know, pressure of
                    work, laryngitis...  (He gets on his bike and pedals off
                    hurriedly after Gulliver into the forest.)
M. Brun (still reminiscing):  Et Kerensky avec le 'Little White Bull'.
Mme. Brun: Formidable.
 
(Cut to a few quick shots of Gulliver dashing through the trees and then of
Pither making much slower progress due to his bike.)
 
(Cut to a shot possibly of two frogs in a signal box, but probably a mundane
setting and it's not worth wasting too much time on, of Gulliver passing within
sight of the two aforesaid frogs, F1 and F2.)
 
F1 (seeing Gulliver): Maurice!  Regardez!  C'est la chanteuse Anglaise Clodagh
                      Rogers.
F2:  Ah mais oui!  (sings) Jacques dans la boite (he switches on a nearby horn
gramophone and the song is heard throughout the forest)
 
(Cut to Russian street.  Pither cycles along with Gulliver, looking like
 Trotsky, on the back.)
 
Pither (V.O.):  After several days I succeeded in tracking down my friend Mr.
                Gulliver to the outskirts of Smolensk.
 
(Cut to military man in studio.  He has a large map of Europe and Russia and a
stick with which he raps at the places.)
Military man: Smolensk.  200 miles west of Minsk.  200 north of Kursk.  1500
              miles west of Omsk.
 
(Cut back to Pither.)
Pither: Thank you.
 
(They've stopped by a signpost that says:
                                           Smolensk Town Centre 1/2
                                           Tavistock 1612 m.            )
 
Pither (V.O.):  Anyway, as we were so far from home, and as Mr. Gulliver, still
believing himself to be Trotsky, was very tired from haranguing the masses all
the way from Monte Carlo,
 
(Cut to military man who thumps the map again.)
Military man:  Monte Carlo.  100 miles south of Turin.  100 west of Pisa.  500
               miles east of Bilbao.
 
(Cut back to Pither.)
Pither: Thank you. I decided to check...
Pither (V.O.): I decided to check...
Pither: No, you go on.
Pither (V.O.):  I decided to check him into a hotel while I visited the British
                Embassy to ask for help in returning to Cornwall.
 
(By the end of this speech, they are leaving the bicycle on the kerb and
entering a door with the sign "Y.M.A.C.A."  over it, looking like a Y.M.C.A.
sign.  Over this...)
 
Pither (V.O.):  And so we registered at the Smolensk Young Men's Anti-Christian
                Association.
 
(Cut to military man.)
Military man:  Y.M.C.A.  Corner of Anti-semitic street and Pogrom square.
 
Pither (by now standing at the reception desk with Gulliver):  Go away.  (To
departing desk clerk).  No not you.  A single room for my friend please.
Desk clerk: Yes, sir. Bugged or unbugged?
Gulliver (as Trotsky): I think I'd feel happier with a bugged one.
Desk Clerk: One bugged with bath.
(As Gulliver starts to sign the register, Pither starts to leave.  He says...)
Pither:  Have a nice lie down.  I'm just off to the Embassy.  (He goes.)
 
(Desk clerk looks at book.)
Desk clerk: Trotsky! My lack of God, it's Trotsky!
 
(A couple of people race in excitedly.)
 
Gulliver:  Comrades.  Socialism is not a national doctrine it...  (Fade.)
 
(Mix through to sign:  "British Consulate Smolensk" sign is on railings
outside.  Pither cycles up and parks his bike and goes in.  Imperial music.)
 
(Mix through to interior...  smoke and incense about.  A picture of the queen
is dimly visible on the back wall.  A Chinaman approaches.)
 
Pither: Excuse me. Is this the British Consulate?
Chinaman: Yes yes...  si si...  That is correctment.  Yes...  Piccadilly
          Circus, mini-skirt...  Joe Lyons.
Pither:   I wish to see the Consul, please.
Chinaman: That's right. Speakee speakee... me Blitish consul.
Pither:   Oh!  (He examines his diary.)  Are you...  Rear Admiral Dudley de
          Vere Compton Bart then?
Chinaman: No. He died.  He have heart attack and fell out of window onto
          exploding bomb, and was run over in shooting accident.  Nasty
          business.  I his susscussor...  how you say...  succsussor.
Pither:   Successor.
Chinaman: Successor yes... I his successor, Mr. Atkinson.
Pither:   Oh, I see.
Atkinson: You like have drinkee? Game bingo?
Pither:   Well.... a *drink* would be extremely pleasant.
 
(Atkinson snaps fingers. Another chink bows obsequiously.)
Atkinson: Mr. Robinson. Go and get Saki.
Robinson: Yes, Boss. (goes)
Atkinson: How is Tunbridge Wells?  How I long to see once again walls of
          Shakespeare-style theatre in Stratford-on-Avon.
Pither:   I'm a West Country man myself, Mr. Atkinson.
Atkinson: Ho yes! Arizona -- Texas -- Kit Carson Super Scout.
Pither:   No - West of England... Cornwall.
China (with difficulty): Coron... worll...
Pither:   Cornwall.
Atkinson: Coronworl...  oh yes know Coronworl very well.  Go to school there,
          Mother and Father live there, ah yes, have lots of friends there.  Go
          for weekend parties and polo playing cards and bridge in evening.  Oh
          yes belong to many clubs in Coronworld.
 
(Robinson reappears, with drink and plate of pastries.  He puts them down.)
Atkinson: Ah, Mr. Rutherford, saki and bakewells tart.
(Hands glass of Saki to Pither.)
Atkinson: Well, old chap. Buttocks up!
Pither:   Rather.  (They drink.)
Atkinson: Now then Mr... er...
Pither:   Pither.
Atkinson: Pither ah yes...  fine old English name.  My father he Pither, and
          mother she Pither...  all flends Pither...  Now we Blitish here in
          Smolensk velly intellested in playing clicket.
Pither:   Cricket?
Atkinson: No...  you not speak English velly wells.  We like play *clicket* -  not
           clicket - clicket...clicketty click...housey housey...Bingo.
Pither:   Oh...  Bingo...
Atkinson: Yes. Bingo.
Robinson: Bingo.
Atkinson (trying to get a grip on himself):  Bingo.
Robinson:  Bingo!  Bingo!
 
(Hammering on door.)
Chinese V.O.s: Bingo Bingo Bingo! (etc)
 
(Three Chinese throw themselves out of a cupboard and throw themselves at
Pither's feet, imploringly.)
3 Chinese: Bingo! Bingo! Bingo!
Atkinson: Contloll. Contloll selves!
Robinson: (beating floor with fist): Bingo.
Atkinson: Mr. Richardson! Contloll self!
3 Chinese (under breath): Bingo....
Atkinson: Hsai! (turns to Pither) So solly. Boys get velly excited.
Robinson  (quietly): Bingo.
China     (close into Robinson's face): Shut face. (smiles at Pither)
          Perhaps you help us join Bingo Club back in jolly old Blighty.
Pither:   Well it's not quite my line...
Atkinson: You put in good word, me and flends join really smart Bingo club in
          Coronwold...
Pither:   Well...
Atkinson: We all velly quiet...sit at back...only shout "Housey!  Housey!      y!"
          (Obviously trying to control himself but it is too late.)
Robinson: Housey! Housey!
3 Chinese (still on floor): Housey! Housey!
Atkinson (with supreme effort of will): Contloll selves!!
(Hammering on doors and Chinese V.O.s sound of Chinese hordes from outside.)
Chinese (V.O.): Housey housey! Housey housey!
 
(Atkinson runs onto balcony.  Shot of stock film of Chinese hordes.)
Chinese hordes: Housey housey! Housey housey!
Atkinson:  Ni akawati nihi, keo t'sin feh t'sung, nihi *watai* bingo cards!
 
(There is a sudden silence from the invisible hordes below, except for slightly
shocked muttering.  Atkinson turns, and goes back inside.  Cut back to
interior.  Atkinson stalks in looking grim.)
Robinson: Nihi *watai* bingo cards?
Atkinson: Nihi *watai*!
Robinson: Ah so... (he bows and falls back obediently.)
 
(Atkinson turns to Pither.)
Atkinson: Now then, Pither Mr, which do you think better, Hackney Star Bingo o r
          St. Albans Top Rank Suite?
Pither:   Well, Mr Atkinson, I was hoping that you could help me and my friend
          to get back to England as...
Robinson  (terribly quietly):  Hackney Star Bingo.  (Atkinson strikes Robinson
          hard.)
 
Pither:  I'm actually cycling to...
 
(One of the other Chinese falls to the floor.)
Chinaman on floor: Star Bingo!  (He cowers as Atkinson turns on him and
                   strikes him.)
Atkinson: Controll selves!
2 other Chinamen (with awed reverence): Top Rank Bingo...
Atkinson: Shut faces!
All:      Bingo... Top Rank... ahhhh!
(As the word Bingo starts to swell again from all those present and from the
hordes outside, Atkinson rushes around trying to silence them.)
 
Pither: Well I think I'll be off...
Atkinson: Please not go yet...  (he has grabbed Robinson by the throat.)
Robinson (breathlessly): Wimbledon Granada Bingo.
Atkinson: Shut face.  Please Mr. Bingo don't bingo yet...  I mean bingo...
          BINGO!
 
(Pither escapes as all available Simian lungs cry out.)
All: Bingo etc. etc.
Chinese hordes: Bingo!
 
(Chinese are climbing over the balcony.  Cut to stock film of Chinese hordes
rioting.)
Hordes: Bingo! Bingo! Bingo!
 
(Cut to worried Director reading script:  'I'm sorry, News, I'd like to do it,
but...')
 
(Cut to Y.W.A.C.A. Lobby.  Pither walks up to desk.)
Pither:     Is Mr Trotsky in his room please?
Desk clerk: No. He has gone to Moscow.
 
(Cut to military man.)
Military man: Moscow. 1500 miles due East of...
Desk Clerk:   Shut up!
Pither:       Moscow!
 
(Pither is suddenly surrounded by four secret policemen dressed in heavy
 trenchcoats and pork pie hats.)
 
Grip:   Come with us please.
Pither: Who're you?
Bag:    Well we're not secret police anyway.
Wallet: That's for sure.
Grip:   If anything we are ordinary Soviet systems with no particular interest
        in politics.
Bag:    None at all. Come with us.
Pither: Where are you taking me?
 
(Secret police all move to confer.)
Wallet: What do we tell him?
Grip:   Don't tell him any secrets.
Bag:    Agreed.
Grip:   Tell him anything except that we are taking him to Moscow to be present
        as an Honoured Guest when Trotsky is reunited with the Central
        Committee.
Wallet: We're taking you to a Clam Bake.
Pither: Oh a Clam Bake.  I've never been to one of them.
Grip:   Right, let's go.
Bag:    Who's giving the orders round here?
Grip:   I am. I'm senior to you.
Bag:    No, you're not.  You're a greengrocer, I'm an insurance salesman.
Grip:   Greengrocers are senior to insurance salesmen.
Wallet: Cool it. Ice cream salesmen are senior to both of you.
Bag:    You're an ice cream salesman?  I thought you were a window-dresser.
Wallet: I got promoted. Let's go.
Bag:    Taxi!
 
(Man enters dressed as a New York cabbie.)
Taxi: Yes.
Bag: Drive us to Moscow.
Taxi: I haven't got a cab.
Wallet: Why not?
Taxi: I'm in the Secret Police.
(They all snap into salute.)
 
(cut to stock film of train wheels in the night.  The siren sounds.)
 
CAPTION: PETROGRAD.
 
CAPTION: OTTOGRAD.
 
CAPTION: LEWGRAD.
 
CAPTION: LESLIEGRAD.
 
CAPTION: ETCETERAGRAD.
 
CAPTION: DUKHOVSKOKNABILEBSKOHATSK.
 
CAPTION: MOSCVA.
 
*FIRST RUSSIAN HALL SET SCENE*
 
(C.U.  Hammer and sickle flag.  Pull out to reveal the stage of a big Russian
hall.  A banner reads "U.S.S.R.  42nd annual clambake".  At one side of the
stage sits an impressive table on a dais.  At the table are very important
Russian persons.  At a bank of mikes in centre stage a general is orating.
Pither sits on one side of the stage with his bike propped up against his
chair.)
 
General: ...Dostoievye unsye tovarich Trotsky borodins (Applause)
Subtitle:  Here is the man who brought our beloved Trotsky back to us.
 
General: Beluntanks dretsky mihai ovna isky Reg Pither.
Subtitle: The friend of the Revolution - Reg Pither.
 
(Cut to stock shot of wildly cheering Russians.
Cut back to general who beckons for silence.)
General:  Shi muska di svetsana dravenka upstomivia Engleska Vantyat.
Subtitle:  And now, in order to save time, I will continue in English.
General:  And now, Comrades, let us welcome the return of the greatest leader
          of our revolution...  Lev Davidovich Trotsky!
 
(Gulliver appears looking as much like Trotsky as possible.
Pandemonium breaks out. He raises his hands for silence.)
 
Gulliver:  Comrades.  Bolsheviks.  Friends of the Revolution.  I have returned.
(Renewed cheering.)  The bloodstained shadow of Stalinist repression is past.
I bring you new light of permanent revolution (his movements are starting to
become a little camp and slinky).  Comrades, I may once have been ousted from
power, I may have been expelled from the party in 1927, I may have been
deported in 1929 but (sings)
                             I'm just an old-fashioned girl,
                             With an old-fashioned mind.
 
(Shot of Pither looking amazed, and confusion among the generals.)
Gulliver:  Comrades, I don't want to destroy in order to build, I don't want a
state founded on hate and division (sings)
                                           I want an old-fashioned house
                                           With an old-fashioned fence,
                                           And an old-fashioned millionaire.
 
(Gulliver is now totally Eartha Kitt. Cut to Pither.)
Pither (thinking): Poor Mr. Gulliver was clearly undergoing another change of
                   personality.
 
(Senior general appears beside Pither with two guards.)
General: So!  You have duped us.  You shall pay for this.  (To guards) Seize
         him.
 
(The guards seize the startled Pither and drag him away.  The senior general
strides back across the stage.)
General 2 (to boss general):  Shall I seize *him*, sir?  (indicates Gulliver)
Boss G.:  Wait, I think he's going down well.
 
(Cut to audience really enjoying it.)
General 2: He's more fun than he used to be.
Boss G. (tapping fingers): This is an old Lenin number, you know.
 
(Interior of Empty Prison Cell.  Pither is in cell writing diary.  Sign behind:
 'Condemned cell'.)
 
Pither (V.O.): April 26th.  Thrown into Russian cell.  Severely damaged my
               Mars bar.  Shall I ever see Bude Bus station again?  Shall I
               ever...
(Two guards enter)
               Oh excuse me...
(Guards grab him and lead him out of cell.)
 
(Cut to exterior film of door leading out into prison yard.  The door is thrown
open and Pither is marched over and stood against a blank wall.  There are lots
of small holes in the wall, if Roger has time to drill them (!))
 
Pither (V.O.):  What a pleasant exercise yard.  How friendly they were all
being.
 
Officer: Cigarette?
Pither: No thank you I don't smoke.
 
(Cut to shot from behind Pither, including his back to see him facing a line of
uniformed men with guns, obviously a firing squad.  At that moment a regular
slow measured drum beat starts, like the cliche.)
 
Pither (V.O.):  After a few minutes I perceived a line of gentlemen with
rifles.  They were looking in my direction...
 
(Cut to Pither against the wall, looking behind him.)
Pither (V.O.): I looked around but could not see the target.
 
Officer: Blindfold?
Pither (very cheerful): No thank you.
Officer (stepping clear): Slowotny.
(Firing squad snaps to attention.)
Officer: Gridenwa. (Clicking of bolts.)
 
(Cut to shot of firing squad and the officer, his front is to the camera.)
 
Officer: Verschnitzen.
 
(They raise their rifles pointing in the direction of Pither, who is in shot..
The drum starts to roll.  Officer raises his arm.  We hear running footsteps
approaching, and shouting Russian.  Officer waits.  A Russian soldier runs in
waving a telegram.  he runs up and hands it to the officer.)
 
Officer (opens it and reads):  It's from the Kremlin, the Central Committee!
                               It says "Carry on with the execution".
Officer: Verschnitzen! (They raise their rifles.)
Pither (V.O.): Now I was really for it.
 
(Cut to shot of officer with his hand raised, the same shot as before, only
without Pither in shot.  Drum rolls again.  He brings his sword down, (we need
a sword); volley of shots from the firing squad.  Officer is looking in
Pither's direction.  Long pause.)
 
Officer (turning to squad): How could you miss?
Soldier: He moved.
Officer:  Shut up!  Go and practise.  (To Pither) I'm so sorry.  Do you mind
waiting in your cell?
 
(Pither is flung back in his cell by guards.  The door is slammed.)
Pither (V.O.):  What a stroke of luck.  My Crunchie was totally intact.  I
                settled down to a quick intermeal snack...
 
(Fade down. Fade up.)
(Pither has just finished his Crunchie.)
Officer (outside door): Aha! Gut!
 
(The guards race in and take him out.  The door left open.  We hear shouted
instructions.  Drum roll then stop.  Then a volley of shots.  Pause.  Sound of
feet coming back.
 
Pither is thrown into the cell, followed by the officer.)
 
Officer:  Next time.  Definitely!  (To guard as he leaves) Now then, how many
          of them are injured?  Oh God...
 
(Close on Pither.  Outside we hear odd shots and muffled curses from officer.)
 
Pither (V.O.):  As I lay dwon to the sound of the Russian gentlemen practising
their shooting, I realised I was in a bit of a pickle.  My heart sank as I
realised I should never see the Okehampton by-pass again...  (he lies down)
 
(...we close on his sleeping face then we ripple and mix through to film of his
sleeping face, waking up, shaking himself in disbelief at finding himself in a
beautiful garden, with the sun shining, the birds singing, he is in a deck
chair, and his mother having poured him a jug of iced fruit juice, is gently
nudging Pither to wake him.)
 
Mother: Wake up dear, wake up.
Pither: Mother!
Mother: Come on dear.
Pither: So, it was all a dream.
Mother:  No, no dear, *this* is the dream, you're still in the cell.
(Quick ripple to him waking up in cell.)
 
Pither: What a disappointment.
 
(The guards race in and take him out.  The door left open.  We hear shouted
instructions.  Drum roll then stop.  Then a volley of shots.  Pause.
(Music?)  Pither is thrown back into the cell followed by the officer.)
 
Officer:  Next time.  Definitely!  (To guard as he leaves) Now then, how many
of them are injured?  Oh god...
 
(Close up on Pither.)
(Officer enters.)
Officer: O.K.  We're going to have another try.  I think we've got it now.  My
         boys have all been looking down the wrong bit, see.
Pither:  No, no, they want to look down this bit.
Officer: Oh I thought it was that bit.
Pither:  No no this bit, otherwise you won't hit anything.
Officer: Alright, we'll give it a whirl. Seize him guards.
(They take him out.)
 
Officers (V.O.):  Here, come here.  You've got to look down this bit.
 
(We zoom into and mix through the poster on the wall, and the large name of
Eartha Kitt.)
(Mix through to stock film of the Kremlin.  We dub over laughter and applause.
Cheerful band sting.  Mix through to stage where someone dressed as Marshall
Bulganin is standing with a little real ventriloquist's dummy.  He gets up and
takes his bow, walks off as the curtain swings down.  Lots of applause and
atmosphere.  Terrible Russian compere comes on from the wings smiling and
applauding.)
 
Compere:  Osledi Osledi.  (He tells quick joke in Russian, and roars with
laughter, laughter from audience.)  (Holds up his hands, and then becomes very
sincere, saying obviously deeply moving, wonderful things about the next guest.
He finally introduces...)
 
Compere: Eartha Kitt!
 
(He backs off.  The opening bars of "Let's do it" on (RCA Ints.  10 30 Eartha
Kitt, C'est si bon") are played.  Gulliver dressed as Eartha Kitt slinks onto
the stage, the music stops.  He speaks like...)
 
Heath:  We in the Conservative party believe strongly in the virtues of
allowing the People of Britain to get on with the business of running their
affairs, of running their own lives, indeed of standing on their own two feet
without constant interference from the Government.
 
(Slight consternation from the audience.)
 
Voices say:  "Niet Eartha Kitt" "Es Edward Heath" "Who?"  "Der Premier Poofski
             dos Britannia" etc.  "Ah, Edward Heath, capitalist pig".
Gulliver (as Heath):  We shall not shirk our responsibilities, nor desert our
                      principles.
 
(Cut to audience.)
Russian: It's Clodagh Rogers.
Other Russian: No, it's Edward Heath.
Another Russian: Sing "Old fashioned girl".
Gulliver:  ...We shall remain united, in our determination...
Russians are shouting:  Sing Old Fashioned girl.  Old Fashioned girl.  Old
                        Fashioned girl.
 
(The first fruit starts being thrown. It spatters around Heath.)
Gulliver:  Furthermore I cannot reiterate too often our determination to
           take responsibility for our own actions.
(He dashes off, comes back with large shield, with his arm through, he holds it
in front of him and on it there is a large picture of the face and shoulders of
Reginald Maudling (deceased).)
Gulliver: ...I'm very fond of Tchaikowsky.
 
(The fruit is now so thick, that it is impossible for him to continue.  At this
moment a piece of fruit thrown from the audience hits him in the head (possibly
an arty shot in slow motion).  The word 'Tchaikowsky' echoes around as we hold
a close shot of him, indicating that he is reverting to being really Gulliver
again.  He looks at a piece of fruit in his hand that has landed on him.)
 
Gulliver (in original voice as used in car):  Well that turnip's certainly not
safe.  (He looks up and becomes more aware of his surroundings.)  Good heavens.
What's going on?  Mr Pither, Mr Pither!?
 
(At this point it is becoming precarious on stage -- some Russians are coming
across the footlights and the shouting is very angry -- so he turns tail and
runs off the stage).
 
(Cut to outside stage door.)
(Gulliver comes running out of the stage door past a big poster saying 'Next
week Clodagh Rogers with the Goodies', and runs down street closely pursued by
angry Russians.
 
There now follows a chase sequence which should be as dramatic as possible.
Lots of close shots of Gulliver looking frightened as he runs for his life
shouting 'Pither'.  Close shots of Russians pursuing thin lipped and avenging,
some secret police, no longer comic, driving after Gulliver.  Latterly they
fire at him.  Gulliver, exhausted, finally turns into a cul-de-sac and stops,
realising that there is no escape.  He shouts desperately one last time
'Pither', 'Mr Pither'.  From over the wall of the cul-de-sac comes an answering
shout.)
 
Pither: Yes.
(Gulliver hears it, reacts and in the nick of time leaps onto a car and up and
over the wall as his pursuers turn into the street.  Low angle shot from other
side of wall of Gulliver dropping over it.  He lands.)
 
Pither:   Gulliver.
Gulliver: Pither! What a stroke of luck.
Pither:   Well yes and no. (He indicates with his head.)
 
(Cut to show that both of them are standing in front of a firing squad.  The
officer is heard as before.)
 
Officer: Squad! Fix bayonets!
 
(With a terrifying clank the bayonets are fixed.  Gulliver and Pither cower,
terror on their faces.)
Officer: Squad! Charge!
 
(The squad charge towards Pither and Gulliver screaming horribly.
When they are about two feet from them (!)...)
(Cut to Black.)
 
 
CAPTION --- SCENE MISSING
 
(Cut to Cornish country lane.  A road sign says 'Tavistock 12 miles'.  Pither
stands beneath with Gulliver and his bicycle.)
Pither:   Phew, what an amazing escape.
Gulliver: Quite agree.
Pither:   Well goodbye, Reginald.
Gulliver: Goodbye... George.
 
(They shake hands, Gulliver strides off.  Pither mounts his bike and rides off
into the sunset.  Music swells.)
 
 
**** end of file CYCLING PYTHON ****
To:               CLARINET@YALEVM
From:             JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK
                  (JRP1%CAM.PHX@UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF)
Authentic-sender: MAIL01@UK.AC.CAMBRIDGE.ENGINEERING.SERC-ICF
 
**** The "Bring out your dead" scene from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" ***
**** Transcribed from the film by                                          ****
**** Malcolm Dickinson ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )  on 12/16/86,            ****
**** expressly for use of the BBOARD@YALEVM Python Collection.             ****
 
**** This is transcript #2 from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"          ****
**** (film continued from SWALLOW PYTHON)                                  ****
 
 
   A cart passes through the muddy road through a village.
   A baby cries.  People wrestle in the mud.  A woman beats a cat.
 
The cart-master chants wearily as they trudge along:
 
Bring out your dead!
Bring out your dead!
Bring out your dead!        etc.  while beating occasionally on a large
                            triangle with a wooden spoon.
 
As each person comes forward with his or her dead relative, they throw them on
the cart.  He holds out his hand and they pay.
 
Bring out your dead!
 
A man comes out with a dead-looking old man in a nightshirst slung over his
shoulder.  He starts to put the old man on the cart.
 
Man:         Here's one-
Cart-master: Ninepence.
Old Man:     (feebly) I'm not dead!
Cart-master: (suprised) What?
Man:         Nothing!  Here's your ninepence....
Old Man:     I'm not dead!
Cart-master: 'Ere!  'E says 'e's not dead!
Man:         Yes he is.
Old Man:     I'm not!
Cart-master: 'E isn't?
Man:         Well... he will be soon-- he's very ill...
Old Man:     I'm getting better!
Man:         No you're not, you'll be stone dead in a moment.
Cart-master: I can't take 'im like that!  It's against regulations!
Old Man:     I don't want to go on the cart....
Man:         Oh, don't be such a baby.
Cart-master: I can't take 'im....
Old Man:     I feel fine!
Man:         Well, do us a favor...
Cart-master: I can't!
Man:         Can you hang around a couple of minutes?  He won't be long...
Cart-master: No, gotta get to Robinson's, they lost nine today.
Man:         Well, when's your next round?
Cart-master: Thursday.
Old Man:     I think I'll go for a walk....
Man:         You're not fooling anyone, you know--
             (to Cart-master) Look, isn't there something you can do...?
 
(they both look around)
 
Old Man:     I feel happy!  I feel happy!
 
(the Cart-master deals the old man a swift blow to the head with his wooden
spoon.  The old man goes limp.)
 
Man:         (throwing the old man onto the cart) Ah.  thanks very much.
Cart-master: Not at all.  See you on Thursday!
Man: Right!  All right....
 
King Arthur and his trusty servant, Patsy, "ride" through the town and past
the men.
 
Man:        'Oo's that then?
Cart-master: I don't know.  Must be a king.
Man:         Why
Cart-master: 'E 'asn't got shit all over 'im.
 
**** continued in PEASANT PYTHON, number 3 in the movie ****
 
**** end of file DEAD PYTHON   12/16/86 MMD ****
**** The Dinosaur Sketch                                                   ****
**** from "Monty Python's Flying Circus" and "Monty Python's Previous Record" *
**** Transcribed 5/14/87 by                                                ****
**** Jonathan Partington ( JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK )          ****
 
 
Television Host (Graham Chapman): Good evening.  Tonight - dinosaurs. I have
                                  here sitting in the studio next to me an elk.
                                  Aaagghhhh!  Oh, I'm sorry, Anne Elk, Mrs Anne
                                  Elk.
Miss Elk (John Cleese, as a very prim lady): Miss.
Host: Miss Anne Elk, who is an expert on the...
Elk:  No, no, no, Anne Elk.
Host: What?
Elk:  Anne Elk, not Anne Expert.
Host: No, no, I was saying that you, Miss Elk, were an, A.N.  not A.N.N.E.,
      expert...
Elk:  Oh!
Host: ...on elks - I'm sorry, on dinosaurs.
Elk:  Yes, I certainly am, Chris, how very true, my word yes!
Host: Now, Miss Elk - Anne - you have a new theory about the brontosaurus.
Elk:  Could I just say, Chris, for one moment that I have a new theory about
the brontosaurus?
Host: Er... exactly.  What is it?
Elk:  Where?
Host: No, no, no.  What is your theory?
Elk:  Oh, what is my theory?
Host: Yes.
Elk:  Oh what is my theory, that it is.  Yes, well you may well ask, what is my
      theory.
Host: (slightly impatient) I am asking.
Elk:  And well you may.  Yes my word you may well ask what it is, this theory
      of mine.  Well, this theory that I have--that is to say, which is mine--
      ...is mine.
Host: (more impatient) I know it's yours.  What is it?
Elk:  Where?  Oh, what is my theory?
Host: Yes!
Elk:  Oh, my theory that I have follows the lines I am about to relate.
      (Coughs) Ahem.  Ahem.  Ahem.  Ahem.  Ahem.  Ahem.
Host: Oh God.
Elk:  Ahem.  Ahem.  Ahem.  Ahem.  Ahem.  Ahem.  Ahem.  Ahem.  Ahem.  Ahem.
      Ahem.  Ahem.  [Impatient noises from Host] The Theory, by A. Elk. That's
      A for Anne, it's not by a elk.
Host: Right....
Elk:  This theory which belongs to me is as follows.  Ahem.  Ahem.  This is how
      it goes.  Ahem.  The next thing that I am about to say is my theory.
      Ahem.  Ready?
(Host moans)
Elk:  The Theory by A. Elk brackets Miss brackets.  My theory is along the
      following lines.
Host: Oh God.
Elk:  All brontosauruses are thin at one end, much MUCH thicker in the middle,
      and then thin again at the far end.  That is the theory that I have and
      which is mine, and what it is too.
Host: That's it, is it?
Elk:  Right, Chris.
Host: Well, Anne, this theory of yours seems to have hit the nail on the head.
Elk:  And it's mine.
Host: (ironical) Thank you for coming along to the studio.
Elk:  My pleasure, Chris.
Host: Er...Britain's newest wasp farm...
Elk:  It's been a lot of fun.
Host: ...opened last week...
Elk:  Saying what my theory is.
Host: Yes, thank you.
Elk:  And whose it is.
Host: Yes.  ...opened last week...
Elk:  I have another theory.
Host: Not today, thank you.
Elk:  My theory number two, which is the second theory that I have.  Ahem!
      This theory...
Host: Oh look...shut up!
Elk:  ...is what I am about to say...
Host: Oh please shut up!
Elk:  ...which, with what I have said, are the two theories that are mine and
      belong to me.
Host: Look, if you don't shut up I shall shoot you.
Elk:  Ahem!  My brace of theories, which I possess the ownership of, which
      belongs to me...
 
(BANG!)
 
(Pause)
 
Elk:  Ahem. The Theory the Second by Anne...
 
(MACHINE GUN FIRE)
 
 
****   End of DINOSAUR PYTHON 5/14/87                                      ****
 
To:               CLARINET@YALEVMX
From:             JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK
                  (JRP1%CAM.PHX@UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF)
Authentic-sender: MAIL01@UK.AC.CAMBRIDGE.ENGINEERING.SERC-ICF
 
****  The "Not Noel Coward Song"                                           ****
****  From "Monty Python's Meaning of Life"                                ****
****  Transcribed from the Book by an un-named person@YALEVM.BITNET, 4/86  ****
 
 
          warning:
 
          This song is very specific in its reference to certain
          nether parts of the body.  We don't want to get in trouble or
          anything so if you don't want to see the song, please EXIT (pf3) now.
          We take no responsibility for any loss of innocence that might occur
          as a result of viewing this file.
 
          To see the song, PAGEDN  (pf8).
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
                       The Not Noel Coward Song
 
 
Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis.
Isn't it simply grand to have a dong.
It's swell to have a stiffy, it's divine to own a dick,
From the tiniest little tadger to the world's biggest prick...
 
So three cheers for your Willy or John Thomas,
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake.
Your piece of pork, your wife's best friend,
Your Percy or your cock,
You can wrap it up in ribbons, you can slip it in your sock,
But don't take it out in public or they'll stick you in the dock,
And you won't a-come a-back.
 
 
 
                                                        Eric Idle
 
 
 
**** THE SILLY ELECTION    (from Monty Python Live at Drury Lane)          ****
**** Transcribed 7/14/87 by Jonathan Partington                            ****
**** ( JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK )                              ****
 
 
(Racy music)
 
Cleese (talking very fast, as do all the commentators):  Hello, good evening
       and welcome to Election Night Special.  There's tremendous excitement
       here at the moment and we should be getting the first results through
       any moment now.  We're not sure where it will be from, it might be
       Leicester or from West Byfleet, the polling's been quite heavy in both
       areas.  Ah, I'm just getting...  I'm just getting...  a buzzing noise in
       my left ear.  Urgh, argh!  (removes insect and stamps on it).  And now
       let's go straight over to Leicester.
Palin: And it's a straight fight here at Leicester and we're expecting the
       result any moment now.  There with the Returning Officer is Arthur Smith
       the sensible candidate and next to him is Jethro Q. Walrustitty the
       silly candidate with his agent and his silly wife.
 
Idle:    (clears throat) Here is the result for Leicester.  Arthur J. Smith...
Cleese:  (Sensible Party)
Idle:    ...30,612.  (applause)
         Jethro Q. Bunn Whackett Buzzard Stubble and Boot Walrustitty...
Cleese:  (Silly Party)
Idle:    ...33,108.  (applause)
 
Cleese:  Well there we have the first result of the election and the Silly
         party has held Leicester.  Norman.
Palin:   Well pretty much as I predicted, except that the Silly party won.  Er,
         I think this is largely due to the number of votes cast.  Gerald.
Chapman: Well there's a big swing here to the Silly Party, but how big a swing
         I'm not going to tell you.
Palin:   I think one should point out that in this constituency since the last
         election a lot of very silly people have moved into new housing
         estates with the result that a lot of sensible voters have moved
         further down the road the other side of number er, 29.
Cleese:  Well I can't add anything to that. Colin?
Idle:    Can I just say that this is the first time I've been on television?
Cleese:  No I'm sorry, there isn't time, we're just going straight over to
         Luton.
Chapman: Well here at Luton it's a three-cornered contest between, from left
         to right, Alan Jones (Sensible Party), Tarquin Fintimlinbinwhinbimlim
         Bus Stop F'tang F'tang Ole Biscuit-Barrel (Silly Party), and Kevin
         Phillips Bong, who is running on the Slightly Silly ticket.  And
         here's the result.
 
Woman:   Alan Jones...
Cleese:  (Sensible)
Woman:   ...9,112.
         Kevin Phillips Bong...
Cleese:  (Slightly Silly)
Woman:   Nought.
         Tarquin Fintimlinbinwhinbimlim Bus Stop F'tang F'tang Ole
         Biscuit-Barrel...
Cleese:  (Silly)
Woman:   12,441.  (applause)
 
Cleese:  Well there you have it, the first result of the election as the Silly
         Party take Luton.  Norman.
Palin:   Well this is a very significant result.  Luton, normally a very
         sensible constituency with a high proportion of people who aren't a
         bit silly, has gone completely ga-ga.
Cleese:  And we've just heard that James Gilbert has with him the winning Silly
         candidate at Luton.
Idle:    Tarquin, are you pleased with this result?
Tarquin (Palin):  Ho yus, me old beauty, I should say so.  (Silly noises
                  including a goat bleating).
Cleese:  And do we have the swing at Luton?
Chapman: Er... no.
Cleese:  (pause) Right, well I can't add anything to that. Colin?
Idle:    Can I just say that this is the second time I've been on television?
Cleese:  No, I'm sorry there isn't time, we're just about to get another
         result.
Palin:   And this one is from Harpenden Southeast.  A very interesting
         constituency this:  in addition to the official Silly candidate there
         is an unofficial Very Silly candidate, in the slab of concrete, and he
         could well split the silly vote here at Harpenden Southeast.
 
Jones:  Mrs Elsie Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...
Cleese: (Silly)
Jones:  26,317 (applause).
        Jeanette Walker...
Cleese: (Sensible)
Jones:  26,318...
Cleese: Very close!
Jones:  Malcolm Peter Brian Telescope Adrian Blackpool Rock Stoatgobbler John
        Raw Vegetable Brrroooo Norman Michael (rings bell) (blows whistle)
        Edward (sounds car horn) (does train impersonation) (sounds buzzer)
        Thomas Moo...  (sings) "We'll keep a welcome in the..."  (fires gun)
        William (makes silly noise) "Raindrops keep falling on my" (weird
        noise) "Don't sleep in the subway" (cuckoo cuckoo) Naaoooo...  Smith...
Cleese: (Very Silly)
Jones:  ...two.
 
Cleese: Well there you have it, a Sensible gain at Harpenden with the Silly
        vote being split.
Palin:  And we've just heard from Luton that Tony Stratton-Smith has with him
        there the unsuccessful Slightly Silly candidate, Kevin Phillips Bong.
Idle:   Kevin Phillips Bong.  You polled no votes at all.  Not a sausage.
        Bugger all.  Are you at all disappointed with this performance?
Bong (Neil Innes):  Not at all.  As I always say:
                    Climb every mountain
                    Ford every stream,
                    Follow every by-way,
                    Till you find your dream.
                    (Sings) A dream that will last
                    All the love you can give
                    Every day of your life
                    For as long as you live.
                    All together now!
                    Climb every mountain
                    Ford every stream...
 
Cleese:  A very brave Kevin Phillips Bong there. Norman.
Palin:   And I've just heard from Luton that my aunt is ill.  Possibly
         gastro-enteritis, possibly just catarrh.  Gerald.
Cleese:  Right. Er, Colin?
Idle:    Can I just say that I'll never appear on television again?
Cleese:  No I'm sorry, there isn't time, we have to pick up a few results you
         may have missed.  A little pink pussy-cat has taken Barrow-in-Furness
         -- that's a gain from the Liberals there.  Rastus Odinga Odinga has
         taken Wolverhampton Southwest, that's Enoch Powell's old constituency
         -- an important gain there for Darkie Power.  Arthur Negus has held
         Bristols -- that's not a result, that's just a piece of gossip.  Sir
         Alec Douglas Home has taken Oldham for the Stone Dead party.  A small
         piece of putty about that big, a cheese mechanic from Dunbar and two
         frogs -- one called Kipper the other not -- have all gone "Ni ni ni ni
         ni ni!"  in Blackpool Central.  And so it's beginning to look like a
         Silly landslide, and with the prospect of five more years' Silly
         government facing us we...  Oh I don't want to do this any more, I'm
         bored!
Palin:   He's right you know, it is a bloody waste of time.
Chapman: Absolute waste of time.
Palin:   I wanted to be a gynaecologist...
 
**** end of file ELECTION PYTHON
**** From: JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK
****  The Fish License Sketch                                              ****
****  Transcribed 4/18/87 from Monty Python's Previous Record              ****
****  by Jonathan Partington ( JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK )      ****
 
 
Man (Cleese): (whistles a bit, then) Hello.  I would like to buy a fish
              licence, please.
Postal clerk (Palin): A what?
Man:   A licence for my pet fish, Eric.
Clerk: How did you know my name was Eric?
Man:   No, no, no!  My fish's name is Eric.  Eric fish.  He's an halibut.
Clerk: What?
Man:   He is an halibut.
Clerk: You've got a pet halibut?
Man:   Yes, I chose him out of thousands.  I didn't like the others, they were
       all too flat.
Clerk: You must be a loony.
Man:   I am not a loony.  Why should I be tarred with the epithet 'loony'
       merely because I have a pet halibut?  I've heard tell that Sir Gerald
       Nabarro has a pet prawn called Simon - you wouldn't call him a loony!
       Furthermore Dawn Pathorpe, the lady showjumper, had a clam called
       Stafford, after the late chancellor.  Alan Bullock has two pikes, both
       called Chris, and Marcel Proust had an 'addock!  So if you're calling
       the author of 'A la recherche de temps perdu' a loony, I shall have to
       ask you to step outside!
Clerk: All right, all right, all right. A licence?
Man:   Yes!
Clerk: For a fish.
Man:   Yes!
Clerk: You *are* a loony.
Man:   Look, it's a bleeding pet, isn't it?  I've got a licence for me pet dog
       Eric, I've got a licence for me pet cat Eric.
Clerk: You don't need a licence for your cat.
Man:   I bleedin' well do and I've got one!  Can't be caught out there!
Clerk: There is no such thing as a bloody Cat Licence.
Man:   Yes there is.
Clerk: No there isn't.
Man:   Is!
Clerk: Isn't!
Man:   I've bleedin' got one, look! What's that then?
Clerk: This is a dog licence with the word 'dog' crossed out and 'cat' written
       in in crayon.
Man:   Man didn't have the right form.
Clerk: What man?
Man:   The man from the cat detector van.
Clerk: The loony detector van, you mean.
Man:   Look, it's people like you what cause unrest.
Clerk: What cat detector van?
Man:   The cat detector van from the Ministry of Housinge.
Clerk: Housinge?
Man:   It was spelt like that on the van.  I'm very observant.  I never seen so
       many bleedin' aerials.  The man said their equipment could pinpoint a
       purr at four hundred yards, and Eric being such a happy cat was a piece
       of cake.
Clerk: How much did you pay for this?
Man:   Sixty quid and eight for the fruit-bat.
Clerk: What fruit-bat?
Man:   Eric the fruit-bat.
Clerk: Are all your pets called Eric?
Man:   There's nothing so odd about that.  Kemel Attaturk had an entire
       menagerie called Abdul.
Clerk: No he didn't.
Man:   Did!
Clerk: Didn't!
Man:   Did, did, did, did, did and did!
Clerk: Oh all right.
Man:   Spoken like a gentleman, sir.  Now, are you going to give me a fish
       licence?
Clerk: I promise you that there is no such thing.  You don't need one.
Man:   In that case give me a bee licence.
Clerk: A licence for your pet bee.
Man:   Correct.
Clerk: Called Eric? Eric the bee?
Man:   No.
Clerk: No?
Man:   No, Eric the half bee. He had an accident.
Clerk: You're off your chump.
Man:  Look, if you intend by that utilization of an obscure colloquialism to
      imply that my sanity is not up to scratch, or even to deny the
      semi-existence of my little chum Eric the half bee, I shall have to ask
      you to listen to this.  Take it away, Eric the orchestra-leader.
Eric Idle: A one, two, a one two three four!
 
Man (sings):  Half a bee, philosophically,
              Must, ipso facto, half not be.
              But half the bee has got to be
              Vis a vis, its entity. D'you see?
 
              But can a bee be said to be
              Or not to be an entire bee
              When half the bee is not a bee
              Due to some ancient injury?
 
Chorus:       La dee dee, one two three,
              Eric the half a bee.
              A B C D E F G,
              Eric the half a bee.
 
Man:          Is this wretched demi-bee,
              Half-asleep upon my knee,
              Some freak from a menagerie?
              No! It's Eric the half a bee!
 
Chorus:       Fiddle de dum, Fiddle de dee,
              Eric the half a bee.
              Ho ho ho, tee hee hee,
              Eric the half a bee.
 
Man:          I love this hive, implore ye-ee,
              Bisected accidentally,
              One summer afternoon by me,
              I love him carnally.
 
Chorus:       He loves him carnally,
              Semi-carnally.
 
Man:    The end.
Clerk:  Cyril Connolly?
Man:    No, semi-carnally!
Clerk:  Oh.
Chorus: Cyril Connolly.  (Whistle end of tune.)
 
 
To:               CLARINET@YALEVMX
From:             JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK
                  (JRP1%CAM.PHX@UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF)
Authentic-sender: MAIL01@UK.AC.CAMBRIDGE.ENGINEERING.SERC-ICF
 
****  The French Castle Scene from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"       ****
****  Transcribed from the Album of the Soundtrack of the Trailer of the   ****
****  Film on 10/20/86 by Malcolm Dickinson '89 ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET ) ****
****  and the almost inevitable Bret Shefter '89 ( SHEBREB@YALEVM.BITNET ) ****
 
****  Transcript #8 from the movie                                         ****
****  (Film continued from GRAIL PYTHON)                                   ****
 
King Arthur and his knights of the round table, along with their servants,
"ride" up to a castle.  King Arthur's servant, Patsy, blows a horn.
 
Arthur: HELLO!
 
(waits)
 
Bedevere: HELLO!
 
(waits)
 
An armor-clad face appears at the top of the rampart.
It speaks in an outrageous French accent.
 
Soldier: 'Allo!  'Oo is it?
Arthur: It is I, King Arthur, and these are my knights of the Round Table.
        Whose castle is this?
S: This is the castle of my master, Guy de Lombard.
A: Go and tell your master that we have been charged by God with a sacred
   quest.  If he will give us food and shelter for the night, he can join us
   in our quest for the Holy Grail.
S: Well, I'll ask 'im, but I don't think 'e'll be very keen-- 'e's already got
   one, you see?
A: What?
Lancelot: He says they've already *got* one!
A: (confused) Are you *sure* he's got one?
S: Oh yes, it's ver' naahs.
   (to the other soldiers:)  I told 'em we've already *got* one!
   (they snicker)
A: (taken a bit off balance) Well... ah, um...  Can we come up and have a look?
S: Of course not!  You are English types.
A: Well, what are you then?
S: (Indignant) Ah'm French!  Why do you think I have this out-rrrageous
   accent, you silly king?!
A: What are you doing in *England*?
S: Mind your own business!
A: If you will not show us the Grail, we shall take your castle by force!
S: You don't frighten us, English pig-dogs!  Go and boil your bottoms, son of a
   silly person!  Ah blow my nose at you, so-called "Arthur Keeeng"!  You and
   all your silly English Knnnnnnnn-ighuts!!!
 
(the soldier proceeds to bang on his helmet with his hands and stick out his
tongue at the knights, making strange noises.)
 
Lancelot: What a strange person.
A: (getting mad) Now look here, my good ma--
S: Ah don' wanna talk to you no more, you empty-headed animal food-trough
   wiper!  Ah fart in your general direction!  Your mother was a hamster, and
   your father smelt of elderberries!
Galahad: Is there someone else up there we can talk to?
S: No!!  Now go away, or I shall taunt you a second time!
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Note: the Album of the Soundtrack of the Trailer of the Film of Monty Python |
|and the Holy Grail cuts here, returning to transcript in transcript #8A,     |
|STORY PYTHON.  The rest of this transcript does not appear on the Album.     |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------------+
(pause)
 
A: Now this is your last chance!   I've been more than reasonable....
S: (to four other soldiers, standing behind him on the rampart)
   Fetchez la vache.
Other Soldier: qua?
S: Fetchez la vache!
 
(the other soldiers are seen leading a cow... mooing noises)
 
A: (continued) ...if you do not agree to my commands, than I shall--
 
(Boing!  The cow goes flying through the air over the rampart...
A: Jesus Christ!
(...and lands, amid great mooing, on one of the footmen.  Various crying-outs
 from Arthur's party.)
 
A: (determined) Right!
   (drawing sword) CHARGE!
Rest of Arthur's Party: CHAAAARGE!
 
(As they run towards the French Castle, swords drawn, they are met by a huge
 onslaught of live animals of all sizes, that come plummeting down from the
 ramparts of the castle.  Amid screams, they all turn back before even reaching
 the castle walls, save Launcelot, who reaches the stone wall in time to give
 it one stroke with his sword before retreating.)
 
French Soldier: (throwing down a goose) Hey, this one is for your mother!
                (and a duck)            And this one's for your gran!
 
Arthur's party:  (hastily retreating) Run away!
                                      RUN AWAAAAY!
 
Launcelot: (as they hunker down behind a grassy knoll out of flying-animal's
            reach of the castle)  Fiends, I'll tear them apart!
Arthur:    No no, no!!
Bedevere:  (to Arthur) Sir... I have a plan, sir.
 
There follows a long scene where the french soldier, stationed atop the
rampart, surveys the surrounding countryside and sees nothing, but hears
various sounds of construction (hammering, the felling of trees, chain saws
being operated) from the woods.  Eventually, amid a great squeaking of wooden
wheels, a giant wooden rabbit is wheeled out of the forest by Arthur's group.
They wheel it right up to the front gates of the French Castle and leave it
there, returning to their concealed spot behind the knoll to watch.
 
A minute later, the castle gate opens and a french soldier peeks out.
His head disappears and he can be heard speaking with the others.
 
Soldier: C'est la Paune, le patabua!                 (corrections anyone?)
2nd Soldier: Qua?
 
Three soliders' heads appear around the end of the door and disappear again.
 
Soldier:     Un Cadeau!
2nd Soldier: What?
Soldier:     A present!
2nd Soldier: Ah, un Cadeau!
Soldier:     Allons-y, allons-y!
2nd Soldier: What?
Soldier: Let's go!
2nd Soldier: Ah!
 
The three French Soldiers creep out and wheel the rabbit into the castle,
closing the gate behind them.
 
behind the knoll:
Arthur:   (to Bedevere) What happens now?
Bedevere: Well, now, uh, Launcelot, Galahad and I, uh, wait until nightfall,
          and then leap out of the rabbit, taking the French, uh, by suprise.
          Not only by suprise, but totally alarmed!
Arthur:   *Who* leaps out?
Bedevere: (pointing to each knight as he names him) Uh... Launcelot, Galahad,
          and I.... uh, leap out of the rabbit, uh, and, uh....
Launcelot: (groans)
Bedevere: (pause) Oh... um, look, if we built this large wooden Badger....
Arthur knocks him on the head.
 
Just then, the rabbit comes soaring over the castle wall.  The party disbands
amid great shouts of "Run away, run away!", but the rabbit lands on yet
another helpless footman.  Cries of distress.
 
 
*** Snap!  "Picture for schools, take eight."  ***
 
An old historian is standing in the woods, offering commentary on the story.
 
Director: (off camera) Action!
 
Historian:  (to camera) Defeat at the castle seems to have utterly disheartened
            King Arthur.  The ferocity of the French taunting took him
            completely by suprise, and Arthur became convinced that a new
            strategy was required if the Quest for the Holy Grail were to be
            brought to a successful conclusion.  Arthur, having consulted his
            closest knights, decided that they should separate, and search for
            the Grail individually.  Now this is what they did....
 
A knight in full armor rides past on horseback, cutting off the Historian's
head in the process.
 
Historian's Wife: (running out from behind the camera): Brian!
 
 
**** Continued in ROBIN PYTHON, transcript #9 from the movie               ****
 
**** end of file FRENCH PYTHON 3/8/87 M.M.D.                               ****

Self-defense against Fresh Fruit from Monty Python's Flying Circus
 
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)
****  The Galaxy song from "Monty Python's The Meaning of Life"           ****
****  Transcribed 3/25/86 by Bret Shefter '89 ( SHEBREB@YALEVM.BITNET )   ****
****  From a singing by  HENMATJ@YALEVM.BITNET                            ****
 
 
<spoken>
Whenever life gets you down, Mrs. Brown,
And things seem hard or tough,
And people are stupid, obnoxious or daft,
<sung>
And you feel that you've had quite eno-o-o-o-o-ough,
 
Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving
And reolving at nine thousand miles an hour.
It's orbiting at nineteen miles a second, so it's reckoned,
'Round the sun that is the source of all our power.
Now the sun, and you and me, and all the stars that we can see,
Are moving at a million miles a day,
In the outer spiral arm, at fourteen thousand miles an hour,
Of a galaxy we call the Milky Way.
 
Our galaxy itself contains a hundred million stars;
It's a hundred thousand light-years side to side;
It bulges in the middle sixteen thousand light-years thick,
But out by us it's just three thousand light-years wide.
We're thirty thousand light-years from Galactic Central Point,
We go 'round every two hundred million years;
And our galaxy itself is one of millions of billions
In this amazing and expanding universe.
 
<waltz>
 
Our universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding,
In all of the directions it can whiz;
As fast as it can go, that's the speed of light, you know,
Twelve million miles a minute and that's the fastest speed there is.
So remember, when you're feeling very small and insecure,
How amazingly unlikely is your birth;
And pray that there's intelligent life somewhere out in space,
'Cause there's bugger all down here on Earth!
 
 
                                                          -- Eric Idle
****  A Blessing from the Lord                                             ****
****  From "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"                               ****
****  Transcribed from the memory of                                       ****
****  Malcolm Dickinson '89 ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )  3/30/86            ****
 
****  This is transcript #7 from the movie                                 ****
****  (Film continued from CAMELOT PYTHON)                                 ****
 
Bedevere: And that, my liege, is how we know the earth to be banana-shaped.
Arthur:   This new learning amazes me, Sir Bedevere.  Explain again how sheep's
          bladders can be employed to prevent earthquakes.
Bedevere: Oh, certainly, Sir.  You see,...
 
(Thunder)
(the clouds open and a giant animated face is seen.  It speaks:)
 
God:  Aaaarthur...  Aarthur, King of the Britons...
 
(the knights fall to their knees)
 
God:  Oh don't grovel!
Arthur: Sorry, Lord...
God:  And DON'T apologize!!  Every time I try to talk to somebody, its "I'm
      sorry" this and "forgive me" that and "I'm not *worthy*"...  It's like
      those miserable Psalms--they're soooo depressing!
Arthur: Yes, Lord.
God: What're you doing now?
Arthur: Averting my eyes, o Lord.
God:  Well KNOCK IT OFF!
Arthur:  Yes, Lord.
God:  Right.  Arthur, King of the Britons, I have decided to set you a task as
      an example in these dark times.
Arthur: Good idear, o Lord!
God:  (thunder) 'COURSE IT'S A GOOD IDEA!  Now:  this is the Holy Grail.
      (giant picture of a golden, jewel-encrusted grail appears in the sky)
      (heavenly music)
      Look well, Arthur: It is your mission to seek this Grail.  That is your
      purpose, Arthur: The Quest for the Holy Grail!
 
(the clouds slam shut.)
 
Arthur:  A blessing!  A blessing from the Lord!
Lancelot:  God be praised!
 
**** continued in FRENCH PYTHON, transcript #8 from the movie              ****
 
**** end of file GRAIL PYTHON 3/30/86 M.M.D.                               ****
****  The Holy Hand-Grenade Scene; GRENADE PYTHON                          ****
****  from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"                               ****
****  Transcribed from left-over electical impulses in the brain cells of  ****
****  Malcolm Dickinson '89 ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )       4/86          ****
****  Finished up by Bret "Eat at Joe's" Shefter '89 ( SHEBREB@YALEVM )    ****
 
****  Transcript #13 in the film                                           ****
****  Continued from #11, NI PYTHON                                        ****
 
                      ***  The Holy Hand Grenade  ***
 
The knights rush into a cave, huffing and puffing, to take cover from the
vicious onslaught of the Killer Rabbit.
 
Arthur: RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY!!
Bedevere: Okay, how many did we lose?
Arthur: Well...Gawain...Ector...and Bors.  That's five.
Bedevere: Three, Sire!
Arthur: Three.  And we can't risk another try, that rabbit's dynamite!
All: Hmmmm..
Robin: Maybe if we attack it, it will get confused, and make a mistake!
 
(pause)
 
Arthur: Like what?
 (longer pause)
Robin: Ummmm....
Lancelot: Have we got bows?
Arthur: (quickly) No.
Galahad: (brightly) We *have* the Holy Hand Grenade, Sir!
Arthur:  Of course!  'Tis one of the sacred relics that Brother Maynard
         carries with him!  Brother Maynard!  Bring out the Holy Hand Grenade!
Monks: (Chant)
                    Die Jesu domine,
                    Dona eis requiem.
                    Die Jesu domine,
                    Dona eis requiem.
 
(Pause.  Arthur examines the hand grenade, turning it over in his hands.)
Arthur: How does it....How does it work?
High Priest: I know not, my leige.
Arthur: Consult the book of Armaments!
High Priest: Armaments Chapter One, verses nine through twenty-seven:
Brother Maynard: And Saint Attila raised the Holy Hand Grenade up on high
                 saying, "Oh Lord, Bless us this Holy Hand Grenade, and with it
                 smash our enemies to tiny bits."
                 And the Lord did grin, and the people did feast upon the
                 lambs, and stoats, and orangutans, and breakfast cereals, and
                 lima bean-
High Priest:  Skip a bit, brother.
Brother Maynard: And then the Lord spake, saying:
                 "First, shalt thou take out the holy pin.
                 Then shalt thou count to three.
                 No more, no less.
                 *Three* shall be the number of the counting, and the number
                 of the counting shall be three.
                 *Four* shalt thou not count, and neither count thou two,
                 excepting that thou then goest on to three.
                 Five is RIGHT OUT.  Once the number three, being the third
                 number be reached, then lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade
                 to-wards thy foe, who, being naughty in my sight, shall snuff
                 it.  Amen.
All: Amen.
Arthur: Right!  (pulls pin)
        One!
        Two!
        Five!
Bedevere: Three, Sire!!
Arthur: Three!  (throws hand grenade at the Killer Rabbit)
 
(holy music)
 
KABOOM.
 
**** continued in BRIDGE PYTHON, transcript #14 in the film                ****
 
**** end of file GRENADE PYTHON, transcript #13 in the film                ****
****   The Haggling Scene from "Monty Python's Life of Brian"              ****
****   Transcribed 7/28/86 by Dwayne A. X. E. E. ( CS107124@YUSOL )        ****
 
 
(After Brian has escaped the Centurions, he runs off towards the crowded
 market square.  At one end of the market there is a speakers' corner, with
 many strangely bearded and oddly dressed Prophets attempting to attract an
 audience.  The noisiest or the most controversial are clearly doing best at
 attracting Passers-by.  A strange figure with a rasta hairstyle, covered in
 mud, and with two severed hands on a pole waves wildly at the audience.)
 
Blood & Thunder Prophet: ...and shall ride forth on a serpents' back, and the
                         eyes shall be red with the blood of living creatures,
                         and the whore of Babylon shall rise over the hill of
                         excitement and throughout the land there will be a
                         great rubbing of parts....
 
(Beside him, another Prophet with red hair, none the less fierce, is trying to
 attract some of the Blood & Thunder Prophet's audience.)
 
False Prophet:  And he shall bear a nine-bladed sword.  Nine-bladed.  Not two.
                Or five or seven, but nine, which he shall wield on all
                wretched sinners and that includes you sir, and the horns shall
                be on the head ...
 
(In front of each Prophet is a Roman Guard, clearly bored but there to break
 up any trouble.  Brian races into the market place.  A bunch of Romans are
 searching the square roughly turning over baskets and shaking down Passers-by.
 Brian appears near a rather dull little Prophet, who is standing underneath
 the high window that backs out of Matthias' house, the revolutionary HQ.)
 
Boring Prophet:  And there shall in that time be rumours of things going
                 astray, and there will be a great confusion as to where things
                 really are, and nobody will really know where lieth those
                 little things with the sort of raffia work base, that has an
                 attachment that will not be there.
 
(Across the square the Romans appear, searching.  Brian spots Harry, the beard
 seller, and moves towards his stall, an idea forming in his mind.)
(The Boring Prophet drones on and on:)
                 At this time a friend shall lose his friends's hammer and the
                 young shall not know where lieth the things possessed by their
                 fathers that their fathers put there only just the night
                 before....
(Brian runs up to Harry the beard seller's stall and hurriedly grabs an
 artificial beard.)
Brian:  How much?  Quick!
Harry:  What?
Brian:  It's for the wife.
Harry:  Oh. Twenty shekels.
Brian:  Right.
Harry:  What?
Brian:  (putting down 20 shekels) There you are.
Harry:  Wait a moment.
Brian:  What?
Harry:  We're supposed to haggle.
Brian:  No, no, I've got to ...
Harry:  What do you mean, no?
Brian:  I haven't time, I've got to get ...
Harry:  Give it back then.
Brian:  No, no, I paid you.
Harry:  Burt!
        (Burt appears.  He is very big.)
Burt:   Yeah?
Harry:  This bloke won't haggle.
Burt:   (looking around) Where are the guards?
Brian:  Oh, all right ...  I mean do we have to ...
Harry:  Now I want twenty for that ...
Brian:  I gave you twenty.
Harry:  Now are you telling me that's not worth twenty shekels?
Brian:  No.
Harry:  Feel the quality, that's none of yer goat.
Brian:  Oh ...  I'll give you nineteen then.
Harry:  No, no.  Do it properly.
Brian:  What?
Harry:  Haggle properly.  This isn't worth nineteen.
Brian:  You just said it was worth twenty.
Harry:  Burt!!
Brian:  I'll give you ten.
Harry:  That's more like it.
        (outraged) Ten!?  Are you trying to insult me?  Me?  With a poor dying
        grandmother...Ten!?!
Brian:  Eleven.
Harry:  Now you're getting it.  Eleven!?!  Did I hear you right?  Eleven?  This
        cost me twelve.  You want to ruin me?
Brian:  Seventeen.
Harry:  Seventeen!
Brian:  Eighteen?
Harry:  No, no, no.  You go to fourteen now.
Brian:  Fourteen.
Harry:  Fourteen, are you joking?
Brian:  That's what you told me to say.
        (Harry registers total despair.)
        Tell me what to say.  Please.
Harry:  Offer me fourteen.
Brian:  I'll give you fourteen.
Harry:  (to onlookers) He's offering me fourteen for this!
Brian:  Fifteen.
Harry:  Seventeen.  My last word.  I won't take a penny less, or strike me
        dead.
Brian:  Sixteen.
Harry:  Done.  (He grasps Brian's hand and shakes it.)  Nice to do business
        with you.  Tell you what, I'll throw in this as well.  (He gives
        Brian a gourd.)
Brian:  I don't want it, but thanks.
Harry:  Burt!
Burt:   (reappearing rapidly) Yes?
Brian:  All right!  All right!!  Thank you.
Harry:  Where's the sixteen then?
Brian:  I already gave you twenty.
Harry:  Oh yes ...  that's four I owe you then.  (starts looking for change)
Brian:  It's all right, it doesn't matter.
Harry:  Hang on.
     (Pause as Harry can't find change.  Brian sees a pair of prowling Romans.)
Brian:  It's all right, that's four for the gourd -- that's fine!
Harry:  Four for the gourd.  Four!!!!  Look at it, that's worth ten if it's
        worth a shekel.
Brian:  You just gave it to me for nothing.
Harry:  Yes, but it's *worth* ten.
Brian:  All right, all right.
Harry:  No, no, no.  It's not worth ten.  You're supposed to argue.  "What?
        Ten for that, you must be mad!"
(Brian pays ten, runs off with the gourd, and fixes the beard on his face.)
        Ah, well there's one born every minute.
 
*****   Here endeth Part Eleven of Life of Brian (of Nazareth)  *****
*****   Please send your comments, praise, complaints or        *****
*****   copyright infringement lawsuits to ...                  *****
*****   Dwayne A. X. E. E. (<CS107124@YUSOL>)                   *****
 
R; T=0.25/1.35 22:04:01
**** The North Minehead Bye-election                                       ****
****  From "Monty Python's Flying Circus" and "And Now for Something       ****
****  Completely Different"                                                ****
****  Transcribed by Jonathan Partington                                   ****
****  ( JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK )  4/12/87                    ****
****  Edited by Malcolm Dickinson ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )               ****
 
Knock. Door opens.
 
Landlady (Terry Jones): Hello, Mr and Mrs Johnson?
Mr Johnson (Eric Idle): Yes, that's right. Yes.
Landlady: Oh, come on in. Excuse me not shaking hands, I've just been
          putting a bit of lard on the cat's boils. (Door closes)
Johnson:  Thank you.
Landlady: Oh, you must be tired.  It's a long way from Coventry, isn't it?
Johnson:  Well, we usually reckon on five and a half hours and it took us six
          hours and 53 minutes, with the 25 minute stop at Frampton Cottrell to
          stretch our legs; and we had to wait half an hour to get onto the M5
          at Droitwich.
Landlady: Really?
Johnson:  Then there was a three mile queue just before Bridgewater on the A38.
          We usually come round on the B3339, you see, just before Bridgewater.
Landlady: Yeah.  Really?
Johnson:  We decided to risk it 'cause they always say they're going to widen
          it there.  Yes, well just by the intersection there where the A372
          joins up.  There's plenty of room to widen it there, there's only
          grass verges.  They could get another six feet, knock down that
          hospital.  Then we took the coast road through Williton - we got all
          the Taunton traffic on the A358 from Crowcombe and Stogumber.
Landlady: Well you must be dying for a cup of tea.
Johnson:  Well, wouldn't say no, long as it's warm and wet.
Landlady: Well come on in the lounge, I'm just going to serve afternoon
          tea.
Johnson:  Very nice.
Landlady: Come on in, Mr and Mrs Johnson and meet Mr and Mrs Phillips.
Mr Phillips (Graham Chapman): Good afternoon.
Johnson:  Good afternoon.
Landlady: It's their third time here; we can't keep you away, can we?
          And over there is Mr Hilter.
 
(In the corner are three German generals in full Nazi uniform, poring over a
map.)
 
Hilter (Cleese with heavy German accent): Ach. Ha! Gut time, er, gut afternoon.
Landlady: Oho, planning a little excursion, eh, Mr Hilter?
Hilter:   Ja, ja, ve haff a little...  (to Palin) was ist Abweise bewegen?
Bimmler (Michael Palin, also with German accent): Hiking.
Hilter:   Ah yes, ve make a little *hike* for Bideford.
Johnson:  Ah yes.  Well, you'll want the A39.  Oh, no, you've got the wrong map
          there.  This is Stalingrad.  You want the Ilfracombe and Barnstaple
          section.
Hilter:   Ah! Stalingrad!  Ha ha ha, Heinri...Reginald, you have the wrong map
          here you silly old leg-before-vicket English person.
Bimmler:  I'm sorry mein Fuhrer, mein (cough) mein Dickie old chum.
Landlady: Oh, lucky Mr Johnson pointed that out.  You wouldn't have had much
          fun in Stalingrad, would you?  Ha ha.
 
(stony silence)
 
          I said, you wouldn't have had much fun in Stalingrad, would you?
Hilter:   Not much fun in Stalingrad, no.
Landlady: Oh I'm sorry.  I didn't introduce you.  This is Ron. Ron Vibbentrop.
Johnson:  Oh, not Von Ribbentrop, eh?
Vibbentrop (Graham Chapman, with German Accent):  Nein!  Nein!  Oh. Ha ha.
Different other chap.  I in Somerset am being born.  Von Ribbentrop is born
Gotterdammerstrasse 46, Dusseldorf Vest 8.....so they say!
Landlady: And this is the quiet one, Heinrich Bimmler.
Bimmler:  Pleased to meet you, squire.  I also am not of Minehead being born
          but I in your Peterborough Lincolnshire was given birth to.  But am
          staying in Peterborough Lincolnshire house all time during vor, due
          to jolly old running sores, and vos unable to go in the streets or to
          go visit football matches or go to Nuremburg.  Ha ha.  Am retired
          vindow cleaner and pacifist, without doing war crimes.  Oh...and am
          glad England vin Vorld Cup.  Bobby Charlton.  Martin Peters.  And
          eating I am lots of chips and fish and hole in the toads and Dundee
          cakes on Piccadilly Line, don't you know old chap, vot!  And I vos
          head of Gestapo for ten years.
(Hilter elbows him in the ribs)
 
          Ah! Five years!
 
(Hilter elbows him again, harder)
          Nein!  No!  Oh.  NOT head of Gestapo AT ALL!  I was not, I make joke!
          (laughs)
Landlady: Oh, Mr Bimmler.  You do have us on!  (Telephone rings) Oh excuse me.
          I'd better get that.
Johnson:  How long are you down here for, Mr Hilter, just the fortnight?
Hilter:   Vot you ask that for, are you a spy?  Get on against the wall,
          Britischer Pig, you are going to die!
Bimmler:    Take it easy, Dickie old chum!
Vibbentrop: He's a bit on edge, Mr Johnson, he hasn't slept since 1945.
Hilter:     Shut your cake-hole, you Nazi!
Vibbentrop: Cool it, Fuhrer cat!
Bimmler:    Ha ha, the fun we have!
Johnson:    Haven't I seen you on the television?
Hilter, Vibbentrop, Bimmler: (hastily) Nicht.  Nein.  No.
Johnson:  Simon Dee show, or was it Frosty?
Hilter, Vibbentrop, Bimmler: Nein.  No.
Landlady: Telephone, Mr Hilter.  It's Mr McGoering from the Bell and
          Compasses.  He says he's found a place where you can hire bombers by
          the hour...?
Hilter:   If he opens his big mouth again, it's Lapschig time!
Bimmler:  Shut up!  Ha ha, hire bombers!  He's a joker, that Scottish person.
Vibbentrop: Good old Norman!
Landlady (to Johnson): He's on the phone the whole time now.
Johnson:  In business, is he?
Bimmler:  Soon, baby!
Landlady: Of course it's his big day Thursday.  They've been planning it for
          months.
Johnson:  What's happening Thursday then?
Landlady: Well it's the North Minehead bye-election.  Mr Hilter's standing as
          the National Bocialist.  He's got wonderful plans for Minehead!
Johnson:  Like what?
Landlady: Well, for a start he wants to annex Poland.
Johnson:  North Minehead's Conservative, isn't it?
Landlady: Well, yes, he gets a lot of people at his rallies.
 
(Short scene cut: huge crowds outside going "Sieg Heil. Sieg Heil. Sieg Heil.")
 
Hilter:  I am not a racialist, but...and dis is a big but...the National
         Bocialist party says that das (stream of German).
Bimmler: Mr Hitler (Hilter slaps him)
         ...Hilter says historically Taunton is a part of Minehead already!
Hilter:  Und der Minehead ist nicht die letze (stream of German)...in die
         Welt!
Crowd: Sieg Heil.
 
( Cut to interviews on the street: )
 
Yokel (Jones):  Oi don't loike the sound of these 'ere Boncentration Bamps.
Woman (Idle):   Well, I gave him my baby to kiss, and he bit it in the head!
Upper class (Cleese): Well, I think he'd do a lot of good to the Stock
                      Exchange.
Gumby (Palin): I THINK HE'S GOT BEAUTIFUL LEGS!
Conservative (Chapman): (droning) Well...  well...  as the Conservative
                        candidate I just drone on and on and on and on without
                        letting anyone else get a word in edgeways, until I
                        start to froth at the mouth and fall over backwards.
                        Ooo-aaahhh.  (THUD)
From ESOKIC@UBBG.ETF.UNI-BG.YU Thu Jan 13 14:52:04 1994
Received: from UBBG.ETF.UNI-BG.YU by osmeh.fon.uni-bg.yu (OAA00974); Thu, 13 Jan 1994 14:51:00 -0800
Date:    Thu, 13 Jan 1994 14:56:51 GMT+0200
From: ESOKIC@UBBG.ETF.UNI-BG.YU
Message-Id: <940113145651.1337@UBBG.ETF.UNI-BG.YU>
Subject: holy grail
To: sm@osmeh.fon.uni-bg.yu
X-Vmsmail-To: SMTP%"sm@osmeh.fon"
Status: R

From:	PSI%JUPAK.6208075040162::SMTP%"axvig@plains.NoDak.edu" 12-JAN-1994 12:59:16.75
To:	axvig@plains.nodak.edu
CC:	 
Subj:	monty.python.and.the.holy.grail

From: Rade Zonjic <rade@moumee.calstatela.edu>
Message-Id: <199401121141.AA17594@moumee>
Subject: monty.python.and.the.holy.grail
To: axvig@plains.nodak.edu
Date: Wed, 12 Jan 1994 03:41:31 -0800 (PST)
X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL20]
Content-Type: text
Content-Length: 58337     
Sender: axvig@plains.NoDak.edu

		    "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"
		     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 The Cast (in order of appearance [roughly]):
     KING ARTHUR : Graham Chapman
     PATSY : Terry Gilliam
     GUARD #1 : Michael Palin
     GUARD #2 : John Cleese
     MORTICIAN :  Eric Idle
     CUSTOMER :  John Cleese
     DEAD PERSON :  ???
     DENNIS :  Michael Palin
     WOMAN :  Terry Jones
     BLACK KNIGHT : John Cleese (?)
     VILLAGER #1 : Eric Idle
     VILLAGER #2 : Michael Palin
     SIR BEDEMIR : Terry Jones
     WITCH : ???
     VILLAGER #3 : John Cleese
     NARRATOR:  Michael Palin
     SIR LAUNCELOT : John Cleese
     SIR GALAHAD : Michael Palin
     SIR ROBIN : Eric Idle
     GOD : ???
     FRENCH GUARD : John Cleese
     MINSTREL : ???
     LEFT HEAD : Terry Jones
     MIDDLE HEAD : Graham Chapman
     RIGHT HEAD : Michael Palin
     OLD MAN : Terry Gilliam
     HEAD KNIGHT OF NEE : Michael Palin
     FATHER : Michael Palin
     PRINCE HERBERT : Terry Jones
     GUARD #1 : Eric Idle
     GUARD #2 : ???
     CONCORDE : Eric Idle
     OLD CRONE : ???
     ROGER (THE SHRUBBER) : Eric Idle
     TIM (THE ENCHANTER):  John Cleese
     BROTHER MAYNARD:  Eric Idle
     SECOND BROTHER:  Michael Palin

  Scene 1
     [wind]
     [clop clop]
 ARTHUR:  Whoa there!
     [clop clop] 
 GUARD #1:  Halt!  Who goes there? 
 ARTHUR:  It is I, Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, from the castle 
of Camelot.  King of the Britons, defeator of the Saxons,         
sovereign of all England!
 GUARD #1:  Pull the other one!
 ARTHUR:  I am.  And this my trusty servant Patsy.     We have
ridden the length and breadth of the land in search of knights    
who will join me in my court of Camelot.  I must speak with your
lord     and master.
 GUARD #1:  What, ridden on a horse?
 ARTHUR:  Yes!
 GUARD #1:  You're using coconuts!
 ARTHUR:  What?
 GUARD #1:  You've got two empty halves of coconut and you're
bangin' 'em together.
 ARTHUR:  So?  We have ridden since the snows of winter covered
this land, through the kingdom of Mercea, through--
 GUARD #1:  Where'd you get the coconut?
 ARTHUR:  We found them.
 GUARD #1:  Found them?  In Mercea?  The coconut's tropical!
 ARTHUR:  What do you mean?
 GUARD #1:  Well, this is a temperate zone.
 ARTHUR:  The swallow may fly south with the sun or the house
martin or the plumber may seek warmer climes in winter yet these
are not strangers to our land.
 GUARD #1:  Are you suggesting coconuts are migratory?
 ARTHUR:  Not at all, they could be carried.
 GUARD #1:  What -- a swallow carrying a coconut? 
 ARTHUR:  It could grip it by the husk!
 GUARD #1:  It's not a question of where he grips it!  It's a
simple question of weight ratios!  A five ounce bird could not
carry a 1 pound coconut.
 ARTHUR:  Well, it doesn't matter.  Will you go and tell your
master that Arthur from the Court of Camelot is here.
 GUARD #1:  Listen, in order to maintain air-speed velocity, a
swallow needs to beat its wings 43 times every second, right? 
 ARTHUR:  Please!
 GUARD #1:  Am I right?
 ARTHUR:  I'm not interested!
 GUARD #2:  It could be carried by an African swallow!
 GUARD #1:  Oh, yeah, an African swallow maybe, but not a European 
   swallow, that's my point.
 GUARD #2:  Oh, yeah, I agree with that...
 ARTHUR:  Will you ask your master if he wants to join my court   
 at Camelot?!
 GUARD #1:  But then of course African swallows are not migratory.
 GUARD #2:  Oh, yeah...
 GUARD #1:  So they couldn't bring a coconut back anyway...
     [clop clop]
 GUARD #2:  Wait a minute -- supposing two swallows carried it
together?
 GUARD #1:  No, they'd have to have it on a line.
 GUARD #2:  Well, simple!  They'd just use a standard creeper!
 GUARD #1:  What, held under the dorsal guiding feathers?
 GUARD #2:  Well, why not?
  Scene 2
 MORTICIAN:  Bring out your dead!
	     Bring out your dead!
     [clang] Bring out your dead!
     [clang] Bring out your dead!
     [clang] Bring out your dead!
     [clang] Bring out your dead!
 CUSTOMER:  Here's one -- nine pence.
 DEAD PERSON:  I'm not dead!
 MORTICIAN:  What?
 CUSTOMER:  Nothing -- here's your nine pence.
 DEAD PERSON:  I'm not dead!
 MORTICIAN:  Here -- he says he's not dead!
 CUSTOMER:  Yes, he is.
 DEAD PERSON:  I'm not!
 MORTICIAN:  He isn't.
 CUSTOMER:  Well, he will be soon, he's very ill.
 DEAD PERSON:  I'm getting better!
 CUSTOMER:  No, you're not -- you'll be stone dead in a moment.
 MORTICIAN:  Oh, I can't take him like that -- it's against
regulations.
 DEAD PERSON:  I don't want to go in the cart!
 CUSTOMER:  Oh, don't be such a baby.
 MORTICIAN:  I can't take him...
 DEAD PERSON:  I feel fine!
 CUSTOMER:  Oh, do us a favor...
 MORTICIAN:  I can't.
 CUSTOMER:  Well, can you hang around a couple of minutes?  He
won't be long.
 MORTICIAN:  Naaah, I got to go on to Robinson's -- they've lost
nine today.
 CUSTOMER:  Well, when is your next round?
 MORTICIAN:  Thursday.
 DEAD PERSON:  I think I'll go for a walk.
 CUSTOMER:  You're not fooling anyone y'know.  Look, isn't there  
  something you can do?
 DEAD PERSON:  I feel happy... I feel happy.
     [whop]
 CUSTOMER:  Ah, thanks very much.
 MORTICIAN:  Not at all.  See you on Thursday.
 CUSTOMER:  Right.
     [clop clop]
 MORTICIAN:  Who's that then?
 CUSTOMER:  I don't know.
 MORTICIAN:  Must be a king.
 CUSTOMER:  Why?
 MORTICIAN:  He hasn't got shit all over him.
  Scene 3
      [clop clop]
 ARTHUR:  Old woman!
 DENNIS:  Man!
 ARTHUR:  Man, sorry.  What knight lives in that castle over there?
 DENNIS:  I'm thirty seven.
 ARTHUR:  What?
 DENNIS:  I'm thirty seven -- I'm not old!
 ARTHUR:  Well, I can't just call you `Man'.
 DENNIS:  Well, you could say `Dennis'.
 ARTHUR:  Well, I didn't know you were called `Dennis.'
 DENNIS:  Well, you didn't bother to find out, did you?
 ARTHUR:  I did say sorry about the `old woman,' but from the
behind you looked--
 DENNIS:  What I object to is you automatically treat me like an
inferior!
 ARTHUR:  Well, I AM king...
 DENNIS:  Oh king, eh, very nice.  An' how'd you get that, eh?  By 
   exploitin' the workers -- by 'angin' on to outdated imperialist
dogma which perpetuates the economic an' social differences in our
society! If there's ever going to be any progress--
 WOMAN:  Dennis, there's some lovely filth down here.  Oh -- how
d'you do?
 ARTHUR:  How do you do, good lady.  I am Arthur, King of the
Britons.  Who's castle is that?
 WOMAN:  King of the who?
 ARTHUR:  The Britons.
 WOMAN:  Who are the Britons?
 ARTHUR:  Well, we all are. we're all Britons and I am your king.
 WOMAN:  I didn't know we had a king.  I thought we were an
autonomous collective.
 DENNIS:  You're fooling yourself.  We're living in a dictatorship. 
   A self-perpetuating autocracy in which the working classes--
 WOMAN:  Oh there you go, bringing class into it again.
 DENNIS:  That's what it's all about if only people would--
 ARTHUR:  Please, please good people.  I am in haste.  Who lives  
  in that castle?
 WOMAN:  No one live there.
 ARTHUR:  Then who is your lord?
 WOMAN:  We don't have a lord.
 ARTHUR:  What?
 DENNIS:  I told you.  We're an anarcho-syndicalist commune.  We
take it in turns to act as a sort of executive officer for the
week.
 ARTHUR:  Yes.
 DENNIS:  But all the decision of that officer have to be ratified 
   at a special biweekly meeting.
 ARTHUR:  Yes, I see.
 DENNIS:  By a simple majority in the case of purely internal
affairs,--
 ARTHUR:  Be quiet!
 DENNIS:  --but by a two-thirds majority in the case of more--
 ARTHUR:  Be quiet!  I order you to be quiet!
 WOMAN:  Order, eh -- who does he think he is?
 ARTHUR:  I am your king!
 WOMAN:  Well, I didn't vote for you.
 ARTHUR:  You don't vote for kings.
 WOMAN:  Well, 'ow did you become king then?
 ARTHUR:  The Lady of the Lake, [angels sing] her arm clad in the
purest shimmering samite, held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of
the water signifying by Divine Providence that I, Arthur, was to
carry Excalibur. [singing stops] That is why I am your king!
 DENNIS:  Listen -- strange women lying in ponds distributing
swords is no basis for a system of government.  Supreme executive
power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some
farcical aquatic ceremony.
 ARTHUR:  Be quiet!
 DENNIS:  Well you can't expect to wield supreme executive power  
  just 'cause some watery tart threw a sword at you!
 ARTHUR:  Shut up!
 DENNIS:  I mean, if I went around sayin' I was an empereror just 
   because some moistened bint had lobbed a scimitar at me they'd 
   put me away!
 ARTHUR:  Shut up!  Will you shut up!
 DENNIS:  Ah, now we see the violence inherent in the system.
 ARTHUR:  Shut up!
 DENNIS:  Oh!  Come and see the violence inherent in the system!  
  HELP! HELP! I'm being repressed!
 ARTHUR:  Bloody peasant!
 DENNIS:  Oh, what a give away.  Did you here that, did you here
that, eh?  That's what I'm on about -- did you see him repressing
me, you saw it didn't you?
  Scene 4
     [battle sounds]
     [Black Knight defeats a worthless-piece-of-shit-knight]
 ARTHUR:  You fight with the strength of many men, Sir knight.    
	  I am Arthur, King of the Britons.
     [pause]
	  I seek the finest and the bravest knights in the land to 
	  join me in my Court of Camelot.
     [pause]
	  You have proved yourself worthy; will you join me?
     [pause]
	  You make me sad.  So be it.  Come, Patsy.
 BLACK KNIGHT:  None shall pass.
 ARTHUR:  What?
 BLACK KNIGHT:  None shall pass.
 ARTHUR:  I have no quarrel with you, good Sir knight, but I must 
   cross this bridge.
 BLACK KNIGHT:  Then you shall die.
 ARTHUR:  I command you as King of the Britons to stand aside!
 BLACK KNIGHT:  I move for no man.
 ARTHUR:  So be it!
     [hah]
     [parry thrust]
     [ARTHUR chops the BLACK KNIGHT's left arm off]
 ARTHUR:  Now stand aside, worthy adversary.
 BLACK KNIGHT:  'Tis but a scratch.
 ARTHUR:  A scratch?  Your arm's off!
 BLACK KNIGHT:  No, it isn't.
 ARTHUR:  Well, what's that then?
 BLACK KNIGHT:  I've had worse.
 ARTHUR:  You liar!
 BLACK KNIGHT:  Come on you pansy!
     [hah]
     [parry thrust]
     [ARTHUR chops the BLACK KNIGHT's right arm off]
 ARTHUR:  Victory is mine!
     [kneeling]
     We thank thee Lord, that in thy merc-
     [Black Knight kicks Arthur in the head while he is praying]
 BLACK KNIGHT:  Come on then.
 ARTHUR:  What?
 BLACK KNIGHT:  Have at you!
 ARTHUR:  You are indeed brave, Sir knight, but the fight is mine.
 BLACK KNIGHT:  Oh, had enough, eh?
 ARTHUR:  Look, you stupid bastard, you've got no arms left.
 BLACK KNIGHT:  Yes I have.
 ARTHUR:  Look!
 BLACK KNIGHT:  Just a flesh wound.
     [Headbutts Arthur in the chest]
 ARTHUR:  Look, stop that.
 BLACK KNIGHT:  Chicken!  Chicken!
 ARTHUR:  Look, I'll have your leg.  Right!
     [whop]
 BLACK KNIGHT:  Right, I'll do you for that!
 ARTHUR:  You'll what?
 BLACK KNIGHT:  Come 'ere!
 ARTHUR:  What are you going to do, bleed on me?
 BLACK KNIGHT:  I'm invincible!
 ARTHUR:  You're a loony.
 BLACK KNIGHT:  The Black Knight always triumphs!     Have at you! 
Come on then.
     [whop]
     [ARTHUR chops the BLACK KNIGHT's other leg off]
 BLACK KNIGHT:  All right; we'll call it a draw.
 ARTHUR:  Come, Patsy.
 BLACK KNIGHT:  Oh, oh, I see, running away then.  You yellow    
bastards!  Come back here and take what's coming to you. I'll bite
your legs off!
  Scene 5
 CROWD:  A witch!  A witch!  A witch!  We've got a witch!  A witch!
 VILLAGER #1:  We have found a witch, might we burn her?
 CROWD:  Burn her!  Burn!
 BEDEMIR:  How do you know she is a witch?
 VILLAGER #2:  She looks like one.
 BEDEMIR:  Bring her forward.
 WITCH:  I'm not a witch.  I'm not a witch.
 BEDEMIR:  But you are dressed as one.
 WITCH:  They dressed me up like this.
 CROWD:  No, we didn't -- no.
 WITCH:  And this isn't my nose, it's a false one.
 BEDEMIR:  Well?
 VILLAGER #1:  Well, we did do the nose.
 BEDEMIR:  The nose?
 VILLAGER #1:  And the hat -- but she is a witch!
 CROWD:  Burn her!  Witch!  Witch!  Burn her!
 BEDEMIR:  Did you dress her up like this?
 CROWD:  No, no... no ... yes.  Yes, yes, a bit, a bit.
 VILLAGER #1:  She has got a wart.
 BEDEMIR:  What makes you think she is a witch?
 VILLAGER #3:  Well, she turned me into a newt.
 BEDEMIR:  A newt?
 VILLAGER #3:  I got better.
 VILLAGER #2:  Burn her anyway!
 CROWD:  Burn!  Burn her!
 BEDEMIR:  Quiet, quiet.  Quiet!  There are ways of telling whether 
   she is a witch.
 CROWD:  Are there?  What are they?
 BEDEMIR:  Tell me, what do you do with witches?
 VILLAGER #2:  Burn!
 CROWD:  Burn, burn them up!
 BEDEMIR:  And what do you burn apart from witches?
 VILLAGER #1:  More witches!
 VILLAGER #2:  Wood!
 BEDEMIR:  So, why do witches burn?
     [pause]
 VILLAGER #3:  B--... 'cause they're made of wood...?
 BEDEMIR:  Good!
 CROWD:  Oh yeah, yeah...
 BEDEMIR:  So, how do we tell whether she is made of wood?
 VILLAGER #1:  Build a bridge out of her.
 BEDEMIR:  Aah, but can you not also build bridges out of stone?
 VILLAGER #2:  Oh, yeah.
 BEDEMIR:  Does wood sink in water?
 VILLAGER #1:  No, no.
 VILLAGER #2:  It floats!  It floats!
 VILLAGER #1:  Throw her into the pond!
 CROWD:  The pond!
 BEDEMIR:  What also floats in water?
 VILLAGER #1:  Bread!
 VILLAGER #2:  Apples!
 VILLAGER #3:  Very small rocks!
 VILLAGER #1:  Cider!
 VILLAGER #2:  Great gravy!
 VILLAGER #1:  Cherries!
 VILLAGER #2:  Mud!
 VILLAGER #3:  Churches -- churches!
 VILLAGER #2:  Lead -- lead!
 ARTHUR:  A duck.
 CROWD:  Oooh.
 BEDEMIR:  Exactly!  So, logically...,
 VILLAGER #1:  If... she.. weighs the same as a duck, she's made of
wood.
 BEDEMIR:  And therefore--?
 VILLAGER #1:  A witch!
 CROWD:  A witch! 
 BEDEMIR:  We shall use my largest scales!
     [yelling]
 BEDEMIR:  Right, remove the supports!
     [whop]
     [creak]
 CROWD:  A witch!  A witch!
 WITCH:  It's a fair cop.
 CROWD:  Burn her!  Burn!
  [yelling]
 BEDEMIR:  Who are you who are so wise in the ways of science?
 ARTHUR:  I am Arthur, King of the Britons.
 BEDEMIR:  My liege!
 ARTHUR:  Good Sir knight, will you come with me to Camelot,    
and join us at the Round Table?
 BEDEMIR:  My liege!  I would be honored.
 ARTHUR:  What is your name?
 BEDEMIR:  Bedemir, my leige.
 ARTHUR:  Then I dub you Sir Bedemir, Knight of the Round Table.  
   [Narrative Interlude]
 NARRATOR:  The wise Sir Bedemir was the first to join King
Arthur's knights, but other illustrious names were soon to follow: 
Sir Launcelot the Brave; Sir Galahad the Pure; and Sir Robin the  
Not-quite-so-brave-as-Sir-Launcelot who had nearly fought the
Dragon of Agnor, who had nearly stood up to the vicious Chicken of
Bristol and who had personally wet himself at the Battle of Badon
Hill; and the aptly named Sir Not-appearing-in-this-film.  Together
they formed a band whose names and deeds were to be retold
throughout the centuries, the Knights of the Round Table.
  Scene 6
  BEDEMIR:  And that, my liege, is how we know the Earth to be
banana-shaped.
 ARTHUR:  This new learning amazes me, Sir Bedemir.  Explain again
how sheeps' bladders may be employed to prevent earthquakes.
 BEDEMIR:  Oh, certainly, sir.
 LAUNCELOT:  Look, my liege!
 ARTHUR:  Camelot!
 GALAHAD:  Camelot!
 LAUNCELOT:  Camelot!
 PATSY:  It's only a model.
 ARTHUR:  Shhh!  Knights, I bid you welcome to your new home.  Let
us ride... to Camelot.
      [singing]
     We're knights of the round table
     We dance when e'er we're able
     We do routines and parlour scenes
     With footwork impecc-Able.
     We dine well here in Camelot
     We eat ham and jam and spam a lot
      [dancing]
     We're knights of the Round Table
     Our shows are for-mid-able
     Oh many times we're given rhymes
     That are quite unsing-able
     We not so fat in Camelot
     We sing from the diaphragm a lot
      [tap-dancing]
     Oh we're tough and able
     Quite indefatigable
     Between our quests we [something]
     And impersonate Clark Gable
     It's a bit too loud in Camelot
     I have to push the pram a lot.

 ARTHUR:  Well, on second thought, let's not go to Camelot -- it is
a silly place.     Right.
     Scene 7
 GOD:  Arthur!  Arthur, King of the Britons!  Oh, don't grovel!  If
there's one thing I can't stand, it's people groveling.
 ARTHUR:  Sorry--
 GOD:  And don't apologize.  Every time I try to talk to someone
it's "sorry this" and "forgive me that" and "I'm not worthy".  What
are you doing now!?
 ARTHUR:  I'm averting my eyes, oh Lord.
 GOD:  Well, don't.  It's like those miserable Psalms -- they're so 
   depressing.  Now knock it off!
 ARTHUR:  Yes, Lord.
 GOD:  Right!  Arthur, King of the Britons -- you're Knights of the
Round Table shall have a task to make them an example in these dark
times.
 ARTHUR:  Good idea, oh Lord!
 GOD:  'Course it's a good idea!  Behold!  Arthur, this is the Holy 
   Grail.  Look well, Arthur, for it is your sacred task to seek  
  this Grail. That is your purpose, Arthur -- the Quest for the   
  Holy Grail.
 ARTHUR:  A blessing!
 LAUNCELOT:  A blessing from the Lord!
 GALAHAD:  God be praised!
  Scene 8
      [clop clop]
 ARTHUR:  Halt!  Hallo!  Hallo!
 GUARD:  'Allo!  Who is zis?
 ARTHUR:  It is King Arthur, and these are the Knights of the Round 
   Table.  Who's castle is this?
 GUARD:  This is the castle of my master, Guido Wommer!
 ARTHUR:  Go and tell your master that we have been charged by God 
   with a sacred quest.  If he will give us food and shelter for
the night he can join us in our quest for the Holy Grail.
 GUARD:  Well, I'll ask him, but I don't think he'll be very
keen... Uh, he's already got one, you see?
 ARTHUR:  What?
 GALAHAD:  He says they've already got one!
 ARTHUR:  Are you sure he's got one?
 GUARD:  Oh, yes, it's very nice-a  (I told him we already got one)
 ARTHUR:  Well, um, can we come up and have a look?
 GUARD:  Of course not!  You are English types-a!
 ARTHUR:  Well, what are you then?
 GUARD:  I'm French!  Why do think I have this outrageous accent,
you silly king!
 GALAHAD:  What are you doing in England?
 GUARD:  Mind your own business!
 ARTHUR:  If you will not show us the Grail, we shall take your
castle by force!
 GUARD:  You don't frighten us, English pig-dogs!  Go and boil your 
   bottoms, sons of a silly person.  I blow my nose at you,
so-called Arthur-king, you and all your silly English kaniggets.
Thppppt!
 GALAHAD:  What a strange person.
 ARTHUR:  Now look here, my good man!
 GUARD:  I don't want to talk to you no more, you empty headed
animal food trough water!  I fart in your general direction!  You
mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!
 GALAHAD:  Is there someone else up there we could talk to?
 GUARD:  No, now go away or I shall taunt you a second time-a!
 ARTHUR:  Now, this is your last chance.  I've been more than
reasonable.
 GUARD:  (Fetch-e la vache.)     wha?
 GUARD:  (Fetch-e la vache!)
     [moo!]
 ARTHUR:  If you do not agree to my commands, then I shall--
     [twong]
     [mooooooo]
     Jesus Christ!     Right!  Charge!
 ALL: Charge!
     [mayhem]
 GUARD:  Ah, this one is for your mother!
     [twong]
 ALL:  Run away!
 GUARD:  Thpppt!
     [ after running away...]
 LAUNCELOT:  Fiends!  I'll tear them apart!
 ARTHUR:  No no, no.
 BEDEMIR:  Sir!  I have a plan, sir.
      [later]
      [chop]
      [rumble rumble squeak]
 MUTTERING GUARDS:  ce labon a bunny do     wha?     un codoo?    
a present!     oh, un codoo.     oui oui hurry!     wha-?     let's
go!
     [rumble rumble squeak]
 ARTHUR:  What happens now?
 BEDEMIR:  Well, now, uh, Launcelot, Galahad, and I, wait until
nightfall, and then leap out of the rabbit, taking the French by
surprise -- not only by surprise, but totally unarmed!
 ARTHUR:  Who leaps out?
 BEDEMIR:  Uh, Launcelot, Galahad, and I.  Uh, leap out of the
rabbit, uh and uh....
 ARTHUR:  Oh....
 BEDEMIR:  Oh....  Um, l-look, if we built this large wooden
badger--
     [twong]
 ALL:  Run away!  Run away!  Run away!  Run away!
     [splat]
 GUARDS:  Oh, haw haw haw.
  Scene 9
	   Pictures for Schools, take 8.
 DIRECTOR:  Action! 
 NARRATOR:  Defeat at the castle seems to have utterly disheartened 
King Arthur.  The ferocity of the French taunting took him
completely by surprise, and Arthur became convinced that a new
strategy was required if the quest for the Holy Grail were to be
brought to a successful conclusion.  Arthur, having consulted his
closest knights, decided that they should separate, and search for
the Grail individually.  Now, this is what they did--
     [clop clop]
     [An unknown knight rides in and stabs the narrator]
 WOMAN:  Greg!
  Scene 10
 NARRATOR:  The Tale of Sir Robin....     So each of the knights
went their separate ways.  Sir Robin rode north, through the dark
forest of Ewing, accompanied by his favorite minstrels.
 MINSTREL (singing):
  Bravely bold Sir Robin, rode forth from Camelot.
  He was not afraid to die, o Brave Sir Robin.                    
  He was not at all afraid to be killed in nasty ways.            
  Brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Robin!                         
  He was not in the least bit scared to be mashed into a pulp,    
  Or to have his eyes gouged out, and his elbows broken.          
  To have his kneecaps split, and his body burned away,           
  And his limbs all hacked and mangled, brave Sir Robin!          
  His head smashed in and his heart cut out,                      
  And his liver removed and his bowels unplugged,                 
  And his nostrils ripped and his bottom burned off,              
  And his balls...
 ROBIN:  That's -- that's, uh, that's enough music for now, lads. 
   Looks like there's dirty work afoot.
 DENNIS:  Anarcho-syndicalism is a way of preserving freedom.
 WOMAN:  Oh, Dennis, forget about freedom.  Now I've dropped my
mud.
 ALL HEADS:  Halt!  Who art thou?
 MINSTREL (singing):  He is brave Sir Robin, brave Sir Robin, who--
 ROBIN:  Shut up!  Um, n-n-nobody really, I'm j-just um, just
passing through.
 ALL HEADS:  What do you want?
 MINSTREL (singing):  To fight, and--
 ROBIN:  Shut up!  Um, oo, n-nothing, nothing really -- I, uh,
j-j-ust to um, just to p-pass through good Sir knight.
 ALL HEADS:  I'm afraid not!
 ROBIN:  Ah.  W-well, actually I am a Knight of the Round Table.
 ALL HEADS:  You're a Knight of the Round Table?
 ROBIN:  I am.
 LEFT HEAD:  In that case I shall have to kill you.
 MIDDLE HEAD:  Shall I?
 RIGHT HEAD:  Oh, I don't think so.
 MIDDLE HEAD:  Well, what do I think?
 LEFT HEAD:  I think kill him.
 RIGHT HEAD:  Well let's be nice to him.
 MIDDLE HEAD:  Oh shut up.
 LEFT HEAD:  Perhaps-
 MIDDLE HEAD:  And you.
 LEFT HEAD:  Oh quick get the sword out I want to cut his head off!
 RIGHT HEAD:  Oh, cut your own head off!
 MIDDLE HEAD:  Yes, do us all a favor!
 LEFT HEAD:  What?
 RIGHT HEAD:  Yapping on all the time.
 MIDDLE HEAD:  You're lucky, you're not next to him.
 LEFT HEAD:  What do you mean?
 MIDDLE HEAD:  You snore.
 LEFT HEAD:  Oh I don't -- anyway, you've got bad breath.
 MIDDLE HEAD:  Well its only because you don't brush my teeth.
 RIGHT HEAD:  Oh stop bitching and let's go have tea.
 LEFT HEAD:  All right all right all right we'll kill him first   
 and then have tea and biscuits.
 MIDDLE HEAD:  Yes.
 RIGHT HEAD:  Oh, but not biscuits.
 LEFT HEAD:  All right all right not biscuits, but lets kill him
anyway.
 ALL HEADS:  Right!
 LEFT HEAD:  He buggered off.
 RIGHT HEAD:  So he has, he's scarpered.
MINSTREL (singing):  Brave Sir Robin ran away
 ROBIN:  No!
 MINSTREL (singing):  Bravely ran away away
 ROBIN:  I didn't!
 MINSTREL (singing):  When danger reared its ugly head,           
		      He bravely turned his tail and fled
 ROBIN:  No!
 MINSTREL (singing):  Yes Brave Sir Robin turned about
 ROBIN:  I didn't!
 MINSTREL (singing):  And gallantly he chickened out              
		      Bravely taking to his feet
 ROBIN:  I never did!
 MINSTREL (singing):  He beat a very brave retreat
 ROBIN:  Oh, lie!
 MINSTREL (singing):  Bravest of the brave Sir Robin
 ROBIN:  I never!
  Scene 11
 NARRATOR:  The Tale of Sir Galahad
      [boom crash]
      [angels singing]
      [pound pound pound]
 GALAHAD:  Open the door!     Open the door!
      [pound pound pound]
     In the name of King Arthur, open the door!
     [squeak thump]
     [squeak boom]
 ALL:  Hello!
 ZOOT:  Welcome gentle Sir knight, welcome to the Castle Anthrax.
 GALAHAD:  The Castle Anthrax?
 ZOOT:  Yes... oh, it's not a very good name is it?  Oh! but we are 
   nice and we shall attend to your every, every need!
 GALAHAD:  You are the keepers of the Holy Grail?
 ZOOT:  The what?
 GALAHAD:  The Grail -- it is here?
 ZOOT:  Oh, but you are tired, and you must rest awhile.  Midget! 
   Crepper!
 MIDGET and CREPPER:  Yes, oh Zoot!
 ZOOT:  Prepare a bed for our guest.
 MIDGET and CREPPER:  Oh thank you thank you thank you--
 ZOOT:  Away away vile peasents!  The beds here are warm and soft
- -- and very, very big.
 GALAHAD:  Well, look, I-I-uh--
 ZOOT:  What is your name, handsome knight?
 GALAHAD:  Sir Galahad... the Chaste.
 ZOOT:  Mine is Zoot... just Zoot.  Oh, but come!
 GALAHAD:  Look, please!  In God's name, show me the Grail!
 ZOOT:  Oh, you have suffered much!  You are delirious!
 GALAHAD:  L-look, I have seen it!  It is here, in the--
 ZOOT:  Sir Galahad!  You would not be so ungallant as to refuse
our hospitality.
 GALAHAD:  Well, I-I-uh--
 ZOOT:  Oh, I am afraid our life must seem very dull and quiet
compared to yours.  We are but eight score young blondes and
brunettes, all between sixteen and nineteen and a half, cut off in
this castle with no one to protect us!  Oh, it is a lonely life --
bathing, dressing, undressing, making exciting underwear....  We
are just not used to handsome knights. Nay, nay, come, come, you
may lie here.  Oh, but you are wounded!
 GALAHAD:  No, no -- i-it's nothing!
 ZOOT:  Oh, but you must see the doctors immediately!  No, no,
please, lie down.
     [clap clap]
 PIGLET:  Ah.  What seems to be the trouble?
 GALAHAD:  They're doctors?!
 ZOOT:  Uh, they've had a basic medical training, yes.
 GALAHAD:  B-but--
 ZOOT:  Oh, come come, you must try to rest!  Doctor Piglet, 
Doctor Winston, practice your art.
 PIGLET:  Try to relax.
 GALAHAD:  Are you sure that's necessary?
 PIGLET:  We must examine you.
 GALAHAD:  There's nothing wrong with that!
 PIGLET:  Please -- we are doctors.
 GALAHAD:  Get off the bed!  I am sworn to chastity!
 PIGLET:  Back to your bed!
 GALAHAD:  Torment me no longer!  I have seen the Grail!
 PIGLET:  There's no grail here.
 GALAHAD:  I have seen it, I have seen it.  I have seen--
 GIRLS:  Hello.
 GALAHAD:  Oh--
 VARIOUS GIRLS:  Hello.     Hello.     Hello.     Hello.     Hello. 
   Hello.     Hello.     Hello.     Hello.     Hello.     Hello.  
  Hello.
 GALAHAD:  Zoot!
 DINGO:  No, I am Zoot's identical twin sister, Dingo.
 GALAHAD:  Oh, well, excuse me, I--
 DINGO:  Where are you going?
 GALAHAD:  I seek the Grail!  I have seen it, here in this castle!
 DINGO:  No!  Oh, no!  Bad, bad Zoot!
 GALAHAD:  What is it?
 DINGO:  Oh, wicked, bad, naughty Zoot!  She has been setting
alight to our beacon, which, I just remembered, is grail-shaped. 
It's not the first time we've had this problem.
 GALAHAD:  It's not the real Grail?
 DINGO:  Oh, wicked, bad, naughty, evil Zoot!  Oh, she is a naughty 
   person, and she must pay the penalty -- and here in Castle
Anthrax, we have but one punishment for setting alight the
grail-shaped beacon.  You must tie her down on a bed and spank her!
 GIRLS:  A spanking!  A spanking!
 DINGO:  You must spank her well.  And after you have spanked her,
you may deal with her as you like.  And then, spank me.
 VARIOUS GIRLS:  And spank me.     And me.     And me.
 DINGO:  Yes, yes, you must give us all a good spanking!
 GIRLS:  A spanking!  A spanking!
 DINGO:  And after the spanking, the oral sex.
 GIRLS:  Oral sex!  Oral sex!
 GALAHAD:  Well, I could stay a BIT longer.
 LAUNCELOT:  Sir Galahad!
 GALAHAD:  Oh, hello.
 LAUNCELOT:  Quick!
 GALAHAD:  What?
 LAUNCELOT:  Quick!
 GALAHAD:  Why?
 LAUNCELOT:  You're in great peril!
 GALAHAD:
 ZOOT:
 LAUNCELOT:  Silence, foul temptress!
 GALAHAD:  Now look, it's not important.
 LAUNCELOT:  Quick!  Come on and we'll cover your escape!
 GALAHAD:  Look, I'm fine!
 LAUNCELOT:  Come on!
 GALAHAD:  Now look, I can tackle this lot single-handed!
 DINGO:  Yes!  Let him tackle us single-handed!
 GIRLS:  Yes!  Tackle us single-handed!
 LAUNCELOT:  No, Sir Galahad, come on!
 GALAHAD:  No, really, honestly, I can go back and handle this lot
easily!
 DINGO:  Oh, yes, let him handle us easily.
 GIRLS:  Yes, yes!
 GALAHAD:  Wait!  I can defeat them!  There's only a hundred and
fifty of them!
 DINGO:  Yes, yes, he'll beat us easily, we haven't a chance.
 GIRLS:  Yes, yes.
     [boom]
 DINGO:  Oh, shit.
     [outside]
 LAUNCELOT:  We were in the nick of time, you were in great peril.

 GALAHAD:  I don't think I was.
 LAUNCELOT:  Yes you were, you were in terrible peril.
 GALAHAD:  Look, let me go back in there and face the peril.
 LAUNCELOT:  No, it's too perilous.
 GALAHAD:  Look, [something] as much peril as I can.
 LAUNCELOT:  No, we've got to find the Holy Grail.  Come on!
 GALAHAD:  Well, let me have just a little bit of peril?
 LAUNCELOT:  No, it's unhealthy.
 GALAHAD:  Bet you're gay!
 LAUNCELOT:  No, I'm not.
  Narrative Interlude
 NARRATOR:  Sir Launcelot had saved Sir Galahad from almost certain 
   temptation, but they were still no nearer the Grail.  Meanwhile, 
   King Arthur and Sir Bedemir, not more than a swallow's flight
away, had  discovered something.  Oh, that's an unladen swallow's
flight, obviously. I mean, they were more than two laden swallow's
flights away -- four, really, if they hadn't a cord of line between
them. I mean, if the birds were walking and dragging--
 CROWD:  Get on with it!
 NARRATOR:  Oh, anyway, on to scene twenty-four, which is a
smashing scene with some lovely acting, in which Arthur discovers
a vital clue, in which there aren't any swallows, although I think
you can hear a starling -oolp!
  Scene 12
 OLD MAN:  Ah, hee he he ha!
 ARTHUR:  And this enchanter of whom you speak, he has seen the
grail?
 OLD MAN:  Ha ha he he he he!
 ARTHUR:  Where does he live?  Old man, where does he live?
 OLD MAN:  He knows of a cave, a cave which no man has entered.
 ARTHUR:  And the Grail... The Grail is there?
 OLD MAN:  Very much danger, for beyond the cave lies the Gorge   
 of Eternal Peril, which no man has ever crossed.
 ARTHUR:  But the Grail!  Where is the Grail!?
 OLD MAN:  Seek you the Bridge of Death.
 ARTHUR:  The Bridge of Death, which leads to the Grail?
 OLD MAN:  Hee hee ha ha!
  Scene 13
 HEAD KNIGHT:  Nee!     Nee!     Nee!     Nee!
 ARTHUR:  Who are you?
 HEAD KNIGHT:  We are the Knights Who Say... Nee!
 ARTHUR:  No!  Not the Knights Who Say Nee!
 HEAD KNIGHT:  The same!
 BEDEMIR:  Who are they?
 HEAD KNIGHT:  We are the keepers of the sacred words:  Nee, Pang,
and Nee-wom!
 RANDOM:  Nee-wom!
 ARTHUR:  Those who hear them seldom live to tell the tale!
 HEAD KNIGHT:  The Knights Who Say Nee demand a sacrifice!
 ARTHUR:  Knights of Nee, we are but simple travellers who seek the 
   enchanter who lives beyond these woods.
 HEAD KNIGHT:  Nee!  Nee!  Nee!  Nee!
 ARTHUR and PARTY:  Oh, ow!
 HEAD KNIGHT:  We shall say 'nee' again to you if you do not
appease us.
 ARTHUR:  Well, what is it you want?
 HEAD KNIGHT:  We want... a shrubbery!
     [dramatic chord]
 ARTHUR:  A what?
 HEAD KNIGHT:  Nee!  Nee!
 ARTHUR and PARTY:  Oh, ow!
 ARTHUR:  Please, please!  No more!  We shall find a shrubbery.
 HEAD KNIGHT:  You must return here with a shrubbery or else you
will never pass through this wood alive!
 ARTHUR:  O Knights of Nee, you are just and fair, and we will
return with a shrubbery.
 HEAD KNIGHT:  One that looks nice.
 ARTHUR:  Of course.
 HEAD KNIGHT:  And not too expensive.
 ARTHUR:  Yes.
 HEAD KNIGHTS:  Now... go!
  Scene 14
 NARRATOR:  The Tale of Sir Launcelot. 
 FATHER:  One day, lad, all this will be yours!
 HERBERT:  What, the curtains?
 FATHER:  No, not the curtains, lad.  All that you can see!
Stretched out over the hills and valleys of this land!  This'll be
your kingdom, lad!
 HERBERT:  But, Mother--
 FATHER:  Father, I'm Father.
 HERBERT:  But Father, I don't want any of that.
 FATHER:  Listen, lad.  I've built this kingdom up from nothing. 
When I started here, all there was was swamp.  The king said I was 
daft to build a castle in a swamp, but I built it all the same,   
just to show 'em.  It sank into the swamp.  So, I built a second
one. That sank into the swamp.  So I built a third one.  That
burned down, fell over, then sank into the swamp.  But the fourth
one stayed up. An' that's what your gonna get, lad -- the strongest
castle in these islands.
 HERBERT:  But I don't want any of that -- I'd rather--
 FATHER:  Rather what?!
 HERBERT:  I'd rather... just...     [music]     ...sing!
 FATHER:  Stop that, stop that!  You're not going to do a song
while I'm here.  Now listen lad, in twenty minutes you're getting
married to a girl whose father owns the biggest tracts of open land
in Britain.
 HERBERT:  But I don't want land.
 FATHER:  Listen, Alice...
 HERBERT:  Herbert.
 FATHER:  Herbert.  We live in a bloody swamp.  We need all the
land we can get.
 HERBERT:  But I don't like her.
 FATHER:  Don't like her?!  What's wrong with her?  She's
beautiful, she's rich, she's got huge... tracts of land.
 HERBERT:  I know, but I want the girl that I marry to have...    
a certain... special... [music]     ...something...
 FATHER:  Cut that out, cut that out.  Look, you're marryin'
Princess Looky, so you'd better get used to the idea. [smack] 
Guards!  Make sure the Prince doesn't leave this room until I come
and get 'im.
 GUARD #1:  Not to leave the room even if you come and get him.
 GUARD #2:  Hic!
 FATHER:  No, no.  Until I come and get 'im.
 GUARD #1:  Until you come and get him, we're not to enter the
room.
 FATHER:  No, no, no.  You stay in the room and make sure 'e
doesn't leave.
 GUARD #1:  And you'll come and get him.
 GUARD #2:  Hic!
 FATHER:  Right.
 GUARD #1:  We don't need to do anything, apart from just stop him 
   entering the room.
 FATHER:  No, no.  Leaving the room.
 GUARD #1:  Leaving the room, yes.
 FATHER:  All right?
 GUARD #1:  Right.  Oh, if-if-if, uh, if-if-if, uh, if-if-if we...
 FATHER:  Yes, what is it?
 GUARD #1:  Oh, if-if, oh--
 FATHER:  Look, it's quite simple.
 GUARD #1:  Uh...
 FATHER:  You just stay here, and make sure 'e doesn't leave the
room. All right?  
 GUARD #2:  Hic!
 FATHER:  Right.
 GUARD #1:  Oh, I remember.  Uh, can he leave the room with us?
 FATHER:  N- No no no.  You just keep him in here, and make sure--
 GUARD #1:  Oh, yes, we'll keep him in here, obviously.  But if he
had to leave and we were--
 FATHER:  No, no, just keep him in here--
 GUARD #1:  Until you, or anyone else,--
 FATHER:  No, not anyone else, just me--
 GUARD #1:  Just you.
 GUARD #2:  Hic!
 FATHER:  Get back.
 GUARD #1:  Get back.
 FATHER:  Right?
 GUARD #1:  Right, we'll stay here until you get back.
 FATHER:  And, uh, make sure he doesn't leave.
 GUARD #1:  What?
 FATHER:  Make sure 'e doesn't leave.
 GUARD #1:  The Prince?
 FATHER:  Yes, make sure 'e doesn't leave.
 GUARD #1:  Oh, yes, of course.  I thought you meant him.  Y'know,
it seemed a bit daft, me havin' to guard him when he's a guard.
 FATHER:  Is that clear?
 GUARD #2:  Hic!
 GUARD #1:  Oh, quite clear, no problems.
 FATHER:  Right.
     [starts to leave]
     Where are you going?
 GUARD #1:  We're coming with you.
 FATHER:  No no, I want you to stay 'ere and make sure 'e doesn't
leave.
 GUARD #1:  Oh, I see.  Right.
 HERBERT:  But, Father!
 FATHER:  Shut your noise, you!  And get that suit on!  And no
singing!
 GUARD #2:  Hic!
 FATHER:  Oh, go get a glass of water.   
  Scene 15
 LAUNCELOT:  Well taken, Concorde!
 CONCORDE:  Thank you, sir!  Most kind.
 LAUNCELOT:  And again... Over we go!  Good.  Steady!  And now, the
big one...Ooof!  Come on, Concorde!
     [thwonk]
 CONCORDE:  Message for you, sir.
     [fwump]
 LAUNCELOT:  Concorde!  Concorde, speak to me!  "To whoever finds
this note, I have been imprisoned by my father, who wishes me to
marry against my will.  Please, please, please come and rescue me. 
I am in the tall tower of Swamp Castle."  At last!  A call, a cry
of distress!  This could be the sign that leads us to the Holy
Grail! Brave, brave Concorde!  You shall not have died in vain! 
 CONCORDE:  Uh, I'm-I'm not quite dead, sir.
 LAUNCELOT:  Well, you shall not have been mortally wounded in
vain!
 CONCORDE:  Uh, I-I think uh, I could pull through, sir.
 LAUNCELOT:  Oh, I see.
 CONCORDE:  Actually, I think I'm all right to come with you--
 LAUNCELOT:  No, no, sweet Concorde!  Stay here!  I will send help
as soon as I have accomplished a daring and heroic rescue in my own 
particular... (sigh)
 CONCORDE:  Idiom, sir?
 LAUNCELOT:  Idiom!
 CONCORDE:  No, I feel fine, actually, sir.
 LAUNCELOT:  Farewell, sweet Concorde!
 CONCORDE:  I'll-uh, I'll just stay here, then, shall I, sir? Yeah. 
  Scene 16
 LAUNCELOT:  Ha-ha! etc.
 GUARD #1:  Now, you're not allowed to come in here, and we're-ugh!
 LAUNCELOT:  O fair one, behold your humble servant Sir Launcelot 
   of Camelot.  I have come to take -- oh, I'm terribly sorry.
 HERBERT:  You got my note!
 LAUNCELOT:  Uh, well, I got A note.
 HERBERT:  You've come to rescue me!
 LAUNCELOT:  Uh, well, no, you see--
 HERBERT:  I knew that someone would, I knew that somewhere out
there...     there must be...     [music]     ...someone...
 FATHER:  Stop that, stop that, stop it!  Stop it!  Who are you?
 HERBERT:  I'm your son!
 FATHER:  No, not you.
 LAUNCELOT:  I'm Sir Launcelot, sir.
 HERBERT:  He's come to rescue me, father.
 LAUNCELOT:  Well, let's not jump to conclusions.
 FATHER:  Did you kill all the guard?
 LAUNCELOT:  Uh..., oh, yes.  Sorry.
 FATHER:  They cost fifty pounds each.
 LAUNCELOT:  Well, I'm awfully sorry, I'm -- I really can explain
everything.
 HERBERT:  Don't be afraid of him, Sir Launcelot, I've got a rope
all ready!
 FATHER:  You killed eight wedding guests in all!
 LAUNCELOT:  Well, you see, the thing is, I thought your son was a
lady.
 FATHER:  I can understand that.
 HERBERT:  Hurry, Sir Launcelot!  Hurry!
 FATHER:  Shut up!  You only killed the bride's father, that's all!
 LAUNCELOT:  Well, I really didn't mean to...
 FATHER:  Didn't mean to?!  You put your sword right through his
head!
 LAUNCELOT:  Oh, dear.  Is he all right?
 FATHER:  You even kicked the bride in the chest!  This is going to
cost me a fortune!
 LAUNCELOT:  Well, I can explain.  I was in the forest, um, riding
north from Camelot, when I got this note, you see--
 FATHER:  Camelot?  Are you from, uh, Camelot?
 HERBERT:  Hurry, Sir Launcelot!
 LAUNCELOT:  Uh, I am a Knight of King Arthur, sir.
 FATHER:  Pretty nice castle, Camelot.  Uh, pretty good pig
country....
 LAUNCELOT:  Yes.
 HERBERT:  Hurry, I'm ready!
 FATHER:  Would you, uh, like to come and have a drink?
 LAUNCELOT:  Well, that's, uh, awfully nice of you.
 HERBERT:  I am ready!
     [start to leave]
 LAUNCELOT:  --I mean to be, so understanding.
     [thonk]
 HERBERT:  Oooh!
 LAUNCELOT:  Um, I think when I'm in this idiom, I sometimes get a
bit, uh, sort of carried away.
 FATHER:  Oh, don't worry about that.
 HERBERT:  Oooh!
    [splat]
  Scene 17
    [wailing]
 FATHER:  Well, this is the main hall.  We're going to have all
this knocked through, and made into one big, uh, living room.
 RANDOM:  There he is!
 FATHER:  Oh, bloody hell.
 LAUNCELOT:  Ha-ha! etc.
 FATHER:  Hold it, hold it!  Please!
 LAUNCELOT:  Sorry, sorry.  See what I mean, I just get carried
away. I really must -- sorry, sorry!  Sorry, everyone.
 RANDOM:  He's killed the best man!
     [yelling]
 FATHER:  Hold it, please!  Hold it!  This is Sir Launcelot from
the gorge of Camelot -- a very brave and influential knight, and my
special guest here today.
 LAUNCELOT:  Hello.
 RANDOM:  He killed my auntie!
     [yelling]
 FATHER:  Please, please!  This is supposed to be a happy occasion! 
   Let's not bicker and argue about who killed who.  We are here
today to witness the union of two young people in the joyful bond
of the holy wedlock.  Unfortunately, one of them, my son Herbert,
has just fallen to his death.  But I think I've not lost a son, so
much as... gained a daughter!  For, since the tragic death of her
father--
 RANDOM:  He's not quite dead!
 FATHER:  Since the near fatal wounding of her father--
 RANDOM:  He's getting better!
 FATHER:  For, since her own father... who, when he seemed about to 
   recover, suddenly felt the icy hand of death upon him,--
     [ugh]
 RANDOM:  Oh, he's died!
 FATHER:  And I want his only daughter to look upon me... as her
own dad -- in a very real, and legally binding sense.
     [clapping]
     And I feel sure that the merger -- uh, the union -- between
the Princess and the brave, but dangerous, Sir Launcelot of
Camelot--
 LAUNCELOT:  What?
 RANDOM:  Look!  The dead Prince!
 CONCORDE:  He's not quite dead!
 HERBERT:  Oh, I feel much better.
 FATHER:  You fell out of the cold tower, you creep!
 HERBERT:  No, I was saved at the last minute.
 FATHER:  How?!
 HERBERT:  Well, I'll tell you...     [music]
 FATHER:  Not like that!  Not like that!  No, stop it!
 SINGING:  He's going to tell!  He's going to tell!
 FATHER:  Shut up!
 SINGING:  He's going to tell!  He's going to tell!
	   He's going to tell!  He's going to tell!
	   He's going to tell!  He's going to tell!
	   He's going to tell!  He's going to tell!
 CONCORDE:  Quickly, sir!  This way!
 LAUNCELOT:  No, it's not in my idiom!  I must escape in my own
particular....(sigh)
 CONCORDE:  Dogma, sir?
 LAUNCELOT:  Dogma!  Hee!  Ha!
     [crash]
     Excuse me, could, uh, could somebody give me a push,
please...?
  Scene 18
      [clop clop]
 ARTHUR:  Old crone!  Is there anywhere in this town where we could
buy a shrubbery!
     [dramatic chord]
 CRONE:  Who sent you?
 ARTHUR:  The Knights Who Say Nee.
 CRONE:  Agh!  No!  Never!  We have no shrubberies here.
 ARTHUR:  If you do not tell us where we can buy a shrubbery, my
friend and I will say... we will say... `nee'.
 CRONE:  Agh!  Do your worst!
 ARTHUR:  Very well!  If you will not assist us voluntarily,...
nee!
 CRONE:  No!  Never!  No shrubberies!
 ARTHUR:  Nee!
 BEDEMIR:  Noo!  Noo!
 ARTHUR:  No, no, no, no -- it's not that, it's 'nee'.
 BEDEMIR:  Noo!
 ARTHUR:  No, no -- 'nee'.  You're not doing it properly.
 BEDEMIR:  Noo!  Nee!
 ARTHUR:  That's it, that's it, you've got it.
 ARTHUR and BEDEMIR:  Nee!  Nee!
 ROGER:  Are you saying 'nee' to that old woman?
 ARTHUR:  Um, yes.
 ROGER:  Oh, what sad times are these when passing ruffians can
`nee' at will to old ladies.  There is a pestilence upon this land,
nothing is sacred.  Even those who arrange and design shrubberies
are under considerable economic stress at this period in history.
 ARTHUR:  Did you say `shrubberies'?
 ROGER:  Yes, shrubberies are my trade -- I am a shrubber.  My name 
   is Roger the Shrubber.  I arrange, design, and sell shrubberies.
 BEDEMIR:  Nee!
 ARTHUR:  No!  No, no, no!  No!
  Scene 19
 ARTHUR:  O, Knights of Nee, we have brought you your shrubbery. 
May we go now?
 HEAD KNIGHT:  It is a good shrubbery.  I like the laurels
particularly. But there is one small problem.
 ARTHUR:  What is that?
 HEAD KNIGHT:  We are now... no longer the Knights Who Say Nee.
 RANDOM:  Nee!
 HEAD KNIGHT:  Shh shh.  We are now the Knights Who Say
Ecky-ecky-ecky-ecky-pikang-zoom-boing-mumble-mumble.
 RANDOM:  Nee!
 HEAD KNIGHT:  Therefore, we must give you a test.
 ARTHUR:  What is this test, O Knights of-- Knights Who 'Til
Recently Said Nee?
 HEAD KNIGHT:  Firstly, you must find... another shrubbery!
     [dramatic chord]
 ARTHUR:  Not another shrubbery!
 HEAD KNIGHT:  Then, when you have found the shrubbery, you must
place it here beside this shrubbery, only slightly higher so you
get a two-level effect with a little path running down the middle.
 RANDOM:  A path!  A path!  Nee!
 HEAD KNIGHT:  Then, when you have found the shrubbery, you must
cut down the mightiest tree in the forest... with... a herring!
     [dramatic chord]
 ARTHUR:  We shall do no such thing!
 HEAD KNIGHT:  Oh, please!
 ARTHUR:  Cut down a tree with a herring?  It can't be done.
 KNIGHTS:  Aaaaugh!  Aaaugh!
 HEAD KNIGHT:  Don't say that word.
 ARTHUR:  What word?
 HEAD KNIGHT:  I cannot tell, suffice to say is one of the words  
  the Knights of Nee cannot hear.
 ARTHUR:  How can we not say the word if you don't tell us what it
is?
 KNIGHTS:  Aaaaugh!  Aaaugh!
 ARTHUR:  What, `is'?
 HEAD KNIGHT:  No, not `is' -- we couldn't get vary far in life not 
   saying `is'.
 BEDEMIR:  My liege, it's Sir Robin!
 MINSTREL (singing):  Packing it in and packing it up             
		      And sneaking away and buggering up          
		      And chickening out and pissing about        
		      Yes, bravely he is throwing in the sponge
 ARTHUR:  Oh, Robin! ROBIN:  My liege!  It's good to see you!
 KNIGHTS:  Aaaaugh!
 HEAD KNIGHT:  He said the word!
 ARTHUR:  Surely you've not given up your quest for the Holy Grail?
 MINSTREL (singing):  He is sneaking away and buggering up--
 ROBIN:  Shut up!  No, no no-- far from it.
 HEAD KNIGHT:  He said the word again!
 ROBIN:  I was looking for it.
 KNIGHTS:  Aaaaugh!
 ROBIN:  Uh, here, here in this forest.
 ARTHUR:  No, it is far from--
 KNIGHTS:  Aaaaugh!
 HEAD KNIGHT:  Aaaaugh!  Stop saying the word!
 ARTHUR:  Oh, stop it!  
 KNIGHTS:  Aaaaugh!
 HEAD KNIGHT:  Oh!  He said it again!
 ARTHUR:  Patsy!
 HEAD KNIGHT:  Aaugh!  I said it!  I said it!  Ooh!  I said it
again!
 KNIGHTS:  Aaaaugh!
  Narrative Interlude
 NARRATOR:  And so Arthur and Bedemir and Sir Robin set out on
their search to find the enchanter of whom the old man had spoken
in Scene 24.     Beyond the forest they met Launcelot and Galahad,
and there was much rejoicing.
 ALL:  Yay!  Yay!
 NARRATOR:  In the frozen land of Nador they were forced to eat
Robin's minstrels.  And there was much rejoicing.
 ALL:  Yay!
 NARRATOR:  A year passed.  Winter changed into Spring.  Spring
changed into Summer.  Summer changed back into Winter.  And Winter
gave Spring and Summer a miss and went straight on into Autumn. 
Until one day...
  Scene 20 
 ARTHUR:  Knights!  Forward!
     [boom boom boom boom BOOM boom boom boom boom]
     What manner of man are you that can summon up fire without
flint or tinder?
 TIM:  I... am an enchanter.
 ARTHUR:  By what name are you known?
 TIM:  There are some who call me... Tim?
 ARTHUR:  Greetings, Tim the Enchanter.
 TIM:  Greetings, King Arthur!
 ARTHUR:  You know my name?
 TIM:  I do.
     [zoosh]
     You seek the Holy Grail!
 ARTHUR:  That is our quest.  You know much that is hidden, O Tim.
 TIM:  Quite.
     [pweeng boom]
     [clap clap clap]
 ARTHUR:  Yes, we're, we're looking for the Grail.  Our quest is to
find the Holy Grail.
 KNIGHTS:  It is, yes, yup, yes, yeah.
 ARTHUR:  And so we're, we're, we're, we're looking for it.
 KNIGHTS:  Yes we are we are.
 BEDEMIR:  We have been for some time.
 ROBIN:  Ages.
 ARTHUR:  Uh, so, uh, anything you can do to, uh, to help, would
be... very... helpful...
 GALAHAD:  Look, can you tell us wh-
     [boom]
 ARTHUR:  Fine, um, I don't want to waste anymore of your time,
but, uh I don't suppose you could, uh, tell us where we might find
a, um, find a, uh, a, um, a uh--
 TIM:  A what...?
 ARTHUR:  A g--, a g--
 TIM:  A Grail?!
 ARTHUR:  Yes, I think so.
 KNIGHTS:  Yes, that's it.  Yes.
 TIM:  Yes!
 KNIGHTS:  Oh, thank you, splendid, fine.
     [boom pweeng boom boom]
 ARTHUR:  Look, you're a busy man, uh--
 TIM:  Yes, I can help you find the Holy Grail.
 KNIGHTS:  Oh, thank you.
 TIM:  To the north there lies a cave -- the cave of Kyre Banorg -- 
   wherein, carved in mystic runes upon the very living rock, the
last words of Ulfin Bedweer of Regett [boom] proclaim the last
resting place of the most Holy Grail.
 ARTHUR:  Where could we find this cave, O Tim?
 TIM:  Follow!  But! follow only if ye be men of valor, for the
entrance to this cave is guarded by a creature so foul, so cruel
that no man yet has fought with it and lived!  Bones of four fifty
men lie strewn about its lair. So, brave knights, if you do doubt
your courage or your strength, come no further, for death awaits
you all with nasty big pointy teeth.
 ARTHUR:  What an eccentric performance.
  Scene 21
	 [clop clop whinny]
 ???:  They're nervous, sire.
 ARTHUR:  Then we'd best leave them here and carry on on foot. 
Dis-mount!
 TIM:  Behold the cave of Kyre Banorg!
 ARTHUR:  Right!  Keep me covered.
 ???:  What with?
 ARTHUR:  Just keep me covered.
 TIM:  Too late!
     [chord]
 ARTHUR:  What?
 TIM:  There he is!
 ARTHUR:  Where?
 TIM:  There!
 ARTHUR:  What, behind the rabbit?
 TIM:  It is the rabbit!
 ARTHUR:  You silly sod!  You got us all worked up!
 TIM:  Well, that's no ordinary rabbit.  That's the most foul,
cruel, and bad-tempered rodent you ever set eyes on.
 ROBIN:  You tit!  I soiled my armor I was so scared!
 TIM:  Look, that rabbit's got a vicious streak a mile wide, it's
a killer!
 ???:  Get stuffed!
 TIM:  It'll do you a trick, mate!
 ???:  Oh, yeah?
 ROBIN:  You monkey's scot's get!
 TIM:  I'm warning you!
 ROBIN:  What's he do, nibble your bum?
 TIM:  He's got huge, sharp-- he can leap about-- look at the
bones!
 ARTHUR:  Go on, Boris.  Chop his head off!
 BORIS:  Right!  Silly little bleeder.  One rabbit stew comin'
right up!
 TIM:  Look!
     [squeak]
 BORIS:  Aaaugh!
     [chord]
 ARTHUR:  Jesus Christ!
 TIM:  I warned you!
 ROBIN:  I peed again!
 TIM:  I warned you!  But did you listen to me?  Oh, no, you knew
it all, didn't you?  Oh, it's just a harmless little bunny, isn't
it?  Well, it's always the same,  I always--
 ARTHUR:  Oh, shut up!
 TIM:  --But do they listen to me?--
 ARTHUR:  Right!
 TIM:  -Oh, no--
 KNIGHTS:  Charge!
     [squeak squeak]
 KNIGHTS:  Aaaaugh!  Aaaugh! etc.
 KNIGHTS:  Run away!  Run away!
 TIM:  Haw haw haw.  Haw haw haw.  Haw haw.
 ARTHUR:  Right.  How many did we lose?
 ???:  Gawain.
 ???:  Hector.
 ARTHUR:  And Boris.  That's five.
 GALAHAD:  Three, sir.
 ARTHUR:  Three.  Three.  And we'd better not risk another frontal 
   assault, that rabbit's dynamite.
 ROBIN:  Would it help to confuse it if we run away more?
 ARTHUR:  Oh, shut up and go and change your armor.
 GALAHAD:  Let us taunt it!  It may become so cross that it will
make a mistake.
 ARTHUR:  Like what?
 GALAHAD:  Well,....
 ARTHUR:  Have we got bows?
 ???:  No.
 LAUNCELOT:  We have the Holy Hand Grenade.
 ARTHUR:  Yes, of course!  The Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch!  'Tis
one of the sacred relics Brother Maynard carries with him!  Brother
Maynard! Bring up the Holy Hand Grenade!
     [singing]
     How does it, uh... how does it work?
 ???:  I know not, my liege.
 ???:  Consult the Book of Armaments!
 MAYNARD:  Armaments, Chapter Two, Verses Nine to Twenty-One.
 BROTHER:  "And Saint Atila raised the hand grenade up on high,
saying, 'Oh, Lord, bless this thy hand grenade that with it thou
mayest blow thy enemies to tiny bits, in thy mercy.'  And the Lord
did grin, and people did feast upon the lambs, and sloths, and
carp, and anchovies, and orangutans, and breakfast cereals, and
fruit bats, and large --"
 MAYNARD:  Skip a bit, Brother.
 BROTHER:  "And the Lord spake, saying, 'First shalt thou take out
the Holy Pin.  Then, shalt thou count to three, no more, no less. 
Three shalt be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the
counting shalt be three.  Four shalt thou not count, nor either
count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three.  Five is
right out.  Once the number three, being the third number, be
reached, then lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch towards
thou foe, who being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it.'"
 MAYNARD:  Amen.
 ALL:  Amen.
 ARTHUR:  Right!  One... two... five!
 ???:  Three, sir!
 ARTHUR:  Three!
     [boom]
  Scene 22 
 ???:  There!  Look!
 LAUNCELOT:  What does it say?
 GALAHAD:  What language is that?
 ARTHUR:  Brother Maynard, you're our scholar!
 MAYNARD:  It's Aramaic!
 GALAHAD:  Of course!  Joseph of Aramathea!
 LAUNCELOT:  Course!
 ???:  What does it say?
 MAYNARD:  It reads, 'Here may be found the last words of Joseph of 
   Aramathea.  He who is valiant and pure of spirit may find the
Holy Grail in the Castle of uuggggggh'.
 ARTHUR:  What?
 MAYNARD: '... the Castle of uuggggggh'.
 BEDEMIR:  What is that?
 MAYNARD:  He must have died while carving it.
 LAUNCELOT:  Oh, come on!
 MAYNARD:  Well, that's what it says.
 ARTHUR:  Look, if he was dying, he wouldn't bother to carve
'aaggggh'. He'd just say it!
 MAYNARD:  Well, that's what's carved in the rock!
 GALAHAD:  Perhaps he was dictating.
 ARTHUR:  Oh, shut up.  Well, does it say anything else?
 MAYNARD:  No.  Just, 'uuggggggh'.
 LAUNCELOT:  Aauuggghhh.
 ???:  Aaauggh.
 BEDEMIR:  You don't suppose he meant the Camauuuugh?
 ???:  Where's that?
 BEDEMIR:  France, I think.
 LAUNCELOT:  Isn't there a Saint Aauuuves in Cornwall?
 ARTHUR:  No, that's Saint Ives.
 LAUNCELOT:  Oh, yes.  Saint Iiiives.
 SEVERAL:  Iiiiives.
 BEDEMIR:  Oooohoohohooo!
 LAUNCELOT:  No, no, aauuuuugh, at the back of the throat. 
Aauuugh.
 BEDEMIR:  No, no, no, oooooooh, in surprise and alarm.
 LAUNCELOT:  Oh, you mean sort of a aaaagh!
 BEDEMIR:  Yes, but I-- Aaaaagh!
 ???:  Oooh!
 ???:  Oh, no!
     [roar]
 MAYNARD:  It's the legendary Black Beast of aaauuugh!
 ARTHUR:  Run away!
 ALL:  Run away!  Run away!
     [roar]
 NARRATOR:  As the horrendous Black Beast lunged forward, escape  
  for Arthur and his knights seemed hopeless.  When, suddenly, the 
   animator suffered a fatal heart attack.  [ulk]  The cartoon
peril was no more.  The Quest for Holy Grail could continue.
  Scene 23 
 ARTHUR:  There it is!  The Bridge of Death!
 ROBIN:  Oh, great.
 ???:  Look!
 ARTHUR:  There's the old man from Scene 24!
 BEDEMIR:  What is he doing here?
 ARTHUR:  He is the keeper of the Bridge of Death.  He asks each  
  traveller five questions--
 ???:  Three questions.
 ARTHUR:  Three questions.  He who answers the five questions--
 ???:  Three questions.
 ARTHUR:  Three questions may cross in safety.
 ROBIN:  What if you get a question wrong?
 ARTHUR:  Then you are cast into the Gorge of Eternal Peril.
 ROBIN:  Oh, I won't go.
 ???:  Who's going to answer the questions?
 ARTHUR:  Sir Robin!
 ROBIN:  Yes?
 ARTHUR:  Brave Sir Robin, you go.
 ROBIN:  Hey!  I've got a great idea.  Why doesn't Launcelot go?
 LAUNCELOT:  Yes, let me go, my liege.  I will take him
single-handed. I shall make a feint to the north-east--
 ARTHUR:  No, no, hang on hang on hang on!  Just answer the five  
  questions--
 ???:  Three questions.
 ARTHUR:  Three questions as best you can.  And we shall watch...
and pray.
 LAUNCELOT:  I understand, my liege.
 ARTHUR:  Good luck, brave Sir Launcelot.  God be with you.
 KEEPER:  Stop!  Who would cross the Bridge of Death must answer me 
   these questions three, 'ere the other side he see.
 LAUNCELOT:  Ask me the questions, bridge-keeper.  I'm not afraid.
 KEEPER:  What is your name?
 LAUNCELOT:  My name is Sir Launcelot of Camelot.
 KEEPER:  What is your quest?
 LAUNCELOT:  To seek the Holy Grail.
 KEEPER:  What is your favorite color?
 LAUNCELOT:  Blue.
 KEEPER:  Right.  Off you go.
 LAUNCELOT:  Oh, thank you.  Thank you very much.
 ROBIN:  That's easy!
 KEEPER:  Stop!  Who approaches the Bridge of Death must answer me 
   these questions three, 'ere the other side he see.
 ROBIN:  Ask me the questions, bridge-keeper.  I'm not afraid.
 KEEPER:  What is your name?
 ROBIN:  Sir Robin of Camelot.
 KEEPER:  What is your quest?
 ROBIN:  To seek the Holy Grail.
 KEEPER:  What is the capital of Assyria?
 ROBIN:  I don't know that!  Auuuuuuuugh!
 KEEPER:  Stop!  What is your name?
 GALAHAD:  Sir Galahad of Camelot.
 KEEPER:  What is your quest?
 GALAHAD:  I seek the Holy Grail.
 KEEPER:  What is your favorite color?
 GALAHAD:  Blue.  No yel--  Auuuuuuuugh!
 KEEPER:  Heh heh.  Stop!  What is your name?
 ARTHUR:  It is Arthur, King of the Britons.
 KEEPER:  What is your quest?
 ARTHUR:  To seek the Holy Grail.
 KEEPER:  What is the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?
 ARTHUR:  What do you mean?  An African or European swallow?
 KEEPER:  What?  I don't know that!  Auuuuuuuugh!
 BEDEMIR:  How do know so much about swallows?
 ARTHUR:  Well, you have to know these things when you're a king
you know.
  Scene 24 
 ARTHUR:  Launcelot!  Launcelot!  Launcelot!
 BEDEMIR:  Launcelot!  Launcelot!
 ARTHUR:  Launcelot!  Launcelot!
 BEDEMIR:  Launcelot!  Launcelot!
     [angels singing]
 ARTHUR:  The Castle Aggh.  Our quest is at an end!  God be
praised! Almighty God, we thank Thee that Thou hast [something]
safe [something] the most-
     [twong  baaaa]
     Jesus Christ!
 GUARD:  'Allo, daffy English kaniggets and Monsieur Arthur-King,
who is afraid of a duck, you know!  So, we French fellows out-wit
you a second time!
 ARTHUR:  How dare you profane this place with your presence!?  I
command you, in the name of the Knights of Camelot, to open the
doors of this sacred castle, to which God himself has guided us!
 GUARD:  How you English say, I one more time-a unclog my nose in
your direction, sons of a window-dresser!  So, you think you could 
out-clever us French folk with your silly knees-bent running about 
in dancing behavior! I wave my private parts at your aunties, you 
heaving lot of second hand electric donkey bottom biters.
 ARTHUR:  In the name of the Lord, we demand entrance to this
sacred castle!
 GUARD:  No chance, English bedwetting types.  I burst my pimples
at you and call your door opening request a silly thing.  You
tiny-brained wipers of other people's bottoms!
 ARTHUR:  If you do not open this door, we shall take this castle
by force!
     [splat]
     In the name of God and the glory of our--
     [splat]
     Right!  That settles it!
 GUARD:  Yes, this time and [something] any more or we fire arrows
at the tops of your heads and make castanets out of your testicles
already!  Ha ha!
 ARTHUR:  Walk away.  Just ignore them.
 GUARD:  No, remain ??? illegitimate faced buggerfuls!  And, if you
think you got nasty taunting this time, you ain't heard nothing
yet!  Daffy English kaniggets!  Thpppt!
 ARTHUR:  We shall attack at once!
 BEDEMIR:  Yes, my liege!
 ARTHUR:  Stand by for attack!
  [ ending nonsense ]


                                                                                                                                                                                                                ****   ALL THINGS DULL AND UGLY                                            ****
****   from Monty Python's Contractual Obligations Album                   ****
****   transcribed May, 1986 and uploaded to CMS January 1987              ****
****   by R. "Gumby" Preston ( KL791C@GWUVM.BITNET )                       ****
 
 
All things dull and ug-ly,
All creatures, short and squat,
All things rude and na-sty,
The Lord God made the lot.
 
Each little snake that poisons,
Each little wasp that stings,
He made their prudish venom,
He made their horrid wings.
 
All things sick and cancerous,
All evil great and small,
All things foul and dangerous,
The Lord God made them all.
 
Each nasty little hornet,
Each beastly little squid,
Who made the spiky urchin?
Who made the sharks? He did!
 
All things scant and ulcerous,
All pox both great and small,
Putrid, foul and gangrenous,
The Lord God made them all.
 
Amen.
**** The Black Knight scene from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"         ****
**** Transcribed from the film by                                          ****
**** Malcolm Dickinson ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )  on 12/16/86,            ****
**** expressly for use of the BBOARD@YALEVM Python Collection              ****
 
**** This is transcript #4 from the movie                                  ****
**** (continued from #3, PEASANT PYTHON)                                   ****
 
Arthur and his trusty servant Patsy "ride" along through the woods.
Suddenly they come apon a stream crossing where two knights are battling in a
heated duel with giant longswords.  One is dressed in green and one in black.
Arthur stops and watches the fight.
 
The two knights attempt to maul each other in many various ways and with many
different tools of medieval weaponry.  Finally, when the green knight is
charging the black with a battle axe, the black knight throws his sword
straight through the slit in the green knight's helmet.  The green knight falls
to the ground, bleeding profusely.  The black knight steps forward and pulls
his sword out of the helmet.  King Arthur, impressed with the black knight's
fighting, motions to Patsy and they "ride" forward.
 
Arthur: You fight with the strength of many men, sir knight.
        (The black knight does not respond)
Arthur: I am Arthur, king of the Britons.
        (no response)
Arthur: I seek the finest and the bravest knights in the land to join me at my
        court at Camelot.
        (no response)
Arthur: You have proved yourself worthy.  Will you join me?
        (no response)
Arthur: You make me sad.  So be it!  Come, Patsy!
 
As Arthur and Patsy start to ride past the black knight, he suddenly speaks:
 
Black Knight: NONE SHALL PASS.
Arthur:       (taken aback) What?
Black Knight: NONE SHALL PASS.
Arthur:       I have no quarrel with you, good sir knight, but I must cross
              this bridge.
Black Knight: THEN YOU SHALL DIE.
Arthur:       I *command* you, as king of the Britons, to stand aside.
Black Knight: I MOVE FOR NO MAN.
Arthur:       So be it!   (draws sword)
 
A short battle ensues, where Arthur, relatively unencumbered by armor, easily
dodges the slow and heavy strikes by the black knight.   Finally, Arthur
dodges a strike, steps aside, and cuts the black knight's left arm off with
his sword.  Blood spurts from the knight's open shoulder.
 
Arthur: Now stand aside, worthy adversary.
Black Knight: 'Tis but a scratch.
Arthur:       A SCRATCH?  Your arm's off!
Black Knight: No it isn't!
Arthur:       Well what's that then?  (pointing to the arm lying on the ground)
Black Knight: I've had worse.
Arthur:       You LIAR!
Black Knight: Come on, you pansy!
 
There follows an even shorter foray, at the end of which Arthur easily cuts
off the black knight's right arm, causing it and the black knight's sword to
drop to the ground.  Blood spatters freely from the stump.
 
Arthur:       Victory is mine!
              (kneeling, praying)  We thank thee Lord, that in thy mercy--
 
     He is kicked onto his side by the black knight.
 
Black Knight: Come on, then!  (kicks Arthur again)
Arthur:       (on the ground) What?!?
Black Knight: (kicking him again) Have at you!
Arthur:       (getting up) You are indeed brave, sir knight, but the fight
              is mine!
Black Knight: Ohhh, had enough, eh?
Arthur:       Look, you stupid bastard, you've got no arms left!
Black Knight: Yes I have!
Arthur:       LOOK!!!
Black Knight: Just a flesh wound!  (kicking Arthur again)
Arthur:       Look, STOP that!
Black Knight: Chicken!!!  Chicken!!!!!!!
Arthur:       Look, I'll have your leg!
(The Black Knight continues his kicking)
Arthur:       RIGHT! (He chops off the black knight's leg with his sword)
Black Knight: (hopping) Right!  I'll do you for that!
Arthur:       You'll *WHAT*?
Black Knight: Come 'ere!
Arthur:       (tiring of this)  What're you going to do, bleed on me?
Black Knight: I'm *INVINCIBLE*!!!
Arthur:       You're a looney....
Black Knight: The Black Knight ALWAYS TRIUMPHS!  Have at you!!
              (hopping around, trying to kick Arthur with his one remaining
              leg)
 
Arthur shrugs his shoulders and, with a mighty swing, removes the Black
Knight's last appendage.  The Knight falls to the ground.  He looks about,
realizing he can't move.
 
Arthur:       Okay, we'll call it a draw.
              Come, Pasty!  (they "ride" away)
 
Black Knight: (calling after them) Oh!  Had enough, eh?  Come back and take
              what's coming to you, you yellow bastards!!  Come back here and
              take what's coming to you!  I'll bite your legs off!
 
****  Continued in transcript #5, WITCH PYTHON                             ****
 
****  End of file KNIGHT PYTHON  12/17/86 M.M.D.                           ****
****     "I've Got Two Legs"                                               ****
****     From "Monty Python Live at the Hollywood Bowl" and                ****
****     "Live at City Center 1974"                                        ****
****     Transcribed 4/13/86 by Bret Shefter ( SHEBREB@YALEVM.BITNET )     ****
 
 
 
 
 
                Oh, I got two legs from my waist to the ground, and
                When I move 'em they walk around, and
                When I lift 'em they climb the stairs, and
                When I shave 'em they ain't got hairs!
 
                              >bang!<
 
                                urx
****    FEAR NO MAN  (Advertisement)                                       ****
****    From Monty Python's Brand New Papperbok                            ****
****    Transcribed by Evil Dondi ( R747PD17@CMCCVB.BITNET )               ****
 
 
			 FEAR NO MAN!
 
I'll make you a MASTER of LLAP-Goch, ...the Secret Welsh ART of SELF
DEFENCE that requires NO INTELLIGENCE, STRENGTH or PHYSICAL courage.  The
FANTASTIC SECRETS of the SECRET world-famous method of SELF DEFENCE, kept
secret for centuries because of their DEADLY POWER to MAIM, KILL, SMASH,
BATTER, FRACTURE, CRUSH, DISMEMBER, CRACK, DISEMBOWEL, CRIPPLE, SNAP and
HARM are now revealed to YOU in the English Language by a LLAP-GOCH
master AT HIS OWN RISK, PROVIDED you promise to MAIM, CRUSH, DISEMBOWEL
and so on ONLY in SELF DEFENCE. (This is just to cover ourselves, as you
will understand.)
 
     WHY "At his own risk?"
 
BECAUSE if his fellow masters of LLAP-GOCH DISCOVER his IDENTITY, they
will PUNISH HIM SEVERELY for revealing the DEADLY secrets he had promised
to keep SECRET, without giving them a piece of the ACTION, and also
BECAUSE of the TERRIBLE risk of PUNISHMENT he runs under the Trades
Description Act.
 
     WHAT is LLAP-GOCH?
 
IT is THE most DEADLY form OF SECRET self-DEFENCE that HAS ever been
widely advertised and available to EVERYONE.
 
     WHY ALL the CAPITALS?
 
Because THE most likely kind OF person TO answer THIS sort OF advertise-
ment HAS less trouble under-STANDING words if they ARE written in BIG
letters.
 
     WHAT is LLAP-GOCH again?
 
It is an ANCIENT Welsh ART based on a BRILLIANTLY simple I-D-E-A, which
is a SECRET.  The best form of DEFENCE is ATTACK (Clausewitz) and the
most VITAL element of ATTACK is SURPRISE (Oscar HAMMERstein).  Therefore,
the BEST way to protect yourself AGAINST any ASSAILANT is to ATTACK him
before he attacks YOU... Or BETTER... BEFORE the THOUGHT of doing so has
EVEN OCCURRED TO HIM!!!  SO YOU MAY BE ABLE TO RENDER YOUR ASSAILANT
UNCONSCIOUS BEFORE he is EVEN aware of your very existence!
 
No longer need you feel WEAK, helpless, INDECISIVE, NOT fascinating and
ASHAMED of your genital dimensions.  No more need you be out-manoeuvred
in political debate!!  GOOD BYE HUMILIATION, wisecracking bullies, Karate
experts, boxing champions, sarcastic vicars, traffic wardens; entire
panzer divisions will melt to pulp as you master every situation without
INADEQUACY.  PROTECT YOUR LOVED ONES.  You will no longer look pitiful
and spotty to your GIRL FRIENDS when you leave some unsuspecting passer-
by looking like four tins of cat food!  They will admire your MASTERY and
DECISIVENESS and LACK OF INADEQUACY and will almost certainly let you put
your HAND inside their BLOUSE out of sheer ADMIRATION.  And after seeing
more of your expert disabling they'll almost definately go to bed with
you, although obviously we can't ABSOLUTELY guarantee this, still it's
extremely likely and would make learning LLAP-GOCH really worthwhile al-
though legally we can't PROMISE anything.
 
     Why WELSH Art?
 
LLAP-GOCH was developed in Wales because for the average Welshman, the
best prospects of achieving a reasonable standard of living lie with the
acquisition of the most efficient techniques of armed robbery.
 
     HOW do I learn?
 
No, you mean "How do YOU Learn."  I know already.
 
     HOW do You Learn?
 
You receive ABSOLUTELY FREE your own special personal LLAP-GOCH Picture
Book with hundreds of PHOTOGRAPHS and just a very few plain, clear and
simple, easy to understand words.  Only a FOUR-SECOND WORK-OUT Each Day!
And you will be ready to HARM people!
 
* DEVELOP UP TO 38" BICEPS
* GROW UP TO 12" TALLER
* LOSE UP TO 40" OF FAT IN YOUR FIRST WORK-OUT!
* PROLONG YOUR LIFE BY UP TO 1,000 YEARS
* GO TO BED WITH UP TO ANY LUDICROUS NUMBER OF GIRLS YOU CARE TO THINK OF
PROVIDING YOU REALIZE THIS STATEMENT IS QUITE MEANINGLESS AS THE PHRASE
"UP TO" CLEARLY INCLUDES THE NUMBER "NOUGHT."
 
     WHAT Does it Cost?
 
This, like LLAP-GOCH, is a SECRET but you will find out sooner or later,
don't worry.  MAIL DARING HAIR-RAISING MONEY-SAVING HALF-PRICE NO-RISK
FREE-TRIAL COUPON NOW!
----------------------
O.K. Hounourable Master, I accept your daring, hair-raising, mind-
boggling, blood-curdling, no-risk, half-price, free-trial offer to reveal
the secrets of LLAP-GOCH in a plain wrapper at once.  Yes Master, I never
again want to be 'Weak In The Knees' and 'Chicken Out' and 'Wet My Pants'
when insulted and attacked.  I agree never to abuse the principles of
LLAP-GOCH or consult a lawyer.  I am over 4.  I have an extra Y chromo-
some.  Bill me later.  I understand that if I am not completely satisfied
I have been had.
NAME _________________ AGE __ ADDRESS _____________
CITY _______________ STATE ____________ ZIP _______
 
Please also enroll me under your special Car Insurance Scheme.  I under-
stand that I do not have to sign anything to make this completely binding
to me.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
****   end of file LLAPGOCH PYTHON       5/10/87                           ****
****   The Inalienable Rights scene from "Monty Python's Life of Brian"    ****
****   Transcribed 5/13/86 by Dwayne A. X. E. E. ( CS107124@YUSOL )        ****
 
 
(A huge Roman amphitheatre, sparsely attended.  REG, FRANCIS, STAN and JUDITH
 are seated in the stands.  They speak conspiratorially.)
 
Judith:  Any Anti-Imperialist group like ours must *reflect* such a
         divergence of interests within its power-base.
Reg:     Agreed.
         (General nodding.)
         Francis?
Francis: I think Judith's point of view is valid here, Reg, provided the
         Movement never forgets that it is the inalienable right of every
         man--
Stan:    Or woman.
Francis: Or woman...to rid himself--
Stan:    Or herself.
Reg:     Or herself.  Agreed.  Thank you, brother.
Stan:    Or sister.
Francis: Thank you, brother.  Or sister.  Where was I?
Reg:     I thought you'd finished.
Francis: Oh, did I?  Right.
Reg:     Furthermore, it is the birthright of every man ...
Stan:    Or woman.
Reg:     Why don't you shut up about women, Stan, you're putting us off.
Stan:    Women have a perfect right to play a part in our movement, Reg.
Francis: Why are you always on about women, Stan?
Stan:    (pause) I want to be one.
 
(pregnant pause)
 
Reg:    What?
Stan:   I want to be a woman.  From now on I want you all to call me Loretta.
Reg:    What!?
Stan:   It's my right as a man.
Judith: Why do you want to be Loretta, Stan?
Stan:   I want to have babies.
Reg:    You want to have babies?!?!?!
Stan:   It's every man's right to have babies if he wants them.
Reg:    But you can't have babies.
Stan:   Don't you oppress me.
Reg:    I'm not oppressing you, Stan -- you haven't got a womb.  Where's the
        fetus going to gestate?  You going to keep it in a box?
(Stan starts crying.)
Judith:  Here!  I've got an idea.  Suppose you agree that he can't actually
         have babies, not having a womb, which is nobody's fault, not even the
         Romans', but that he can have the *right* to have babies.
Francis: Good idea, Judith.  We shall fight the oppressors for your right to
         have babies, brother.  Sister, sorry.
Reg:     (pissed)  What's the *point*?
Francis:  What?
Reg:      What's the point of fighting for his right to have babies, when he
          can't have babies?
Francis:  It is symbolic of our struggle against oppression.
Reg:      It's symbolic of his struggle against reality.
 
*****   Here endeth Part Six of the Life of Brian (of Nazareth) *****
*****   Please send your comments, praise, complaints or        *****
*****   copyright infringement lawsuits to ...                  *****
*****   Dwayne A. X. E. E. (<CS107124@YUSOL>)                   *****
****  The Lumberjack Song                                                  ****
****  From "Monty Python's Flying Circus"                                  ****
****  Transcribed from tape 3/6/87 by                                      ****
****  Malcolm Dickinson '89 ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )                     ****
 
**** Continued from Petshop, Barber, or a variety of other Python sketches....
 
I never wanted to do this job in the first place!
I...  I wanted to be...
 
A LUMBERJACK!
 
(piano vamp)
 
Leaping from tree to tree!  As they float down the mighty rivers of
British Columbia!  With my best girl by my side!
The Larch!
The Pine!
The Giant Redwood tree!
The Sequoia!
The Little Whopping Rule Tree!
We'd sing!  Sing!  Sing!
 
 
Oh, I'm a lumberjack, and I'm okay,
I sleep all night and I work all day.
 
CHORUS:  He's a lumberjack, and he's okay,
         He sleeps all night and he works all day.
 
I cut down trees, I eat my lunch,
I go to the lava-try.
On Wednesdays I go shoppin'
And have buttered scones for tea.
 
Mounties: He cuts down trees, he eats his lunch,
          He goes to the lava-try.
          On Wednesdays 'e goes shoppin'
          And has buttered scones for tea.
 
CHORUS
 
I cut down trees, I skip and jump,
I like to press wild flowers.
I put on women's clothing,
And hang around in bars.
 
Mounties: He cuts down trees, he skips and jumps,
          He likes to press wild flowers.
          He puts on women's clothing
          And hangs around.... In bars???????
 
CHORUS
 
I chop down trees, I wear high heels,
Suspendies and a bra.
I wish I'd been a girlie
Just like my dear papa.
 
Mounties: He cuts down trees, he wears high heels
          Suspendies?? and a .... a Bra????
          (spoken, raggedly)  What's this?  Wants to be a *girlie*?  Oh, My!
          And I thought you were so rugged!  Poofter!
 
CHORUS
 
All: He's a lumberjack, and he's okaaaaaaayyy.....   (BONG)
 
Sound Cue: The Liberty Bell March, by John Phillip Sousa.
-or-
===============================================================================
 
  Dear Sir,
     I wish to complain on the stronglyest possible terms about the previous
  entry in this file about the lumberjack who wears womens' clothes.  Some of
  my best friends are lumberjacks, and only a FEW of them are transvestites.
 
                             Yours faithfully,
                             Brigadier Sir Charles Arthur Strong, Mrs.
 
  P.S.  I have never kissed the editor of the radio times.
 
 
***            end of file LUMBERJK PYTHON 3/6/87 MMD         ****
 
                         MONTY PYTHON'S

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE

                     written by and starring

                  GRAHAM CHAPMAN * JOHN CLEESE
                   TERRY GILLIAM * TERRY JONES
                    ERIC IDLE * MICHAEL PALIN

                     directed by TERRY JONES
         animation & special sequences by TERRY GILLIAM
                   produced by JOHN GOLDSTONE

First Fish: Morning.

                Second Fish: Morning.

                                Third Fish: Morning.

        Fourth Fish: Morning.

                        Third Fish: Morning.

                                First Fish: Morning.

        Second Fish: Morning.

                                Fourth Fish: What's new?

                First Fish: Not much.

                                        Fifth and Sixth Fish:
Morning.

                The Others: Morning, morning, morning.

First Fish: Frank was just asking what's new.

                Fifth Fish: Was he?

        First Fish: Yeah.  Uh huh...

                Third Fish: Hey, look.  Howard's being eaten.

Second Fish: Is he?

[They move forward to watch a waiter serving a large grilled fish
to a large man.]

                                Second Fish: Makes you think doesn't it?

                Fourth Fish: I mean... what's it all about?

                                        Fifth Fish: Beats me.

Why are we here, what is life all about?
Is God really real, or is there some doubt?
Well tonight we're going to sort it all out,
For tonight it's the Meaning of Life.

What's the point of all these hoax?
Is it the chicken and egg time, are we all just yolks?
Or perhaps, we're just one of God's little jokes,
Well ca c'est the Meaning of Life.

Is life just a game where we make up the rules
While we're searching for something to say
Or are we just simple spiralling coils
Of self-replicating DNA?

What is life?  What is our fate?
Is there Heaven and Hell?  Do we reincarnate?
Is mankind evolving or is it too late?
Well tonight here's the Meaning of Life.

For millions this life is a sad vale of tears
Sitting round with really nothing to say
While scientists say we're just simply spiralling coils
Of self-replicating DNA.

So just why, why are we here?
And just what, what, what, what do we fear?
Well ce soir, for a change, it will all be made clear,
For this is the Meaning of Life - c'est le sens de la vie -
This is the Meaning of Life.

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE
                       -------------------

                             PART I

                      THE MIRACLE OF BIRTH

[Hospital corridor. A mother-to-be is being wheeled very fast down
the corridor on a trolley, which crashes through several sets of
doors. A nurse with her slips into a consultant's room, where one
doctor is throwing beer mats through the crooked arm of another.]

First Doctor: One thousand and eight!

Nurse: Mrs Moore's contractions are more frequent, doctor.

First Doctor: Good. Take her into the foetus-frightening room.

Nurse: Right.

          [They pass through the delivery room.]

First Doctor: Bit bare in here today. isn't it?

Second Doctor: Yeees.

First Doctor: More apparatus please, nurse.

Nurse: Yes doctor.

First Doctor: Yes, the EEG, the BP monitor and the AVV, please.

Second Doctor: And get the machine that goes 'Ping'!

First Doctor: And get the most expensive machines in case the
     administrator comes.

          [Apparatus starts pouring into the room. The mother is
          lost behind various bits of equipment.]

First Doctor: That's better, that's much better.

Second Doctor: Yeeees. More like it.

First Doctor: Still something missing, though. [They think hard for
     a few moments.]

First and Second Doctors: Patient?

Second Doctor: Where's the patient?

First Doctor: Anyone seen the patient?

Second Doctor: Patient!

Nurse: Ah, here she is.

First Doctor: Bring her round.

Second Doctor: Mind the machine!

First Doctor: Come along!

Second Doctor: Jump up there. Hup!

First Doctor: Hallo! Now, don't you worry.

Second Doctor: We'll soon have you cured.

First Doctor: Leave it all to us, you'll never know what hit you.

First and Second Doctors: Goodbye, goodbye! Drips up! Injections.

Second Doctor: Can I put the tube in the baby's head?

First Doctor: Only if I can do the epesiotomy.

Second Doctor: Okay.

First Doctor: Now, legs up.

          [The legs are put in the stirrups, while the Doctors open
          the doors opposite.]

First and Second Doctors: Come on. Come on, all of you. That's it,
     jolly good. Come on. Come on. Spread round there.

          [A small horde enters, largely medical but with two
          Japanese with cameras and video equipment. The first
          doctor bumps into a man.]

First Doctor: Who are you?

Man: I'm the husband.

First Doctor: I'm sorry. only people involved are allowed in here.

          [The husband leaves.]

Mrs Moore: What do I do?

Second Doctor: Yes?

Mrs Moore: What's that for?

          [She points to a machine.]

First Doctor: That's the machine that goes 'Ping'!

          [It goes 'Ping'.]

First Doctor: You see. It means that your baby is still alive.

Second Doctor: And that's the most expensive machine in the whole
     hospital.

First Doctor: Yes, it cost over three quarters of a million pounds.

Second Doctor: Aren't you lucky!

Nurse: The administrator's here, doctor.

First Doctor: Switch everything on!

          [They do so. Everything flashes and beeps and thuds.
          Enter the administrator...]

Administrator: Morning, gentlemen.

First and Second Doctors: Morning Mr Pycroft.

Administrator: Very impressive. What are you doing this morning?

First Doctor: It's a birth.

Administrator: And what sort of thing is that?

Second Doctor: Well, that's when we take a new baby out of a lady's
     tummy.

Administrator: Wonderful what we can do nowadays. Ah! I see you
     have the machine that goes 'Ping'. This is my favourite. You
     see we lease this back to the company we sold it to. That
     way it comes under the monthly current budget and not the
     capital account. [They all applaud.] Thank you, thank you. We
     try to do our best. Well, do carry on.

          [He leaves.]

Nurse: Oh, the vulva's dilating, doctor.

First Doctor: Yes, there's the head. Yes, four centimetres, five,
     six centimetres...

First and Second Doctors: Lights! Amplify the ping machine. Masks
     up! Suction! Eyes down for a full house! Here it comes!

          [The baby arrives.]

First Doctor: And frighten it!

          [They grab the baby, hold it upside down, slap it, poke
          tubes up its nose, hose it with cold water. Then the baby
          is placed on a wooden chopping block and the umbilicus
          severed with a chopper.]

     And the rough towels!

          [It is dried with rough towels.]

     Show it to the mother.

          [It is shown to the mother.]

First and Second Doctors: That's enough! Right. Sedate her, number
     the child. Measure it, blood type it and... *isolate* it.

Nurse: OK, show's over.

Mrs Moore: Is it a boy or a girl?

First Doctor: Now I think it's a little early to start imposing
     roles on it, don't you? Now a world of advice. You may find
     that you suffer for some time a totally irrational feeling of
     depression. PND is what we doctors call it. So it's lots of
     happy pills for you, and you can find out all about the birth
     when you get home. It's available on Betamax, VHS and Super 8.

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE
                       -------------------

                      THE MIRACLE OF BIRTH

                             PART 2

                         THE THIRD WORLD

                            Yorkshire

[A northern street. Dad is marching home. We see his house. A stork
flies above it, and drops a baby down the chimney.]

Dad: Oh bloody hell.

          [Inside the house. A pregnant woman is at the sink. With
          a cry a new-born baby, complete with umbilical cord,
          drops from between her legs onto the floor.]

Mother: Get that would you, Deirdre...

Girl: All right, Mum.

          [The girl takes the baby. Mum carries on.]

          [Dad comes up to the door and pushes it open sadly.
          Inside there are at least forty children, of various
          ages, packed into the living room.]

Mum: [with tray] Whose teatime is it?

Scores of Voices: Me, mum...

Mum: Vincent, Tessa, Valerie, Janine, Martha, Andrew, Thomas,
     Walter, Pat, Linda, Michael, Evadne, Alice, Dominique, and
     Sasha... it's your bedtime!

Children: [all together] Oh, Mum!

Mum: Don't argue...  Laura, Alfred, Nigel, Annie, Simon, Amanda...

Dad: Wait...

          [They all listen.]

     I've got something to tell the whole family.

          [All stop... A buzz of excitement.]

Mum: [to her nearest son] Quick... go and get the others in,
     Gordon!

          [Gordon goes out.  Another twenty or so children enter
          the room.  They squash in at the back as best they can.]

Dad: The mill's closed. There's no more work, we're destitute.

          [Lots of cries of 'Oh no!'... 'Cripes'... 'Heck'... from
          around the room.]

     I've got no option but to sell you all for scientific
     experiments. [The children protest with heart-rending pleas.]
     No no, that's the way it is my loves... Blame the Catholic
     church for not letting me wear one of those little rubber
     things... Oh they've done some wonderful things in their time,
     they preserved the might and majesty, even the mystery of the
     Church of Rome, the sanctity of the sacrament and the
     indivisible oneness of the Trinity, but if they'd let me wear
     one of the little rubber things on the end of my cock we
     wouldn't be in the mess we are now.

Little Boy: Couldn't Mummy have worn some sort of pessary?

Dad: Not if we're going to remain members of the fastest growing
     religion in the world, my boy... You see, we believe... well,
     let me put it like this...
     [sings]

     There are Jews in the world,
     There are Buddhists,
     There are Hindus and Mormons and then,
     There are those that follow Mohammed,
     But I've never been one of them...

     I'm a Roman Catholic,
     And have been since before I was born,
     And the one thing they say about Catholics,
     Is they'll take you as soon as you're warm...

     You don't have to be a six-footer,
     You don't have to have a great brain,
     You don't have to have any clothes on -
     You're a Catholic the minute Dad came...

     Because...

     Every sperm is sacred,
     Every sperm is great,
     If a sperm is wasted,
     God gets quite irate.

Children: Every sperm is sacred,
     Every sperm is great,
     If a sperm is wasted,
     God gets quite irate.

Child: [solo] Let the heathen spill theirs,
     On the dusty ground,
     God shall make them pay for,
     Each sperm that can't be found.

Children: Every sperm is wanted,
     Every sperm is good,
     Every sperm is needed,
     In your neighbourhood.

Mum: [solo] Hindu, Taoist, Mormon,
     Spill theirs just anywhere,
     But God loves those who treat their
     Semen with more care.

Men neighbours: [peering out of toilets]
     Every sperm is sacred,
     Every sperm is great,

Women neighbours: [on wall]
     If a sperm is wasted,

Children: God get quite irate.

Priest: [in church] Every sperm is sacred,

Bride and Groom: Every sperm is good.

Nannies: Every sperm is needed.

Cardinals: [in prams] In your neighbourhood!

Children: Every sperm is useful,
     Every sperm is fine,

Funeral Cortege: God needs everybody's,

First Mourner: Mine!

Lady Mourner: And mine!

Corpse: And mine!

Nun: [solo] Though the pagans spill theirs,
     O'er mountain, hill and plain,

Various artefacts in a Roman Catholic Souvenir Shop:
     God shall strike them down for
     Each sperm that's spilt in vain.

Everybody: Every sperm is sacred,
     Every sperm is good,
     Every sperm is needed,
     In your neighbourhood.

Even more than everybody, including two fire-eaters, a juggler, a
clown at a piano and a stilt-walker riding a bicycle:
     Every sperm is sacred,
     Every sperm is great,
     If a sperm is wasted,
     God gets quite irate.

          [Everybody cheers (including the fire-eaters, the
          juggler, the clown at the piano and the stilt-walker
          riding the bicycle). Fireworks go off, a Chinese dragon
          is brought on and flags of all nations are unfurled
          overhead.]

          [Back inside.]

Dad: So you see my problem, little ones... I can't keep you here
     any longer.

Shout from the back: Speak up!

Dad: [raising his voice] I can't keep you here any longer... God
     has blessed us so much that I can't afford to feed you
     anymore.

Boy: Couldn't you have your balls cut off...?

Dad: It's not as simple as that Nigel... God knows all... He would
     see through such a cheap trick. What we do to ourselves, we do
     to Him...

Voice: You could have them pulled off in an accident?

          [Other voices suggest ways his balls can be removed.]

Dad: No... no... children... I know you're trying to help but
     believe me, my mind's made up. I've given this long and
     careful thought. And it's medical experiments for the lot of
     you...

          [The children emerge singing a melancholy reprise of
          'Every Sperm is Sacred.']

          [They are being watched from another Northern house.]

Mr Blackitt: Look at them, bloody Catholics. Filling the bloody
     world up with bloody people they can't afford to bloody feed.

Mrs Blackitt: What are we dear?

Mr Blackitt: Protestant, and fiercely proud of it...

Mrs Blackitt: Why do they have so many children...?

Mr Blackitt: Because every time they have sexual intercourse they
     have to have a baby.

Mrs Blackitt: But it's the same with us, Harry.

Mr Blackitt: What d'you mean...?

Mrs Blackitt: Well I mean we've got two children and we've had
     sexual intercourse twice.

Mr Blackitt: That's not the point... We *could* have it any time we
     wanted.

Mrs Blackitt: Really?

Mr Blackitt: Oh yes. And, what's more, because we don't believe in
     all that Papist claptrap we can take precautions.

Mrs Blackitt: What, you mean lock the door...?

Mr Blackitt: No no, I mean, because we are members of the
     Protestant Reformed Church which successfully challenged the
     autocratic power of the Papacy in the mid-sixteenth century,
     we can wear little rubber devices to prevent issue.

Mrs Blackitt: What do you mean?

Mr Blackitt: I could, if I wanted, have sexual intercourse with
     you...

Mrs Blackitt: Oh, yes... Harry...

Mr Blackitt: And by wearing a rubber sheath over my old feller I
     could ensure that when I came off... you would not be
     impregnated.

Mrs Blackitt: Ooh!

Mr Blackitt: That's what being a Protestant's all about. That's
     why it's the church for me. That's why it's the church for
     anyone who respects the  individual and the individual's right
     to decide for him or herself. When Martin Luther nailed his
     protest up to the church door in 1517, he may not have
     realised the full significance of what he was doing. But four
     hundred years later, thanks to him, my dear, I can wear
     whatever I want on my John Thomas. And Protestantism doesn't
     stop at the simple condom. Oh no! I can wear French Ticklers
     if I want.

Mrs Blackitt: You what?

Mr Blackitt: French Ticklers... Black Mambos... Crocodile Ribs...
     Sheaths that are designed not only to protect but also to
     enhance the stimulation of sexual congress...

Mrs Blackitt: Have you got one?

Mr Blackitt: Have I got one? Well no... But I can go down the road
     any time I want and walk into Harry's and hold my head up
     high, and say in a loud steady voice: 'Harry I want you to
     sell me a *condom*. In fact today I think I'll have a French
     Tickler, for I am a Protestant...'

Mrs Blackitt: Well why don't you?

Mr Blackitt: But they... [He points at the stream of children still
     pouring past the house.]... they cannot. Because their church
     never made the great leap out of the Middle Ages, and the
     domination of alien episcopal supremacy!

                        the Adventures of

                             MARTIN
                             LUTHER
                               in

                         Reform-O-Scope

                          presented by
               The Protestant Film Marketing Board
                       in association with
                 Sol. C. Ziegler, Andy Rotbeiner
                    and the people of Beirut

                             GERMANY
                 in the grip of the 16th century

An exciting and controversial examination of the Protestant
reformer whose re-assessment of the role of the individual in
Christian belief shook the foundations of a post-feudal Germany in
the grip of the sixteenth century.

It was a day much like any other in the quiet little town of
Wittenberg. Mamie Meyer was preparing fat for the evening meal when
the full force of the Reformation struck.

          [A woman and two rather plain daughters are sitting
          outside their house with bowls. A man arrives
          breathless.]

Hymie: Mamie! Martin Luther's out!

          [Consternation amongst the womenfolk.]

Mamie: Oh! Martin Luther!

          [She hurries her daughters inside.]

     Did you get the suet, Hymie?

Hymie: Oy vay - the suet I clean forgot!

Mamie: The suet you forgot!

Hymie: The lard, the fish oil, the butter fat, the dripping, the
     wool grease I remember... [Hands over the shopping]... but the
     suet... oy vay...

Mamie: [pointing to his head] So what'd keep up there? Adipose
     tissue?

Hymie: Look out! Here he comes.

          [Mamie goes inside shouting.]

Mamie: Girls, girls! Your father forgot the suet!

          [Groans from the girls inside.]

          [Martin Luther is at the gate. His ears prick up at the
          female voices. His eyes flick from side to side.]

Hymie: Hallo Martin.

Martin Luther: Where's the john?

Hymie: We don't have one.

Martin Luther: No john? What d'you do?

Hymie: We eat fat.

Martin Luther: And that stops you going to the john?

Hymie: It's a theory.

Martin Luther: Yeah, but does it work?

Hymie: We ain't got no john.

Martin Luther: Yeah, but d'you need to go?

Hymie: You know how it is with theories - some days it's fine...
     maybe one, two... three days... and then just when it looks
     like you're ready for to publish... [Expression of resignation
     and disgust.]... Whoosh! You need a new kitchen floor.

Martin Luther: Oh you should be so lucky!

          [A girl's laugh from inside. Martin Luther looks up -
          alert.]

Martin Luther: D'you need any cleaning inside?

Hymie: Oh no... today it's all going fine.

Martin Luther: Oh well, how's about showing me the cutlery?

Hymie: Martin - I got a woman and children in there.

Martin Luther: So there's no problem... I just look at a few
     spoons... and...

          [Martin Luther starts to go in. Hymie stops him.]

Hymie: I got two girls in there, Martin... you know what I mean.

Martin Luther: Honest! I don't look at your girls! I don't even
     think about them! There! I put them out of my mind! Their
     arms, their necks... their little legs... and bosoms... I
     *wipe* from my mind.

Hymie: You just want to see spoons?

Martin Luther: My life! That's what I want to see.

Hymie: I know I'm going to regret this.

Martin Luther: No, listen! Cutlery is really my thing now. Girls
     with round breasts is over for me.

Hymie: What am I doing? I know what's going to happen.

Martin Luther: I'll crouch behind you.

          [He goes in. Martin Luther follows, crouching.]

Hymie: Mamie! Guess who's come to see us!

Mamie: Hymie! Are you out of your mind already? You know how old
     your daughters are?

Hymie: He only wants to see the spoons.

Mamie: What you have to bring him into my house for?

Hymie: Mamie, he doesn't even think about girls any more.

Martin Luther: Mrs Meyer - as far as girls is concerned, I shot my
     wad!

Mamie: You shot your *wad*?

Martin Luther: Def - in - ately...

          [Pause.]

Mamie: Which spoons you wanna view?

Martin Luther: Eh... [shrugs]... I guess the soup spoons...

Mamie: [suddenly interested] Ah! Now they're good spoons.

Martin Luther: You got them arranged?

Mamie: No, but I could arrange them for you.

Martin Luther: Don't put yourself to no bother, Mrs Meyer.

Mamie: It's no bother... I want for you to see those spoons like I
     would want to see them myself.

Martin Luther: Oh you're too kind, Mrs Meyer... You could get your
     daughters to show me them...

Mamie: Hymie get him out of here.

Hymie: Mamie, he only said for Myrtle and Audrey to show him the
     *spoons*.

Mamie: Like you think I run some kind of bordello here...

Martin Luther: Mrs Meyer! How can you say such a thing?

Mamie: Listen Martin Luther! I know what you want to do with my
     girls!

Martin Luther: Show me the spoons...

Mamie: You want for them to pull up their shirts and then lean over
     the chair with their legs apart...

Hymie: Mamie don't get excited...

Mamie: I'm getting excited? It's him that's getting excited!

Martin Luther: My mind is on the spoons.

Mamie: But you can't stop thinking of those little girls over the
     chairs.

          [Luther is struggling with himself.]

Hymie: I got to go to the bathroom.

Mamie: [grabs him] Hymie! I'm a married woman!

Hymie: So... just show him the spoons.

          [Hymie goes.]

Mamie: And you don't want to put nothing up me?

Martin Luther: Mrs Meyer - you read my mind.

Mamie: Oh...

          [They go out discreetly.]

But despite the efforts of Protestants to promote the idea of sex
for pleasure, children continued to multiply everywhere.

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE
                       -------------------

                             PART II

                       GROWTH AND LEARNING

[A school chapel.]

Headmaster: And spotteth twice they the camels before the third
     hour. And so the Midianites went forth to Ram Gilead in Kadesh
     Bilgemath by Shor Ethra Regalion, to the house of 
     Gash-Bil-Betheul-Bazda, he who brought the butter dish to 
     Balshazar and the tent peg to the house of Rashomon, and there 
     slew they the goats, yea, and placed they the bits in little 
     pots. Here endeth the lesson.

          [The Headmaster closes the Bible. the Chaplain rises.]

Chaplain: Let us praise God. Oh Lord...

Congregation: Oh Lord...

Chaplain: Oooh you are so big...

Congregation: Oooh you are so big...

Chaplain: So absolutely huge.

Congregation: So ab - solutely huge.

Chaplain: Gosh, we're all really impressed down here I can tell
     you.

Congregation: Gosh, we're all really impressed down here I can tell
     you.

Chaplain: Forgive Us, O Lord, for this dreadful toadying.

Congregation: And barefaced flattery.

Chaplain: But you are so strong and, well, just so super.

Congregation: Fan - tastic.

Headmaster: Amen. Now two boys have been found rubbing linseed oil
     into the school cormorant. Now some of you may feel that the
     cormorant does not play an important part in the life of the
     school but I remind you that it was presented to us by the
     Corporation of the town of Sudbury to commemorate Empire Day,
     when we try to remember the names of all those from the
     Sudbury area so gallantly gave their lives to keep China
     British. So from now on the cormorant is strictly out of
     bounds. Oh... and Jenkins... apparently your mother died this
     morning. [He turns to the Chaplain.] Chaplain.

          [The congregation rises and the Chaplain leads them in
          singing.]

Chaplain and Congregation:
     Oh Lord, please don't burn us,
     Don't grill or toast your flock,
     Don't put us on the barbecue,
     Or simmer us in stock,
     Don't braise or bake or boil us,
     Or stir-fry us in a wok...

     Oh please don't lightly poach us,
     Or baste us with hot fat,
     Don't fricassee or roast us,
     Or boil us in a vat,
     And please don't stick thy servants Lord,
     In a Rotissomat...

          [A classroom. The boys are sitting quietly studying.]

Boy: He's coming!

          [Pandemonium breaks out. The Headmaster walks in.]

Headmaster: All right, settle down, settle down. [He puts his
     papers down.] Now before I begin the lesson will those of you
     who are playing in the match this afternoon move your clothes
     down on to the lower peg immediately after lunch before you
     write your letter home, if you're not getting your hair cut,
     unless you've got a younger brother who is going out this
     weekend as the guest of another boy, in which case collect his
     note before lunch, put it in your letter after you've had your
     hair cut, and make sure he moves your clothes down onto the
     lower peg for you. Now...

Wymer: Sir?

Headmaster: Yes, Wymer?

Wymer: My younger brother's going out with Dibble this weekend,
     sir, but I'm not having my hair cut today sir, so do I move my
     clothes down or...

Headmaster: I do wish you'd listen, Wymer, it's perfectly simple.
     If you're not getting your hair cut, you don't have to move
     your brother's clothes down to the lower peg, you simply
     collect his note before lunch after you've done your scripture
     prep when you've written your letter home before rest, move
     your own clothes on to the lower peg, greet the visitors, and
     report to Mr Viney that you've had your chit signed. Now,
     sex... sex, sex, sex, where were we?

          [Silence from form. A lot of hard thinking of the type
          indulged by schoolboys who know they don't know the
          answer.]

     Well, had I got as far as the penis entering the vagina?

Pupils: Er... er... no sir. No we didn't, sir.

Headmaster: Well had I done foreplay?

Pupils: ...Yes sir.

Headmaster: Well, as we all know about foreplay no doubt you can
     tell me what the purpose of foreplay is... Biggs.

Biggs: Don't know, sorry sir.

Headmaster: Carter.

Carter: Er... was it taking your clothes off, sir?

Headmaster: And after that?

Wymer: Putting them on the lower peg sir?

          [Headmaster throws a board duster at him and hits him.]

Headmaster: The purpose of foreplay is to cause the vagina to
     lubricate so that the penis can penetrate more easily.

Watson: Could we have a window open please sir?

Headmaster: Yes... Harris will you?... And, of course, to cause the
     man's penis to erect and har...den. Now, did I do vaginal
     juices last week oh do pay attention Wadsworth, I know it's
     Friday afternoon oh watching the football are you boy - right
     move over there. I'm warning you I may decide to set an
     exam this term.

Pupils: Oh sir...

Headmaster: So just listen... now did I or did I not do vaginal
     juices?

Pupils: Yes sir.

Headmaster: Name two ways of getting them flowing, Watson.

Watson: Rubbing the clitoris, sir.

Headmaster: What's wrong with a kiss, boy? Hm? Why not start her
     off with a nice kiss? You don't have to go leaping straight
     for the clitoris like a bull at a gate. Give her a kiss, boy.

Wymer: Suck the nipple, sir.

Headmaster: Good. Good. Good, well done, Wymer.

Duckworth: Stroking the thighs, sir.

Headmaster: Yes, I suppose so.

Another: Bite the neck.

Headmaster: Good. Nibbling the ear. Kneading the buttocks, and so
     on and so forth. So we have all these possibilities before we
     stampede towards the clitoris, Watson.

Watson: Yes sir. Sorry sir.

Headmaster: All these form of stimulation can now take place.

          [The Headmaster pulls the bed down.]

     ... And of course tongueing will give you the best idea of how
     the juices are coming along. [Calls.] Helen... Now penetration
     and coitus, that is to say intercourse up to and including
     orgasm.

          [Mrs Williams has entered.]

     Ah hallo, dear.

          [The pupils have shuffled more or less to their feet.]

     *Do* stand up when my wife enters the room, Carter.

Carter: Oh sorry, sir. Sorry.

Mrs Williams: Humphrey, I hope you don't mind, but I told the
     Garfields we *would* dine with them tonight.

Headmaster: [starting to disrobe] Yes, yes, I suppose we must...

Mrs Williams: [taking off her clothes] I said we'd be there by

     eight.

Headmaster: Well at least it'll give me a reason to wind up the
     staff meeting.

Mrs Williams: Well I know you don't like them but I couldn't make
     another excuse.

Headmaster: [he's got his shirt off] Well it's just that I felt -
     Wymer. This is for your benefit. Will you kindly wake up. I've
     no intention of going through this all again. [The boys are no
     more interested than they were in the last lesson on the
     Binomial Theorem, though they pretend, as usual.] Now we'll
     take the foreplay as read, if you don't mind, dear.

Mrs Williams: No of course not, Humphrey.

Headmaster: So the man starts by entering, or mounting his good
     lady wife in the standard way. The penis is now as you will
     observe more or less fully erect. There we are. Ah that's
     better. Now... Carter.

Carter: Yes sir.

Headmaster: What is it?

Carter: It's an ocarina... sir.

Headmaster: Bring it up here. The man now starts making thrusting
     movements with his pelvic area, moving the penis up and down
     inside the vagina so... put it there boy, put it there... on
     the table... while the wife maximizes her clitoral stimulation
     by the shaft of the penis by pushing forward, thank you
     dear... now as sexual excitement mounts... what's funny Biggs?

Biggs: Oh, nothing sir.

Headmaster: Oh do please share your little joke with the rest of
     us... I mean, obviously something frightfully funny's going
     on...

Biggs: No, honestly, sir.

Headmaster: Well as it's so funny I think you'd better be selected
     to play for the boys' team in the rugby match against the
     masters this afternoon.

Biggs: [looks horrified] Oh no, sir.

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE
                       -------------------

                            PART III

                       FIGHTING EACH OTHER

Biggs: [now a soldiers-in-arms] O.K. Blackitt, Sturridge and
     Walters you take the buggers on the left flank. Hordern,
     Spadger and I will go for the gunpost.

Blackitt: [a Deptford Cockney] Hang on, you'll never make it,
     sir... Let us come with you... 

Biggs: Do as you're told man.

Blackitt: Righto, skipper. [He starts to go, then stops.] Oh, sir,
     sir... if we... if we don't meet again... sir, I'd just like
     to say it's been a real privilege fighting alongside you,
     sir...

          [They are continually ducking as bullets fly past them
          and shells burst overhead.]

Biggs: Yes, well I think this is hardly the time or place for a
     goodbye speech... eh...

          [Biggs is clearly anxious to go.]

Blackitt: No, me, and the lads realise that but... well... we may
     never meet again, sir, so...

Biggs: All right, Blackitt, thanks a lot.

Blackitt: No just a mo, sir! You see me and the lads had a little
     whip-round, sir, and we bought you something, sir... we bought
     you this, sir...

          [He produces a handsome ormolu clock from his pack. Biggs
          is at a loss for words. He is continually ducking.]

Biggs: Well, I don't know what to say... It's a lovely thought...
     thank you... thank you *all*... but I think we'd better... get
     to cover now...

          [He starts to go.]

Blackitt: Hang on a tick, sir, we got something else for you as
     well, sir.

          [Two of the others emerge from some bushes with a
          grandfather clock.]

     Sorry it's another clock, sir... only there was a bit of a
     mix-up... Walters thought *he* was buying the present, and
     Spadger and I had already got the other one.

Biggs: Well it's beautiful... they're both beau -

          [A bullet suddenly shatters the face of the grandfather
          clock.]

     ... But I think we'd better get to cover now, and I'll thank
     you properly later...

          [Biggs starts to go again but Blackitt hasn't finished.]

Blackitt: And Corporal Sturridge got this for you as well, sir. He
     didn't know about the others, sir - it's Swiss.

          [He hands over a wristwatch.]

Biggs: Well now that is thoughtful, Sturridge. Good man.

          [A shell bursts right overhead. Biggs flings himself down
          into the mud.]

Blackitt: And there's a card, sir... from all of us... [He produces
     a blood-splattered envelope.]... Sorry about the blood, sir.

Biggs: Thank you all.

          [He pockets it and tries to go on.]

Blackitt: Squad, three cheers for Captain Biggs. Hip Hip -

All: Hooray!

Blackitt: Hip Hip -

All: Hoor...

          [An almighty burst of machine-gun fire silences most of
          them... Blackitt is hit.]

Biggs: Blackitt! Blackitt!

Blackitt: [hurt] Ah! I'll be all right, sir... Oh there's just one
     other thing, sir. Spadge, give him the cheque...

Spadger: Oh yeah...

Biggs: Oh now this is really going to far...

Spadger: I don't seem to be able to find it, sir... [Explosion.]
     Er, it'll be in Number Four trench... I'll go and get it. [He
     starts to crawl off.]

Biggs: [losing his cool] Oh! For Christ's sake forget it, man.

          [The others all look at Biggs after this outburst, as if
          they can't believe this ingratitude.]

Blackitt: Oh! Ah!

Spadger: You shouldn't have said that, sir. You've hurt his
     feelings now...

Blackitt: Don't mind me, Spadge... Toffs is all the same... One
     minute it's all 'please' and 'thank you', the next they'll
     kick you in the teeth...

Walters: Let's not give him the cake...

Biggs: I don't want *any* cake...

Spadger: Look, Blackitt cooked it specially for you, you bastard.

          [They all look at Blackitt rolling in the mud.]

Sturridge: Yeah, he saved his rations for six weeks.

Biggs: I'm sorry, I don't mean to be ungrateful...

Blackitt: I'll be all right.

          [Shell crashes. Blackitt dies.]

Spadger: Blackie! Blackie! [He turns to Biggs with tears in his
     eyes.] Look at him... [He pulls up the supine form of
     Blackitt.] He worked on that cake like no-one else I've ever
     known. [He props him in the mud again.] Some nights it was so
     cold we could hardly move, but Blackie'd de out there -
     slicing lemons, mixing the sugar and the almonds... I mean you
     try getting butter melted at fifteen below zero! There's love
     in that cake... [He picks up Blackitt again.] This man's love
     and this man's care and this man's - Aarggh!
     [He gets shot.]

     [Biggs runs over to them in horror.]

Biggs: Oh my Christ!

Sturridge: You bastard.

Biggs: All right! All right! We will eat the cake. They're right...
     it's too good a cake not to eat. get the plates and knives,
     Walters...

Walters: Yes, sir... how many plates?

Biggs: Six.

          [A shot rings out. Walters drops dead.]

Biggs: Er... no... better make it five.

Sturridge: Tablecloth, sir...?

Biggs: Yes, get the tablecloth...!

          [Explosion. Sturridge gets shot.]

Biggs: No no no, I'll get the tablecloth and you'd better get the
     gate-leg table, Hordern.

          [Hordern is shot in the leg.]

Hordern: I'll bring two sir, in case one gets scrumpled...

          [Suddenly we find this has all been a film, which a
          General now stops.]

General: Well, of course, warfare isn't all fun. Right, stop that.
     It's all very well to laugh at the Military, but when one
     considers the meaning of life it is a struggle between
     alternative viewpoints of life itself. And without the
     ability to defend one's own viewpoint against other perhaps
     more aggressive ideologies then reasonableness and moderation
     could quite simply disappear. That is why we'll always need an
     army and may God strike me down were it to be otherwise.

          [The Hand of god descends and vaporizes him.]

          [The audience of two old ladies and two kids applauds
          hesitantly.]

          [Outside the hut RSM Whateverhisnameis is drilling a
          small squad of recruits.]

RSM: Don't stand there gawping like you've never seen the Hand of
     God before. Now! Today we're going to do marching up and down
     the square. That is unless any of you got anything better to
     do? Well, anyone got anything they'd rather be doing than
     marching up and down the square?

          [Atkinson puts his hand up.]

     Yes? Atkinson? What would you rather be doing, Atkinson?

Atkinson: Well to be quite honest, Sarge, I'd rather be at home
     with the wife and kids.

RSM: Would you now?

Atkinson: Yes, sarge.

RSM: Right off you go. [Atkinson goes.] Now, everybody else happy
     with my little plan of marching up and down the square a bit?

Coles: Sarge...

RSM: Yes?

Coles: I've got a book I'd quite like to read...

RSM: Right! You go read your book then! [Coles runs off.] Now
     everybody else quite content to join in with my little scheme
     of marching hup and down the square?

Wycliff: Sarge?

RSM: Yes, Wycliff, what is it?

Wycliff: [tentatively] Well... I'm... er... learning the piano...

RSM: [with contempt] 'Learning the piano'?

Wycliff: Yes, sarge...

RSM: And I suppose you want to go and practise eh? Marching up and
     down the square not good enough for you, eh?

Wycliff: Well...

RSM: Right! Off you go! [Turns to the rest.] Now what about the
     rest of you? Rather be at the pictures I suppose.

Squad: Ooh, yes, ooh rather.

RSM: All right off you go. [They go.] Bloody army! I don't know
     what it's coming to... Right, Sgt Major, marching up and down
     the square... Left-right-left... left... left... 
     left-right-left...

          [The RSM marches himself off into the distance of the
          barracks square.]

Democracy and humanitarianism have always been tarde marks of the
British Army and have stamped its triumph throughout history, in
the furthest-flung corners of the Empire. But no matter where or
when there was fighting to be done, it has always been the calm
leadership of the officer class that has made the British Army what
it is.

                       The First Zulu War.

                    Natal 1879 (not Glasgow)

          [Inside a tent.]

Pakenham-Walsh: Morning Ainsworth.

Ainsworth: Morning Pakenham-Walsh.

Pakenham-Walsh: Sleep well?

Ainsworth: Not bad. Bitten to shreds though. Must be a hole in the
     bloody mosquito net.

Pakenham-Walsh: Yes, savage little blighters aren't they?

First Lieut Chadwick: [arriving] Excuse me, sir.

Ainsworth: Yes Chadwick?

Chadwick: I'm afraid Perkins got rather badly bitten during the
     night.

Ainsworth: Well so did we. Huh.

Chadwick: Yes, but I do think the doctor ought to see him.

Ainsworth: Well go and fetch him, then.

Chadwick: Right you are, sir.

Ainsworth: Suppose I'd better go along. Coming, Pakenham?

Pakenham-Walsh: Yes I suppose so.

          [Chadwick leaves. Ainsworth and Pakenham-Walsh thread
          their leisurely way through the line of assegais.
          Pakenham-Walsh's valet is speared by a Zulu warrior but
          Pakenham-Walsh valiantly saves his jacket from the mud.
          They enter Perkins's tent. Perkins is on his camp bed.]

Ainsworth: Ah! Morning Perkins.

Perkins: Morning sir.

Ainsworth: What's all the trouble then?

Perkins: Bitten sir. During the night.

Ainsworth: Hm. Whole leg gone eh?

Perkins: Yes.

          [As they talk, the din of battle continues outside.
          Screams of dying men, crackling of tents set on fire.]

Ainsworth: How's it feel?

Perkins: Stings a bit.

Ainsworth: Mmm. Well it would, wouldn't it. That's quite a bite
     you've got there you know.

Perkins: Yes, real beauty isn't it?

All: Yes.

Ainsworth: Any idea how it happened?

Perkins: None at all. Complete mystery to me. Woke up just now...
     one sock too many.

Pakenham-Walsh: You must have a hell of a hole in your net.

Ainsworth: Hm. We've sent for the doctor.

Perkins: Ooh, hardly worth it, is it?

Ainsworth: Oh yes... better safe than sorry.

Pakenham-Walsh: Yes, good Lord, look at this.

          [He indicates a gigantic hole in the mosquito net.]

Ainsworth: By jove, that's enormous.

Pakenham-Walsh: You don't think it'll come back, do you?

Ainsworth: For more, you mean?

Pakenham-Walsh: Yes.

Ainsworth: You're right. We'd better get this stitched.

Pakenham-Walsh: Right.

Ainsworth: Hallo Doc.

Livingstone: [entering the tent with Chadwick] Morning. I came as
     fast as I could. Is something up?

Ainsworth: Yes, during the night old Perkins had his leg bitten
     sort of... off.

Livingstone: Ah hah!? Been in the wars have we?

Perkins: Yes.

Livingstone: Any headache, bowels all right? Well, let's have a
     look at this one leg of yours then. [Looks around under sheet]
     Yes... yes... yes... yes... yes... yes... well, this is
     nothing to worry about.

Perkins: Oh good.

Livingstone: There's a lot of it about, probably a virus, keep
     warm, plenty of rest, and if you're playing football or
     anything try and favour the other leg.

Perkins: Oh right ho.

Livingstone: Be as right as rain in a couple of days.

Perkins: Thanks for the reassurance, doc.

Livingstone: Not at all, that's what I'm here for. Any other
     problems I can reassure you about?

Perkins: No I'm fine.

Livingstone: Jolly good. Well, must be off.

Perkins: So it'll just grow back then, will it?

Livingstone: Er... I think I'd better come clean with you about
     this... it's... um it's not a virus, I'm afraid. You see, a
     virus is what we doctors call very very small. So small it
     could not possibly have made off with a whole leg. What we're
     looking for here is I think, and this is no more than an
     educated guess, I'd like to make that clear, is some 
     multi-cellular life form with stripes, huge razor-sharp teeth,
     about eleven foot long and of the genu *felis horribilis*.
     What we doctors, in fact, call a tiger.

All in tent: A tiger...!!

          [Outside, everyone engaged in battle, including the
          Zulus, breaks off and shouts in horror:]

All: A tiger!

          [The Zulus run off.]

Pakenham-Walsh: A tiger - in Africa?

Ainsworth: Hm...

Pakenham-Walsh: A tiger in Africa...?

Ainsworth: Ah... well it's probably escaped from a zoo.

Pakenham-Walsh: Well it doesn't sound very likely.

Ainsworth: [quietly] Stumm, stumm...

          [A severely-wounded Sergeant staggers into the tent.]

Sergeant: Sir, sir, the attack's over, sir! the Zulus are
     retreating.

Ainsworth: [dismissively] Oh jolly good. [He turns his back to the
     group around Perkins.]

Sergeant: Quite a lot of casualties though, sir. C Division wiped
     out. Signals gone. Thirty men killed in F Section. I should
     think about a hundred - a hundred and fifty men altogether.

Ainsworth: [not very interested] Yes, yes I see, yes... Jolly good.

Sergeant: I haven't got the final figures, sir. There's a lot of
     seriously wounded in the compound...

Ainsworth: [interrupting] Yes... well, the thing is, Sergeant, I've
     got a bit of a problem here. [With gravity.] One of the
     officers has lost a leg.

Sergeant: [stunned by the news] Oh *no*, sir!

Ainsworth: [gravely] I'm afraid so. Probably a tiger.

Sergeant: In Africa?

Ainsworth and Pakenham-Walsh: Stumm, stumm...

Ainsworth: The M.O. says we can stitch it back on if we find it
     immediately.

Sergeant: Right sir! I'll organise a party right away, sir!

Ainsworth: Well it's hardly time for that, is it Sergeant...?

Sergeant: A search party...

Ainsworth: Ah! *Much* better idea. I'll tell you what, organise one
     straight away.

Sergeant: Yes sir!

          [Outside dead British bodies (of the other ranks) are
          everywhere.]

Sergeant: [apologetically] Sorry about the mess, sir. We'll try and
     get it cleared up, by the time you get back.

          [They walk through the carnage. Orderlies are cheerfully
          attending to the equally cheery wounded and the only
          slightly less cheery dead.]

A dying man: [covered in blood] We showed 'em, didn't we, sir?

Ainsworth: Yes.

          [He gives a thumbs up and dies.]

Sergeant: [addressing a soldier who is giving water to a dying man]
     We've got to get a search party, leave that alone.

Another cheery cockney: [with an assegai sticking out of his chest]
     This is fun, sir, init... all this killing... bloodshed...
     bloody good fun sir, init?

Ainsworth: [abstracted] Yes... very good.

          [He waves and moves on.]

A severed head: Morning, sir!

Ainsworth: Nasty wound you've got there, Potter.

Severed head: [cheerily] Thank you very much sir!

Ainsworth: Come on private - we're making up a search party.

Another terrible casualty: Better than staying at home, eh sir! At
     home if you kill someone they arrest you. Here they give you
     a gun, and show you what to do, sir. I mean, I killed fifteen
     of those buggers sir! Now at home they'd hang me. *Here* they
     give me a fucking medal sir!

          [The search party for Perkins's leg is passing through
     thick jungle. As they emerge into a clearing they suddenly see
     a tiger's head sticking out of some bushes.]

Ainsworth: Look!

          [Their eyes follow along the bushes to where the tiger's
     tail is sticking out several yards away. For a moment it looks
     like a very long tiger.]

     My God, it's *huge*!

          [The tiger's head rises up out of the thicket with its
          paws up. The tiger's rear end backs out of the thicket
          further down.]

Rear end: Don't shoot... don't shoot. We're not a tiger. [Takes off
     head.] We were just... um...

Ainsworth: Why are you dressed as a tiger?

Rear end: Hmmm... oh... why! Why why... isn't it a lovely day
     today...?

Ainsworth: Answer the question.

Rear end: Oh we were just er...

Front end: Actually! We're dressed like this because... oh no
     that's not it.

Rear end: We did it for a lark. Part of a spree. High spirits you
     know. Simple as that.

Front end: Nothing more to it...

          [All stare.]

     Well *actually*... we're on a mission for British
     Intellingence, there's a pro-Tsarist Ashanti Chief...

Rear end: No, no.

Front end: No, no, no.

Rear end: No, no we're doing it for an advertisement...

Front end: Ah that's it, forget about the Russians. We're doing an
     advert for Tiger Brand Coffee.

Rear end: 'Tiger Brand Coffee is a real treat
     Even tigers prefer a cup of it to real meat'.

          [Pause.]

Ainsworth: Now look...

Rear end: All right, all right. we are dressed as a tiger because
     he had an auntie who did it in 1839 and this is the fiftieth
     anniversary.

Front end: No. We're doing it for a bet.

Rear end: God told us to do it.

Front end: To tell the truth, we are completely mad. we are inmates
     of a Bengali psychiatric institution and we escaped by making
     this skin out of old cereal packets...

Perkins: It doesn't matter.

Ainsworth: What?

Perkins: It doesn't matter why they're dressed as a tiger, have
     they got my leg?

Ainsworth: Good thinking. Well have you?

Rear end: Actually!

Ainsworth: Yes.

Rear end: It's because we were thinking of training as taxidermists
     and we wanted to get a feel of it from the animal's point of
     view.

Ainsworth: Be quiet. Now, look we're just asking you if you have
     got this man's leg...

Front end: A wooden leg?

Ainsworth: No, no, a proper leg. Look he was fast asleep and
     someone or something came in and removed it.

Front end: Without waking him up?

Ainsworth: Yes.

Front end: I don't believe you.

Rear end: We found the tiger skin in a bicycle shop in Cairo, and
     the owner wanted to take it down to Dar Es Salaam.

Ainsworth: Shut up. Now look, have you or have you not got his leg?

Rear end: Yes.

Front end: No. No no no.

Both: No no no no no no. Nope. No.

Ainsworth: Why did you say 'yes'?

Front end: I didn't.

Ainsworth: I'm not talking to you...

Rear end: Er... er...

Ainsworth: Right! Search the thicket.

Front end: Oh come on, I mean do we look like the sort of chaps
     who'd creep into a camp at... night, steal into someone's
     tent, anaesthetise them, tissue-type them, amputate a leg and
     run away with it?

Ainsworth: Search the thicket!

Front end: Oh *leg*! You're looking for a *leg*. Actually I think
     there is one in there somewhere. Somebody must have abandoned
     it here, knowing you were coming after it, and we stumbled
     across it actually and wondered what it was... They'll be
     miles away by now and I expect we'll have to take all the
     blame.

          [During the last exchange a native turns and leers at the
          camera, while the dialogue continues behind him. Then he
          unzips his body to reveal a fully dressed white announcer
          in dinner jacket and bow tie underneath.]

Zulu announcer: Hallo, good evening and welcome to the Middle of
     the Film.

Lady TV presenter: Hallo and welcome to the Middle of the Film. The
     moment where we take a break and invite you, the audience, to
     join us, the film-makers, in 'Find the Fish'. We're going to
     show you a scene from another film and ask you to guess where
     the fish is. But if you think you know, don't keep it to
     yourselves - YELL OUT - so that all the cinema can hear you.
     So here we are with 'Find the Fish'.

                               THE
                             MIDDLE
                           OF THE FILM

                          FIND THE FISH

Man: I wonder where that fish has gone.

Woman: You did love it so.
     You looked after it like a son.

Man: [strangely] And it went wherever I did go.

Woman: Is it in the cupboard?

Audience: Yes! No!

Woman: Wouldn't you like to know.
     It was a lovely little fish.

Man: [strangely] And it went wherever I did go.

Man in audience: It's behind the sofa!

          [An elephant joins the man and woman.]

Woman: Where can the fish be?

Man in audience: Have you thought of the drawers in the bureau?

Woman: It is a most elusive fish.

Man: [strangely] And it went wherever I did go!

Woman: Oh fishy, fishy, fishy, fish.

Man: Fish, fish, fish, fishy oh!

Woman: Oh fishy, fishy, fishy fish.

Man: [strangely] That went wherever I did go.

          First fish: That was terrific!

                    Second fish: Great!

          Third fish: Best bit so far.

Fishes: Yeah! Absolutely... ! Terrific! Yeah!... Fantastic...
     Really great

     [Whistles 'More'... Pause.]

Fifth fish: They haven't said much about the Meaning of Life so
     far, have they...?

First fish: Well, it's been building up to it.

Second fish: Has it?

Fifth fish: yeah, I expect they'll get on to it now.

Third fish: Personally I very much doubt if they're going to say
     anything about the Meaning of Life at all.

Fourth fish: Oh, come on... they've got to say something...

Other fishes: ... Bound to... yeah... yeah...

          [They swim around a bit.]

Second fish: Not much happening at the moment, is there...?

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE
                       -------------------

                             PART IV

                           MIDDLE AGE

[A hotel lobby. The lift doors open.]

[Mrs Hendy is bending down in front of Mr Hendy, doing something of
an intimate nature to his camera lens.]

Mr Hendy: Oh that's much better. Thank you honey.

Mrs Hendy: You're welcome.

Mr Hendy: It was sort of misty before. That's fine.

          [A strange girl in a crinoline steps forward. This is
          M'Lady Joeline. played by Mr Gilliam.]

Joeline: Hi! How are you?

Mr Hendy: We're just fine.

Joeline: So what kind of food you like to eat this evening?

Mr Hendy: Well we sort of like pineapples...

Mrs Hendy: Yeah anything with pineapples in is great for us...

Joeline: Well, how about the Dungeon Room?

Mr Hendy: Oh that sounds fine...

Joeline: Sure is. It's real Hawaiian food served in an authentic
     medieval English dungeon atmosphere...

[Suddenly a red hot brand sears the flesh of some poor wretch. This
is the restaurant. Dark, full of torture instruments, stocks,
Chamber of Horrors stuff.]

[They sit down. A waitress dressed in a grotesque travesty of a
Beefeater's outfit, comes up.]

Waitress: Hello, I'm Diana, I'm your waitress for tonight... Where
     are you from?

Mr and Mrs Hendy: We're from Room 259.

Mr Hendy: Where are you from?

Waitress: [pointing to kitchen] Oh I'm from the doors over there...

Mr Hendy: Oh.

Mrs Hendy: Great...

Waitress: [reaching across to the central serving table] Iced
     Water...

Mrs Hendy: Oh thank you...

Waitress: Coffee...

Mr Hendy: Than you *very* much...

Waitress: Ketchup...

Mr Hendy: Oh lovely... real nice

Waitress: T.V....?

Mr Hendy: Oh... that's fine...

Mrs Hendy: Yeah that's swell

          [The Waitress dumps a T.V. down on the table.]

Waitress: Telephone...

Mr Hendy: Er... telephone...?

Waitress: You can phone any other table in the restaurant after
     six.

Mr Hendy: Oh that's great...

Mrs Hendy: Some choice...

Mr Hendy: Yeah, right...

Waitress: O.K.... D'you want any food with your meal?

Mr Hendy: Well, what d'you have?

Waitress: Well we have things shaped like this in green or we have
     things shaped like that in brown...

Mr Hendy: What d'you think darling?

Mrs Hendy: Well it *is* our anniversary, Marvin...

Mr Hendy: Yeah... what the hell... we'll have a couple of the
     things shaped like that in brown, please...

Waitress: O.K. fine... thank you sir... [She writes]... 2 brown
     Number 259... and will you be having intercourse tonight...?

Mr Hendy: Er... do we have to decide now...?

Mrs Hendy: Sounds a good idea honey. I mean it sounds swell. I mean

     why not?

Mr Hendy: Yeah, right... could be fun...

          [Waitress takes out a condom and slaps it on the table.]

Waitress: Compliments of the Super Inn - Have a nice fuck!

Mr Hendy: Oh, thank you.

Waitress: You're welcome...

          [She leaves.]

Mr Hendy: [reads:] 'Super Inn Skins' - that's nice.

          [Suddenly a Hawaiian band comes through the door and
          surrounds Mr and Mrs Hendy at their table, before leaving
          them to their own devices, which are not many. There is
          a long silence.]

Waiter: Good evening... would you care for something to talk about?

          [He hands them each a menu card with a list of subjects
          on.]

Mr Hendy: Oh that would be wonderful.

Waiter: Our special tonight is minorities...

Mr Hendy: Oh that sounds interesting...

Mrs Hendy: What's this conversation here...?

Waiter: Oh that's football... you can talk about the Steelers-Bears
     game, Saturday... or you could reminisce about really great
     World Series - 

Mrs Hendy: No... no, no.

Mr Hendy: What's this one here?

Waiter: That's philosophy.

Mrs Hendy: Is that a sport?

Waiter: No it's more of an attempt to construct a viable hypothesis
     to explain the Meaning of Life.

          [The fish in the tank suddenly prick up their fins.]

Fish: What's he say, eh?

Mr Hendy: Oh that sounds wonderful... Would you like to talk about
     the Meaning of Life, darling...?

Mrs Hendy: Sure, why not?

Waiter: Philosophy for two?

Mr Hendy: Right...

Waiter: You folks want me to start you off?

Mr Hendy: Oh really we'd appreciate that...

Waiter: OK. Well er... look, have you ever wondered just why you're
     here?

Mr Hendy: Well... we went to Miami last year and California the
     year before that, and we've...

Waiter: No, no... I mean why *we're* here. On this planet?

Mr Hendy: [guardedly]... N... n... nope.

Waiter: Right! Have you ever *wanted* to know what it's all about?

Mr Hendy: [emphatically] No!

Waiter: Right ho! Well, see, throughout history there have been
     certain men and women who have tried to find the solution to
     the mysteries of existence.

Mrs Hendy: Great.

Waiter: And we call these guys 'philosophers'.

Mrs Hendy: And that's what we're talking about!

Waiter: Right!

Mrs Hendy: That's neat!

Waiter: Well you look like you're getting the idea, so why don't I
     give you these conversation cards - they'll tell you a little
     about philosophical method, names of famous philosophers...
     there y'are. Have a nice conversation!

Mr Hendy: Thank you! Thank you very much.

          [He leaves.]

Mrs Hendy: He's cute.

Mr Hendy: Yeah, real understanding.

          [They sit and look at the cards, then rather formally and
          uncertainly Mrs Hendy opens the conversation.]

Mrs Hendy: Oh! I never knew that *Schopenhauer* was a
     *philosopher*...

Mr Hendy: Oh yeah... He's the one that begins with an S.

Mrs Hendy: Oh...

Mr Hendy: ... Um [pause]... like Nietzsche...

Mrs Hendy: Does Nietzsche begin with an S?

Mr Hendy: There's an S in Nietzsche...

Mrs Hendy: Oh wow! Yes there is. Do all philosophers have an S in
     them?

Mr Hendy: Yeah I think most of them do.

Mrs Hendy: Oh!... Does that mean Selina Jones is a philosopher?

Mr Hendy: Yeah... Right, she could be... she sings about the
     Meaning of Life.

Mrs Hendy: Yeah, that's right, but I don't think she writes her own
     material.

Mr Hendy: No. Maybe Schopenhauer writes her material?

Mrs Hendy: No... Burt Bacharach writes is.

Mr Hendy: There's no 'S' in Burt Bacharach...

Mrs Hendy: ... Or in Hal David...

Mr Hendy: Who's Hal David?

Mrs Hendy: He writes the lyrics, Burt just writes the tunes... only
     now he's married to Carole Bayer Sager...

Mr Hendy: Oh... Waiter... this conversation isn't very good.

Waiter: Oh, I'm sorry, sir... We *do* have one today that's not on
     the menu. It's a sort of... er... speciality of the house.
     Live Organ Transplants.

Mrs Hendy: Live Organ Transplants? What's *that*?

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE
                       -------------------

                             PART V

                     LIVE ORGAN TRANSPLANTS

[A photo of the Emperor Haile Selassie hangs on the wall of a
suburban house. Upstairs 'Hava Nagila' is being played on a lone
violin. The door bell rings.]

Mr Bloke: Don't worry dear, I'll get it!

          [He opens the door.]

Mr Bloke: Yes!

First Man: Hello, er can we have your liver...?

Mr Bloke: My what?

First Man: Your liver... it's a large glandular organ in your
     abdomen... you know it's a reddish-brown and it's sort of -

Mr Bloke: Yes, I know what it is, but I'm using it.

Second Man: Come on sir... don't muck us about.

          [They move in.]

Mr Bloke: Hey!

          [They shut the door behind him.]

          [The first man makes a grab at his wallet and finds a
          card in it.]

First Man: Hallo! What's this then...?

Mr Bloke: A liver donor's card.

First Man: Need we say more?

Second Man: No!

Mr Bloke: Look, I can't give it to you now. It says 'In The Event
     of Death'...

First Man: No-one who has ever had their liver taken out by us has
     survived...

          [The second man is rummaging around in a bag of clanking
          tools.]

Second Man: Just lie there, sir. it won't take a minute.

          [They throw him onto the dining room table and, without
          any more ceremony, start to cut him open. A rather sever
          lady appears at the door.]

Mrs Bloke: 'Ere, what's going on?

First man: He's donating his liver, madam...

Mr Bloke: Aarrgh... oh!... aaargh ow! Ow!

Mrs Bloke: Is this because he took out one of those silly cards?

First Man: That's right, madam.

Mr Bloke: Ow! Oooh! Oohh! Oh... oh... God... aargh aargh...

Mrs Bloke: Typical of him. He goes down to the public library -
     sees a few signs up... comes home all full of good intentions.
     He gives blood... he does cold research... all that sort of
     thing.

Mr Bloke: Aaaagh... oh... aaarghh!

Mrs Bloke: What d'you do with them all anyway?

Second man: They all go to saving lives, madam.

Mr Bloke: Aaaaargh! Oh... ow! Oh... oh my God!

Mrs Bloke: That's what *he* used to say... it's all for the good of
     the country, he used to say.

Mr Bloke: Aaaargh!... Ow! Ooh!

Mrs Bloke: D'*you* think it's *all* for the good of the country?

First Man: Uh?

Mrs Bloke: D'*you* think it's *all* for the good of the country?

First Man: Well I wouldn't know about that, madam...we're just
     doing our jobs, you know...

Mr Bloke: Owwwwweeeeeeeeeh! Ow!

Mrs Bloke: You're not doctors, then?

First Man: Oh!... Blimey no...!

          [The second man grins and raises his eyes as he digs
          around in the stomach. They laugh. A head comes round the
          door... It's a young man.]

Young Man: Mum, Dad,... I'm off out... now. I'll see you about
     seven...

Mrs Bloke: Righto, son... look after yourself.

Mr Bloke: Aaargh... ow! Oh... aaargh aargh!

Mrs Bloke: D'you er... fancy a cup of tea...?

First Man: Oh well, that would be very nice, yeah... Thank you,
     thank you very much madam. Thank you. [Aside.] I thought she'd
     never ask...

          [She takes him into the kitchen... shuts the door. She
          bustles about preparing the tea...]

     You do realise... he has to be... well... dead... by the terms
     of the card... before he donates his liver.

Mrs Bloke: Well I told him that... but he never listens to me...
     silly man.

First Man: Only... I was wondering what you was thinking of doing
     after that... I mean... will you stay on your own or... is
     there someone else... sort of... on the horizon...?

Mrs Bloke: I'm too old for that sort of thing. I'm past my prime...

First Man: Not at all... you're a very attractive woman.

Mrs Bloke: [laughs a little] Well... I'm certainly not thinking of
     getting hitched up again...

First Man: Sure?

Mrs Bloke: Sure.

First Man: [coming a little closer] Can we have your liver then?

Mrs Bloke: No... I don't want to die.

First Man: Oh come on, it's perfectly natural. Only take a couple
     of minutes.

Mrs Bloke: Oh... I'd be scared.

First Man: All right, I'll tell you what. Look, listen to this - 

          [A man in pink evening dress emerges from the fridge.]

Man in Pink Evening Dress: Whenever life gets you down, Mrs Brown
     And things seem hard or tough
     And people are stupid obnoxious or daft
     And you feel that you've had quite enough...

[As he starts to sing, the wall of the kitchen disintegrates to
reveal a magnificent night sky. The vocalist in pink escorts Mrs
Bloke up into the stars.]

     Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving
     And revolving at 900 miles an hour,
     That's orbiting at 19 miles a second, so it's reckoned,
     A sun that is the source of all our power.
     The sun and you and me and all the stars that we can see,
     Are moving at a million miles a day
     In an outer spiral arm, at 40,000 miles an hour,
     Of the galaxy we call the Milky Way.

     Our galaxy itself contains 100 billion stars
     It's 100,000 light years side to side.
     It bulges in the middle, 16,000 light years thick
     But out by us its just 3,000 light years wide
     We're 30,000 light years from galactic central point,
     We go round every 200 million years
     And our galaxy is only one of millions of billions
     In this amazing and expanding Universe.

     The Universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding
     In all of the directions it can whizz
     As fast as it can go, at the speed of light you know,
     12 million miles a minute, and that's the fastest speed there
          is.
     So remember when you're feeling very small and insecure
     How amazingly unlikely is your birth
     And pray that there's intelligent life somewhere up in space
     Because there' bugger all down here on earth.

     [The vocalist in pink climbs back into the fridge and the door
     slams to.]

Mrs Bloke: Makes you feel so sort of insignificant, doesn't it?

First Man: Yeah yeah... Can we have your liver, then?

Mrs Bloke: Yeah. All right, you talked me into it.

First Man: Eric!

          [A lettering artist is just finishing painting the words
          'Liver Donors Inc' onto a wall plaque enumerating all the
          subsidiaries of the Very Big Corporation of America.]

Chairman: [of the Very Big Corporation of America]... which brings
     us once again to the urgent realisation of just how much there
     is still left to own. Item 6 on the Agenda, the Meaning of
     Life... Now Harry, you've had some thoughts on this...

Harry: That's right, yeah. I've had a team working on this over the
     past few weeks, and what we've come up with can be reduced to
     two fundamental concepts... One... people are not wearing
     enough hats. Two... matter is energy; in the Universe there
     are many energy fields which we cannot normally perceive. Some
     energies have a spiritual source which act upon a person's
     soul. However, this soul does not exist *ab inito*, as
     orthodox Christianity teaches; it has to be brought into
     existence by a process of guided self-observation. However,
     this is rarely achieved owing to man's unique ability to be
     distracted from spiritual matters by everyday trivia.

          [Pause.]

Max: What was that about hats again?

Harry: Er... people aren't wearing enough.

Chairman: Is this true?

Edmund: [who is sitting next to Harry] Certainly. Hat sales have
     increased, but not *pari passu... as our research -

Bert: When you say 'enough', enough for what purpose...?

Gunther: Can I ask with reference to your second point, when you
     say souls don't develop because people become distracted...
     has anyone noticed that building there before?

          [They all turn towards the window to see a building
          approaching or sliding into position outside.]

All: Gulp! What? Good Lord!

                           THE CRIMSON
                       PERMANENT ASSURANCE

                        A tale of piracy
                        on the high seas
                           of finance

                         London, England

In the bleak days of 1983, as England languished in the doldrums of
a ruinous monetarist policy, the good and loyal men of the
Permanent Assurance Company - a once-proud family firm recently
fallen an hard times - strained under the yoke of their oppressive
new corporate management...

Pushed beyond the bounds of decent and reasonable victimisation -
the aged retainers take their destiny in their own hands and...
MUTINY!

And so - the Crimson Permanent Assurance was launched upon the high
seas of international finance!

There it lay, the prize they sought - the richest jewel in the
crown of the IMF - a financial district swollen with multi-
nationals, conglomerates and fat, bloated merchant banks.

Hidden behind the faceless towering canyons of glass, the world of
high finance sat smug and self-satisfied as their future, in the
shape of their past, slipped silently through the streets -
returning to wreak a terrible revenge.

Adopting, adapting, and improving traditional business practices
the Permanent Assurance puts into motion an audacious and totally
unsuspected Take Over Bid.

And so, heartened by their initial success, the desperate and
reasonably violent men of the Permanent Assurance battled on,
until... as the sun set slowly in the west the outstanding return
on their bold business venture became apparent... the once proud
financial giants lay in ruins - their assets stripped - their
policies in tatters.

[They sing]

It's fun charter an accountant
And sail the wide accountan-cy,
To find, explore the funds offshore
And skirt the shoals of bankruptcy.

It can be manly in insurance:
We'll up your premium semi-annually,
It's all tax-deductible,
We're fairly incorruptible,
Sailing on the wide accountan-cy!

And so... they sailed off into the ledgers of history - one by one
the financial capitals of the world crumbling under the might of
their business acumen - or so it would have been... if certain
modern theories concerning the shape of the world had not proved to
be... disastrously wrong.

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE
                       -------------------

                             PART VI

                        THE AUTUMN YEARS

[Elegant restaurant. A man in a dressing gown, who is not Noel
Coward sits at a piano.]

Not Noel Coward: Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Here's a little
     number I tossed off recently in the Caribbean. [Sings]

     Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis,
     Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong?
     It's swell to have a stiffy,
     It's divine to own a dick,
     From the tiniest little tadger,
     To the world's biggest prick.

     So three cheers for your Willy or John Thomas,
     Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake,
     Your piece of pork, your wife's best friend,
     Your Percy or your cock,
     You can wrap it up in ribbons,
     You can slip it in your sock,
     But don't take it out in public,
     Or they will stick you in the dock,
     And you won't come back.

[Spontaneous applause breaks out all over the restaurant.]

     Oh... thank you very much.

Woman: Oh what a frightfully witty song.

          [Clapping.]

     [Mr Creosote enters.]

First Fish: [in tank] Oh shit! It's Mr creosote.

          [All the fish disappear with six flicks of the tail.]

Maitre D: Ah good afternoon, sir, and how are we today?

Mr Creosote: Better...

Maitre D: Better?

Mr Creosote: Better get a bucket, I'm going to throw up.

Maitre D: Gaston! A bucket for monsieur!

          [They seat him at his usual table. A gleaming silver
          bucket is placed beside him and he leans over and throws
          up into it.]

Maitre D: Merci Gaston.

          [He claps his hands and the bucket is whisked away.]

Mr Creosote: I haven't finished!

Maitre D: Oh! Pardon! Gaston!... A thousand pardons monsieur. [Puts
     the bucket back.]

          [The Maitre D produces the menu as Mr Creosote continues
          spewing.]

Maitre D: Now this afternoon we monsieur's favourite - the jugged
     hare. The hare is *very* high, and the sauce is very rich with
     truffles, anchovies, Grand Marnier, bacon and cream.

          [Mr Creosote pauses. The Maitre D claps his hands and
          signs to Gaston, who whisks away the bucket.]

Maitre D: Thank you, Gaston.

Mr Creosote: There's still more.

          [Gaston rapidly replaces the bucket.]

Maitre D: Allow me! A new bucket for monsieur.

          [The Maitre D picks the bucket up and hands it over to
          Gaston. Mr Creosote leans over and throws up onto the
          floor.]

     And the cleaning woman.

          [Gaston hurries off. The Maitre D takes care to avoid the
          vomit and places the menu in front of Mr Creosote.]

     And maintenant, would monsieur care for an aperitif?

          [Creosote vomits over the menu. It is covered.]

     Or would you prefer to order straight away? Today for
     appetizers... er... excuse me...

          [The Maitre D leans over and wipes away the sick with his
          hand so that the words of the menu are readable.]

     ... moules marinieres, pate de foie gras, beluga caviar, eggs
     Benedictine, tart de poireaux - that's leek tart - frogs' legs
     amandine or oeufs de caille Richard Shepherd - c'est a dire,
     little quails' eggs on a bed of pureed mushrooms, it's very
     delicate, very subtle...

Mr Creosote: I'll have the lot.

Maitre D: A wise choice, monsieur! And now, how would you like it
     served? All mixed up in a bucket?

Mr Creosote: Yes. With the eggs on top.

Maitre D: But of course, avec les oeufs frites.

Mr Creosote: And don't skimp on the pate.

Maitre D: Oh monsieur I can assure you, just because it is mixed up
     with all the other things we would not dream of giving you
     less than the full amount. In fact I will personally make sure
     you have a *double* helping. Maintenant quelque chose a 
     boire - something to drink, monsieur?

Mr Creosote: Yeah, six bottles of Chateau Latour '45 and a double
     Jeroboam of champagne.

Maitre D: Bon, and the usual brown ales...?

Mr Creosote: Yeah... No wait a minute... I think I can only manage
     six crates today.

Maitre D: Tut tut tut! I hope monsieur was not overdoing it last
     night...?

Mr Creosote: Shut up!

Maitre D: D'accord. Ah the new bucket and the cleaning woman.

          [Gaston arrives. The Cleaning Woman gets down on her
          hands and knees. Mr Creosote vomits over her.]

          [Some guests at another table start to leave. The 
          Maitre D approaches.]

Maitre D: Monsieur, is there something wrong with the food?

          [The Maitre D indicates the table of half-eaten main
          courses. The guests shrink from his vomit-covered hand.
          The Maitre D realises and shakes a little off. It hits
          another guest, who wipes his eye.]

Guest: No. The food was... excellent...

Maitre D: Perhaps you are not happy with the service?

Guest: Er no... no... no complaints.

Guest's Wife: It's just we have to go - um - I'm having rather a
     heavy period.

          [A slight embarrassed silence while the rest of the party
          look at her.]

Guest: And... we... have a train to catch.

Guest's Wife: [as if covering for her previous gaffe] Oh! Yes!
     Yes... of course! We have a train to catch... and I don't want
     to start bleeding over the seats.

          [An awkward pause. The Maitre D gropes for words.]

Guest: Perhaps we should ne going...

          [They start to go. The Maitre D follows.]

Maitre D: Very well, monsieur. Thank you so much, so nice to see
     you and I hope very much we will see you again very soon. Au
     revoir, monsieur.

          [He pauses. A look of awful realization suffuses his
          face.]

Maitre D: ... Oh dear... I've trodden in monsieur's bucket.

          [The Maitre D claps his hands.]

     Another bucket for monsieur...

          [Mr Creosote is sick down the Maitre D's trousers.]

     and perhaps a hose...

          [Someone at another table gently throws up.]

Companion: Oh Max, really!

          [At another table someone else has really thrown up all
          over the place. His mother and brother look at him
          incredulously. Meanwhile Mr Creosote has scoffed the lot.
          The Maitre D approaches him with a silver tray.]

Maitre D: And finally, monsieur, a wafer-thin mint.

Mr Creosote: No.

Maitre D: Oh sir! It's only a tiny little thin one.

Mr Creosote: No. Fuck off - I'm full... [Belches]

Maitre D: Oh sir... it's only *wafer* thin.

Mr Creosote: Look - I couldn't eat another thing. I'm absolutely
     stuffed. Bugger off.

Maitre D: Oh sir, just... just *one*...

Mr Creosote: Oh all right. Just one.

Maitre D: Just the one, sir... voila... bon appetit...

          [Mr Creosote somehow manages to stuff the wafer-thin mint
          into his mouth and then swallows. The Maitre D takes a
          flying leap and cowers behind some potted plants. There
          is an ominous splitting sound. Mr Creosote looks rather
          helpless and then he explodes, covering waiters, diners,
          and technicians in a truly horrendous mix of half
          digested food, entrails and parts of his body. People
          start vomiting.]

Maitre D: [returns to Mr Creosote's table] Thank you, sir, and now
     the check.

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE
                       ___________________


                            PART VI B

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE

[Some time later.]

[The Cleaning Woman is still on her knees, cleaning up the remains
of Mr Creosote. The Maitre D lights up a cigarette in pensive
mood.]

Maitre D: You know, Maria, I sometimes wonder whether we'll ever
     discover the meaning of it all working in a place like this.

Maria: [shrugs] Oh, I've worked in worse places... philosophically
     speaking.

Maitre D: Really, Maria?

Maria: Yes... I used to work in the Academie Francaise
     But it didn't do me any good at all...
     And I once worked in the library in the Prado in Madrid,
     But it didn't teach me nothing, I recall...
     And the Library of Congress, you'd have thought would hold
          some key...
     But it didn't. And neither did the Bodleian Library.
     In the British Museum I hoped to find some clue,
     I worked there from 9 till 6 - read every volume through,
     But it didn't teach me nothing about Life's mystery...
     I just kept getting older, and it got more difficult to see.
     Until eventually me eyes went and me arthritis got bad,
     And so now I'm cleaning up in here - but I can't really be 
          sad,
     Cause you see I feel that Life's a game
     You sometimes win or lose,
     And though I may be down right now
     At least I don't work for Jews...

          [The Maitre D pours the bucket over her head and turns to
          the camera looking most upset.]

Maitre D: I'm so sorry... I had no idea we had a racist working
     here... I apologise... most sincerely... I mean... where are
     you going - I can explain... oh, quel dommage...

          [The camera pans off the Maitre D and alights on Gaston,
          smoking a cigarette.]

Gaston: As for me... if you want to know what I think... I'll show
     you something... come with me...

Maitre D: [out of shot] I was saying that - hallo... hallo...

Gaston: Come on... this way.

          [He nods to the camera and walks out of the restaurant
          and the camera follows him.]

Voice of Maitre D: I can explain everything.

Gaston: Come on - don't be shy. Mind the stairs... All right. I
     think this will help explain.

          [He walks through the town.]

Gaston: Come along... Come along... Over here... Come on... Come
     on... This way... Come on... Stay by me, uh? Nearly there now.

          [Eventually Gaston comes over a hill and nods down to a
          little thatched cottage nestling idyllically in a valley.
          Smoke rises up from the chimney.]

     You see that? That's where I was born. You know, one day, when
     I was a little boy, my mother she took me on her knee and she
     said: 'Gaston, my son. The world is a beautiful place. You
     must go into it, and love everyone, not hate people. You must
     try and make everyone happy, and bring peace and contentment
     everywhere you go.' And so... I became a waiter...

          [There is a rather long pause, while he looks a bit 

          self-deprecating and nods shyly at the live.]

     Well... it's... it's not much of a philosophy, I know...
     but... well... fuck you... I can live my own life in my own
     way if I want to. Fuck off! Don't come following me!

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE
                       -------------------

                            PART VII

                              DEATH

Distraught Male Voice: I just can't go on. I'm not good any more,
     goodbye... goodbye... aaaargh!... Aaaargh!

          [A leaf falls to the ground.]

Distraught Female Voice: Oh my God! What'll I do!? I can't live
     without him... I... aaaargh!

          [Another leaf falls.]

Distraught Children's Voices: Mummy... Mummy... Mummy... Daddy...

     [Two more leaves fall.]

More Distraught Voices: Oh no! Aaaargh!

          [All the remaining leaves fall with one accord.]

This man is about to die. In a few moments now he will be killed.
For Arthur Jarrett is a convicted criminal who has been allowed to
choose the manner of his own execution.

Governor: Arthur Charles Herbert Runcie MacAdam Jarrett, you have
     been convicted by twelve good persons and true, of the crime
     of first degree making of gratuitous sexist jokes in a moving
     picture.

Padre: Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...

          [Ingmar Mergman now takes over the direction of the film
          and re-invokes one of his greatest triumphs on a low
          budget. Bare windswept trees starkly silhouetted against
          the... oh you know. Lots of good sound effects, too:
          howling wind, howling dogs, howling sabre-toothed field
          mice. Suddenly we see the Grim Reaper. He is hooded, in
          a black cloak with a sackcloth jock-strap, and bearing...
          a scythe.]

          [He materializes outside a lowly cottage and strikes the
          door with his scythe. Geoffrey, who is Marketing Director
          of Uro-Pacific Ltd, opens the door. From inside the house
          comes the sound of a dinner party.]

Geoffrey: Yes?

          [Pause. The Reaper breathes death-rattlingly.]

     Is it about the hedge?

          [More breathing.]

     Look, I'm awfully sorry but...

Grim Reaper: I am the Grim Reaper.

Geoffrey: I am Death.

Geoffrey: Yes well, the thing is, we've got some people from
     America for dinner tonight...

          [Geoffrey's wife, Angela is coming to see who is at the
          door. She calls:]

Angela: Who is it, darling?

Geoffrey: It's a Mr Death or something... he's come about the
     reaping... [To Reaper.] I don't think we need any at the
     moment.

Angela: [appearing] Hallo. Well don't leave him hanging around
     outside darling, ask him in.

Geoffrey: Darling, I don't think it's quite the moment...

Angela: Do come in, come along in, come and have a drink, do. Come
     on...

          [She returns to her guests.]

     It's one of the little men from the village... Do come in,
     please. This is Howard Katzenberg from Philadelphia...

Katzenberg: Hi.

Angela: And his wife, Debbie.

Debbie: Hallo there.

Angela: And these are the Portland-Smythes, Jeremy and Fiona.

Fiona: Good evening.

Angela: This is Mr Death.

          [There is a slightly awkward pause.]

     Well do get Mr Death a drink, darling.

          [The Grim Reaper looks a little startled.]

Angela: Mr Death is a reaper.

Grim Reaper: The Grim Reaper.

Angela: Hardly surprising in this weather, ha ha ha...

Katzenberg: So you still reap around here do you, Mr Death?

Grim Reaper: I am the Grim Reaper.

Geoffrey: [sotto voce] That's about all he says... [Loudly] There's
     your drink, Mr Death.

Angela: Do sit down.

Debbie: We were just talking about some of the awful problems
     facing the -

          [The Grim Reaper knocks the glass off the table. Startled
          silence.]

Angela: Would you prefer white? I'm afraid we don't have any beer.

Jeremy: The Stilton's awfully good.

Grim Reaper: I am not of this world.

          [He walks into the middle of the table. There is a sharp
          intake of breath all round.]

Geoffrey: Good Lord!

          [The penny is beginning to drop.]

Grim Reaper: I am Death.

Debbie: [nervously] Well isn't that extraordinary? We were just
     talking about death only five minutes ago.

Angela: [even more nervously] Yes we were. You know, whether death
     is really... the end...

Debbie: As my husband, Howard here, feels... or whether there is...
     and one so hates to use words like 'soul' or 'spirit'...

Jeremy: But what *other* words can one use...

Geoffrey: Exactly...

Grim Reaper: You do not understand.

Debbie: Ah no... obviously not...

Katzenberg: Let me tell you something, Mr Death...

Grim Reaper: You do not understand!

Katzenberg: Just one moment. I would like to express on behalf of
     everyone here, what a really unique experience this is...

Jeremy: Hear hear.

Angela: Yes, we're *so* delighted that you dropped in, Mr Death...

Katzenberg: Can I finish please...

Debbie: Mr Death... is there an after-life?

Katzenberg: Dear, if you could just wait please a moment...

Angela: Are you sure you wouldn't like some sherry?

Katzenberg: Angela, I'd like just to say at this time...

Grim Reaper: Be quiet!

Katzenberg: Can I just say this at this time, please...

Grim Reaper: Silence!!! I have come for you.

          [Pause as this sinks in. Sidelong glance. A stifled
          fart.]

Angela: ... You mean to...

Grim Reaper: ... Take you away. That is my purpose. I am Death.

Geoffrey: Well that's cast rather a gloom over the evening hasn't
     it?

Katzenberg: I don't see it that way, Geoff. Let me tell you what I
     think we're dealing with here, a potentially positive learning
     experience...

Grim Reaper: Shut up! Shut up you American. You always talk, you
     Americans, you talk and you talk and say 'Let me tell you
     something' and 'I just wanna say this', Well you're dead now,
     so shut up.

Katzenberg: Dead?

Grim Reaper: Dead.

Angela: All of us??

Grim Reaper: All of you.

Geoffrey: Now look here. You barge in here, quite uninvited, break
     glasses and then announce quite casually that we're all dead.
     Well I would remind you that you are a guest in this house
     and...

          [The Grim Reaper pokes him in the eye.]

Grim Reaper: Be quiet! You Englishmen... You're all so fucking
     pompous and none of you have got any balls.

Debbie: Can I ask you a question?

Grim Reaper: What?

Debbie: ... How can we all have died at the *same* time?

Grim Reaper: [pointing] The salmon mousse! [They all goggle.]

Geoffrey: [to Angela] Darling, you didn't use tinned salmon did 
     you?

Angela: [unbelievably embarrassed] I'm most dreadfully
     embarrassed...

Grim Reaper: Now, the time has come. Follow... follow me...

          [Geoffrey suddenly runs forward with a revolver. He
          looses four shots at the Grim Reaper from about three
          feet. They pass through him. Pause. Everyone is rather
          embarrassed.]

Geoffrey: Sorry... Just... testing... Sorry... [He sits.]

Grim Reaper: Come! [Out of their bodies, spirit forms arise and
     follow the Grim Reaper.]

Angela: The fishmonger promised me he'd have some fresh salmon and
     he's normally *so* reliable...

Jeremy: Can we bring our glasses?

Fiona: Good idea.

Debbie: Hey I didn't even eat the mousse... [They follow the Grim
     Reaper out of the house.]

Angela: Honestly, darling, I'm so embarrassed... I mean to serve
     salmon with botulism at a dinner party is social death...

Jeremy: Shall we take our cars?

Geoffrey: Why not?

          [Slightly to the Grim Reaper's surprise, they follow him
          up to heaven in a Porsche, a Jensen and a Volvo.]

Grim Reaper: Behold... Paradise!

          [Heaven bears a striking resemblance to a Holiday Inn.]

Mr Hendy: I love it here, darling.

Mrs Hendy: Me too, Marvin.

Receptionist: Hello. Welcome to Heaven. Excuse me, could you just
     sign here, please sir? Thank you. There's a table for you
     through there in the restaurant. For the ladies...

Fiona: [reading the box of chocolates that has been handed to her]
     'After Life Mints'.

Receptionist: Happy Christmas.

Debbie: Oh is it Christmas today?

Receptionist: Of course madam, it's Christmas, *every* day, in
     Heaven.

Debbie: How about that?

          [A restaurant in Heaven. It is full of all the characters
          who have died in the film. Plus some of the naked girls,
          because... well, we don't have to give a reason, do we?]

Tony Bennett: Good evening ladies and gentlemen, it's truly a real
     honourable experience to be here this evening a very wonderful
     and emotional moment for all of us, and I'd like to sing a
     song for all of you: [sings] 

     It's Christmas in Heaven: all the children sing

     It's Christmas in Heaven
     Hark hark those church bells ring'

     It's Christmas in Heaven
     The snow falls from the sky...

     But it's nice and warm and everyone
     Looks smart and wears a tie

     It's Christmas in Heaven
     There's great films on TV...
     'The Sound of Music' *twice* an hour
     And 'Jaws' I, II, *and* III

     There's gifts for all the family
     There' toiletries and trains...

     There's Sony Walkman Headphones sets
     And the latest video games!

     It's Christmas It's Christmas in Heaven
     Hip hip hip hip hip hooray
     Every single day
     Is Christmas Day!

     It's Christmas It's Christmas in Heaven
     Hip hip hip hip hip hooray
     Every single day
     Is Christmas Day!'

          [But before we get to the end of this chorus the TV set
          is switched off and the whole picture collapses into a
          little spot and we pull out to find that we have been
          watching a TV set in front of the Middle of the Film
          lady.]

                             THE END
                           OF THE FILM

Lady Presenter: [briskly] Well, that's the End of the Film, now
     here's the Meaning of Life.

          [An envelope is handed to her. She opens it in a 
          business-like way.]

     Thank you Brigitte. [She reads.]... Well, it's nothing
     special. Try and be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a
     good book every now and then, get some walking in and try and
     live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds
     and nations. And finally, here are some completely gratuitous
     pictures of penises to annoy the censors and to hopefully
     spark some sort of controversy which it seems is the only way
     these days to get the jaded video-sated public off their
     fucking arses and back in the sodding cinema. Family
     entertainment bollocks! What they want is filth, people doing
     things to each other with chainsaws during tupperware parties,
     babysitters being stabbed with knitting needles by gay
     presidential candidates, vigilante groups strangling chickens,
     armed bands of theatre critics exterminating mutant goats -
     where's the fun in pictures? Oh well, there we are - here's
     the theme music. Goodnight.

                   CAST IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE

First Fish          Graham Chapman
Second Fish         John Cleese
Third Fish          Terry Gilliam
Fourth Fish         Eric Idle
Fifth Fish          Terry Jones
Sixth Fish          Michael Palin
Creosotish Man      George Silver
Singer
  'Meaning of Life' Eric Idle
Mrs Moore           Valerie Whittington
First Nurse         Judy Loe
Second Nurse        Imogen Bickford Smith
First Doctor        Graham Chapman
Second Doctor       John Cleese
Mr Moore            Eric Idle
Administrator       Michael Palin
Dad                 Michael Palin
Mum                 Terry Jones
Priest              Terry Jones
Bride               Jennifer Franks
Groom               Andrew Maclachlan
Mr Blackitt         Graham Chapman
Mrs Blackitt        Eric Idle
Martin Luther       Terry Jones
Hymie               Michael Palin
Mamie               Graham Chapman
Daughters           Victoria Plum
                    Anne Rosenfield
Headmaster          John Cleese
Chaplain            Michael Palin
Wymer               Graham Chapman
Biggs               Terry Jones
Carter              Michael Palin
Watson              Eric Idle
Mrs Williams        Patricia Quinn
Captain Biggs       Terry Jones
Blackitt            Eric Idle
Spadger             Michael Palin
Walters             Terry Gilliam
Sturridge           John Cleese
Hordern             Graham Chapman
General             Graham Chapman
R.S.M.              Michael Palin
Atkinson            Eric Idle
Coles               Graham Chapman
Wycliff             Andrew Maclachlan
Pakenham-Walsh      Michael Palin
Ainsworth           John Cleese
Chadwick            Simon Jones
Perkins             Eric Idle
Livingstone         Graham Chapman
Sergeant            Terry Jones
Another Cheery
  Cockney           Andrew Maclachlan
A Severed Head      Mark Holmes
Another Terrible
  Casualty          Eric Idle
Front End           Eric Idle
Rear End            Michael Palin
Zulu Announcer      Terry Gilliam
Lady Presenter      Michael Palin
Man with
  Bendy Arms        Terry Jones
Woman               Graham Chapman
Troll with a Tray   Mark Holmes
Mr Hendy            Michael Palin
Mrs Hendy           Eric Idle
Joeline             Terry Gilliam
Waitress            Carol Cleveland
Waiter              John Cleese
Mr Bloke            Terry Gilliam
First Man           John Cleese
Second Man          Graham Chapman
Mrs Bloke           Terry Jones
Young Man           Peter Lovstrom
Distinguished
  Vocalist in Pink  Eric Idle
Noel Coward*        Eric Idle
Mr Creosote         Terry Jones
Maitre D            John Cleese
Gaston              Eric Idle
First Guest         Graham Chapman
Second Guest        Mark Holmes
First Guest's Wife  Carol Cleveland
Second Guest's
  Wife              Angela Mann
Third Guest         Andrew Maclachlan
Cleaning Woman      Terry Jones
Governor            Michael Palin
Arthur Jarrett      Graham Chapman
Padre               Michael Palin
Grim Reaper         John Cleese
Geoffrey            Graham Chapman
Angela              Eric Idle
Jeremy              Simon Jones
Fiona               Terry Jones
Katzenberg          Terry Gilliam
Debbie              Michael Palin
Receptionist        Carol Cleveland
Tony Bennett**      Graham Chapman

* Not *the* Noel Coward, of course
** Not *the* Tony Bennett, of course

                 THE CRIMSON PERMANENT ASSURANCE

                             Starred

Sydney Arnold       Cameron Miller
Ross Davidson       Paddy Ryan
Eric Francis        Eric Stovell
Russell Kilminster  Andrew Bicknell
Peter Merrill       Tim Doublas
Larry Noble         Billy John
John Scott Martin   Len Marten
Guy Bertrand        Gareth Milne
Myrtle Devenish     Leslie Sarony
Matt Frewer         Wally Thomas
Peter Mantle

Photographed by     Peter Hannan B.S.C.
Edited by           Julian Doyle
Production
  Designer          Harry Lange
Costume Designer    Jim Acheson
Choreography        Arlene Phillips
Makeup and Hair
  Design            Maggie Weston
Special Effects
  Supervisor        George Gibbs
Director of
  Photography       Roger Pratt
Art Director        John Beard
Make-up Artist      Elaine Carew
Hairdressers        Maureen Stephenson
                    Sallie Evans
Wardrobe            Joyce Stoneman
Music               John Du Prez

Transcribed by Jason R. Heimbaugh (jasonh@joker.aiss.uiuc.edu)
****  Okay, Malcolm, you asked for it...                                   ****
****  A very silly sketch called "'Me, Doctor?'"                           ****
****  from "Monty Python's Flying Circus"                                  ****
****  Transcribed from memory or the script, who knows which, by           ****
****  Bret Shefter '89 ( SHEBREB@YALEVM.BITNET )   3/28/86                 ****
 
 
(Mr. Bertenshaw and his sick wife arrive at a hospital.)
 
Doctor: Mr. Bertenshaw?
Mr. B:  Me, Doctor.
Doctor: No, me doctor, you Mr. Bertenshaw.
Mr. B:  My wife, doctor...
Doctor: No, your wife patient.
Sister: Come with me, please.
Mr. B:  Me, Sister?
Doctor: No, she Sister, me doctor, you Mr. Bertenshaw.
Nurse:  Dr. Walters?
Doctor: Me, nurse...You Mr. Bertenshaw, she Sister, you doctor.
Sister: No, doctor.
Doctor: No doctor: call ambulance, keep warm.
Nurse:  Drink, doctor?
Doctor: Drink doctor, eat Sister, cook Mr. Bertenshaw, nurse me!
Nurse:  You, doctor?
Doctor: ME doctor!! You Mr. Bertenshaw. She Sister!
Mr. B:  But my wife, nurse...
Doctor: Your wife not nurse. She nurse, your wife patient. Be patient,
        she nurse your wife. Me doctor, you tent, you tree, you Tarzan, me
        Jane, you Trent, you Trillo...me doctor!
 
Sergeant-Major: Stop this, stop this. What a silly way to carry on. What
                do you want?
Customer: I wish to register a complaint.
Sergeant-Major: Well, this is a hospital. You want the pet shop in the
                next file...
 
*** continued in PETSHOP PYTHON. ***
****    The Ralph Mellish Story                                            ****
****    From "Monty Python's Flying Circus" and                            ****
****    "And Now for Something Completely Different"                       ****
****    Transcribed by Dave Bregman (FAC1037@UOFT01)                       ****
 
                          Ralph Mellish
 
<ominous music>
June the 4th, 1973, was much like any other summer's day in Peterborough,
and Ralph Mellish, a file clerk at an insurance company, was on his way
to work as usual when --- <da dum!> Nothing happened! <dum dum da dum>
Scarcely able to believe his eyes, Ralph Mellish looked down.  But one
glance confirmed his suspicions.  Behind a bush, on the side of the road,
there was *no* severed arm.  No dismembered trunk of a man in his late
fifties.  No head in a bag.  Nothing.  Not a sausage.  For Ralph Mellish,
this was *not* to be the start of any trail of events which would not, in
no time at all, involve him in neither a tangled knot of suspicion, nor
any web of lies, which would, had he been not involved, surely have led
him to no other place, than the central criminal court of the Old Bailey.
<muttering voices, Judge's gavel banging.>
 
But it was not to be <ominous music returns>.  Ralph Mellish reached his
office in Dulls-ells Street in Peterborough, at 9:05 a.m., exactly the
same time as he usually got in!
 
         <door opens>
         "Morning, Mr. Mellish"
         "Morning, Enid"
 
Enid, a sharp-eyed, clever young girl, who had been with the firm for only 4
weeks, couldn't help noticing the complete absence of tiny but tell-tale blood
stains on Mr. Mellish's clothing.  Nor did she notice anything strange in Mr.
Mellish's behaviour that whole morning.  Nor the next morning.  Nor at any time
before or since the entire period she worked for that firm.
 
         "Have the new paper clips arrived, Enid?"
         "Yes, they're over there, Mr. Mellish."
         <faintly> "Oh..."
 
But for the lack of any untold circumstances for this secretary to
notice, and the total non-involvement of Mr. Mellish in anything illegal,
the forweight of the law would insure that Ralph Aulds Mellish would
have ended up like all who challenge the fundamental laws of our society.
In an iron coffin with spikes on the inside.
 
**** Gavin Millarrrrr writes:                                              ****
**** from "Monty Python's Big Red Book"  (new hardback edition)            ****
**** Transcribed 9/17/87 by Jonathan Partington ( JRP1@PHX.CAM.AC.UK )     ****
 
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 oesophagus, 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.
 
 
**** end of file MILARRRR PYTHON 9/18/87 ****
From:       JRP1@PHX.CAM.AC.UK
To:         Clarinet@YALEVM
 


$ tyl pe mpfc.txt;1

            <<< UNSIM::SYS$SYSDEVICE:[NOTES$LIBRARY]FORUM.NOTE;1 >>>
                                   -< FORUM >-
================================================================================

Note 14.29                Monty Python's Flying Circus                  29 of 29

UBBG::ESOKIC "Socky"                               3179 lines   8-DEC-1993 07:47

                            -< The meaning of life >-
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                         MONTY PYTHON'S

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE

                     written by and starring

                  GRAHAM CHAPMAN * JOHN CLEESE
                   TERRY GILLIAM * TERRY JONES
                    ERIC IDLE * MICHAEL PALIN

                     directed by TERRY JONES
         animation & special sequences by TERRY GILLIAM
                   produced by JOHN GOLDSTONE

First Fish: Morning.

                Second Fish: Morning.

                                Third Fish: Morning.

        Fourth Fish: Morning.

                        Third Fish: Morning.

                                First Fish: Morning.

        Second Fish: Morning.

                                Fourth Fish: What's new?

                First Fish: Not much.

                                        Fifth and Sixth Fish:
Morning.

                The Others: Morning, morning, morning.

First Fish: Frank was just asking what's new.

                Fifth Fish: Was he?

        First Fish: Yeah.  Uh huh...

                Third Fish: Hey, look.  Howard's being eaten.

Second Fish: Is he?

[They move forward to watch a waiter serving a large grilled fish
to a large man.]

                                Second Fish: Makes you think doesn't it?

                Fourth Fish: I mean... what's it all about?

                                        Fifth Fish: Beats me.

Why are we here, what is life all about?
Is God really real, or is there some doubt?
Well tonight we're going to sort it all out,
For tonight it's the Meaning of Life.

What's the point of all these hoax?
Is it the chicken and egg time, are we all just yolks?
Or perhaps, we're just one of God's little jokes,
Well ca c'est the Meaning of Life.

Is life just a game where we make up the rules
While we're searching for something to say
Or are we just simple spiralling coils
Of self-replicating DNA?

What is life?  What is our fate?
Is there Heaven and Hell?  Do we reincarnate?
Is mankind evolving or is it too late?
Well tonight here's the Meaning of Life.

For millions this life is a sad vale of tears
Sitting round with really nothing to say
While scientists say we're just simply spiralling coils
Of self-replicating DNA.

So just why, why are we here?
And just what, what, what, what do we fear?
Well ce soir, for a change, it will all be made clear,
For this is the Meaning of Life - c'est le sens de la vie -
This is the Meaning of Life.

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE
                       -------------------

                             PART I

                      THE MIRACLE OF BIRTH

[Hospital corridor. A mother-to-be is being wheeled very fast down
the corridor on a trolley, which crashes through several sets of
doors. A nurse with her slips into a consultant's room, where one
doctor is throwing beer mats through the crooked arm of another.]

First Doctor: One thousand and eight!

Nurse: Mrs Moore's contractions are more frequent, doctor.

First Doctor: Good. Take her into the foetus-frightening room.

Nurse: Right.

          [They pass through the delivery room.]

First Doctor: Bit bare in here today. isn't it?

Second Doctor: Yeees.

First Doctor: More apparatus please, nurse.

Nurse: Yes doctor.

First Doctor: Yes, the EEG, the BP monitor and the AVV, please.

Second Doctor: And get the machine that goes 'Ping'!

First Doctor: And get the most expensive machines in case the
     administrator comes.

          [Apparatus starts pouring into the room. The mother is
          lost behind various bits of equipment.]

First Doctor: That's better, that's much better.

Second Doctor: Yeeees. More like it.

First Doctor: Still something missing, though. [They think hard for
     a few moments.]

First and Second Doctors: Patient?

Second Doctor: Where's the patient?

First Doctor: Anyone seen the patient?

Second Doctor: Patient!

Nurse: Ah, here she is.

First Doctor: Bring her round.

Second Doctor: Mind the machine!

First Doctor: Come along!

Second Doctor: Jump up there. Hup!

First Doctor: Hallo! Now, don't you worry.

Second Doctor: We'll soon have you cured.

First Doctor: Leave it all to us, you'll never know what hit you.

First and Second Doctors: Goodbye, goodbye! Drips up! Injections.

Second Doctor: Can I put the tube in the baby's head?

First Doctor: Only if I can do the epesiotomy.

Second Doctor: Okay.

First Doctor: Now, legs up.

          [The legs are put in the stirrups, while the Doctors open
          the doors opposite.]

First and Second Doctors: Come on. Come on, all of you. That's it,
     jolly good. Come on. Come on. Spread round there.

          [A small horde enters, largely medical but with two
          Japanese with cameras and video equipment. The first
          doctor bumps into a man.]

First Doctor: Who are you?

Man: I'm the husband.

First Doctor: I'm sorry. only people involved are allowed in here.

          [The husband leaves.]

Mrs Moore: What do I do?

Second Doctor: Yes?

Mrs Moore: What's that for?

          [She points to a machine.]

First Doctor: That's the machine that goes 'Ping'!

          [It goes 'Ping'.]

First Doctor: You see. It means that your baby is still alive.

Second Doctor: And that's the most expensive machine in the whole
     hospital.

First Doctor: Yes, it cost over three quarters of a million pounds.

Second Doctor: Aren't you lucky!

Nurse: The administrator's here, doctor.

First Doctor: Switch everything on!

          [They do so. Everything flashes and beeps and thuds.
          Enter the administrator...]

Administrator: Morning, gentlemen.

First and Second Doctors: Morning Mr Pycroft.

Administrator: Very impressive. What are you doing this morning?

First Doctor: It's a birth.

Administrator: And what sort of thing is that?

Second Doctor: Well, that's when we take a new baby out of a lady's
     tummy.

Administrator: Wonderful what we can do nowadays. Ah! I see you
     have the machine that goes 'Ping'. This is my favourite. You
     see we lease this back to the company we sold it to. That
     way it comes under the monthly current budget and not the
     capital account. [They all applaud.] Thank you, thank you. We
     try to do our best. Well, do carry on.

          [He leaves.]

Nurse: Oh, the vulva's dilating, doctor.

First Doctor: Yes, there's the head. Yes, four centimetres, five,
     six centimetres...

First and Second Doctors: Lights! Amplify the ping machine. Masks
     up! Suction! Eyes down for a full house! Here it comes!

          [The baby arrives.]

First Doctor: And frighten it!

          [They grab the baby, hold it upside down, slap it, poke
          tubes up its nose, hose it with cold water. Then the baby
          is placed on a wooden chopping block and the umbilicus
          severed with a chopper.]

     And the rough towels!

          [It is dried with rough towels.]

     Show it to the mother.

          [It is shown to the mother.]

First and Second Doctors: That's enough! Right. Sedate her, number
     the child. Measure it, blood type it and... *isolate* it.

Nurse: OK, show's over.

Mrs Moore: Is it a boy or a girl?

First Doctor: Now I think it's a little early to start imposing
     roles on it, don't you? Now a world of advice. You may find
     that you suffer for some time a totally irrational feeling of
     depression. PND is what we doctors call it. So it's lots of
     happy pills for you, and you can find out all about the birth
     when you get home. It's available on Betamax, VHS and Super 8.

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE
                       -------------------

                      THE MIRACLE OF BIRTH

                             PART 2

                         THE THIRD WORLD

                            Yorkshire

[A northern street. Dad is marching home. We see his house. A stork
flies above it, and drops a baby down the chimney.]

Dad: Oh bloody hell.

          [Inside the house. A pregnant woman is at the sink. With
          a cry a new-born baby, complete with umbilical cord,
          drops from between her legs onto the floor.]

Mother: Get that would you, Deirdre...

Girl: All right, Mum.

          [The girl takes the baby. Mum carries on.]

          [Dad comes up to the door and pushes it open sadly.
          Inside there are at least forty children, of various
          ages, packed into the living room.]

Mum: [with tray] Whose teatime is it?

Scores of Voices: Me, mum...

Mum: Vincent, Tessa, Valerie, Janine, Martha, Andrew, Thomas,
     Walter, Pat, Linda, Michael, Evadne, Alice, Dominique, and
     Sasha... it's your bedtime!

Children: [all together] Oh, Mum!

Mum: Don't argue...  Laura, Alfred, Nigel, Annie, Simon, Amanda...

Dad: Wait...

          [They all listen.]

     I've got something to tell the whole family.

          [All stop... A buzz of excitement.]

Mum: [to her nearest son] Quick... go and get the others in,
     Gordon!

          [Gordon goes out.  Another twenty or so children enter
          the room.  They squash in at the back as best they can.]

Dad: The mill's closed. There's no more work, we're destitute.

          [Lots of cries of 'Oh no!'... 'Cripes'... 'Heck'... from
          around the room.]

     I've got no option but to sell you all for scientific
     experiments. [The children protest with heart-rending pleas.]
     No no, that's the way it is my loves... Blame the Catholic
     church for not letting me wear one of those little rubber
     things... Oh they've done some wonderful things in their time,
     they preserved the might and majesty, even the mystery of the
     Church of Rome, the sanctity of the sacrament and the
     indivisible oneness of the Trinity, but if they'd let me wear
     one of the little rubber things on the end of my cock we
     wouldn't be in the mess we are now.

Little Boy: Couldn't Mummy have worn some sort of pessary?

Dad: Not if we're going to remain members of the fastest growing
     religion in the world, my boy... You see, we believe... well,
     let me put it like this...
     [sings]

     There are Jews in the world,
     There are Buddhists,
     There are Hindus and Mormons and then,
     There are those that follow Mohammed,
     But I've never been one of them...

     I'm a Roman Catholic,
     And have been since before I was born,
     And the one thing they say about Catholics,
     Is they'll take you as soon as you're warm...

     You don't have to be a six-footer,
     You don't have to have a great brain,
     You don't have to have any clothes on -
     You're a Catholic the minute Dad came...

     Because...

     Every sperm is sacred,
     Every sperm is great,
     If a sperm is wasted,
     God gets quite irate.

Children: Every sperm is sacred,
     Every sperm is great,
     If a sperm is wasted,
     God gets quite irate.

Child: [solo] Let the heathen spill theirs,
     On the dusty ground,
     God shall make them pay for,
     Each sperm that can't be found.

Children: Every sperm is wanted,
     Every sperm is good,
     Every sperm is needed,
     In your neighbourhood.

Mum: [solo] Hindu, Taoist, Mormon,
     Spill theirs just anywhere,
     But God loves those who treat their
     Semen with more care.

Men neighbours: [peering out of toilets]
     Every sperm is sacred,
     Every sperm is great,

Women neighbours: [on wall]
     If a sperm is wasted,

Children: God get quite irate.

Priest: [in church] Every sperm is sacred,

Bride and Groom: Every sperm is good.

Nannies: Every sperm is needed.

Cardinals: [in prams] In your neighbourhood!

Children: Every sperm is useful,
     Every sperm is fine,

Funeral Cortege: God needs everybody's,

First Mourner: Mine!

Lady Mourner: And mine!

Corpse: And mine!

Nun: [solo] Though the pagans spill theirs,
     O'er mountain, hill and plain,

Various artefacts in a Roman Catholic Souvenir Shop:
     God shall strike them down for
     Each sperm that's spilt in vain.

Everybody: Every sperm is sacred,
     Every sperm is good,
     Every sperm is needed,
     In your neighbourhood.

Even more than everybody, including two fire-eaters, a juggler, a
clown at a piano and a stilt-walker riding a bicycle:
     Every sperm is sacred,
     Every sperm is great,
     If a sperm is wasted,
     God gets quite irate.

          [Everybody cheers (including the fire-eaters, the
          juggler, the clown at the piano and the stilt-walker
          riding the bicycle). Fireworks go off, a Chinese dragon
          is brought on and flags of all nations are unfurled
          overhead.]

          [Back inside.]

Dad: So you see my problem, little ones... I can't keep you here
     any longer.

Shout from the back: Speak up!

Dad: [raising his voice] I can't keep you here any longer... God
     has blessed us so much that I can't afford to feed you
     anymore.

Boy: Couldn't you have your balls cut off...?

Dad: It's not as simple as that Nigel... God knows all... He would
     see through such a cheap trick. What we do to ourselves, we do
     to Him...

Voice: You could have them pulled off in an accident?

          [Other voices suggest ways his balls can be removed.]

Dad: No... no... children... I know you're trying to help but
     believe me, my mind's made up. I've given this long and
     careful thought. And it's medical experiments for the lot of
     you...

          [The children emerge singing a melancholy reprise of
          'Every Sperm is Sacred.']

          [They are being watched from another Northern house.]

Mr Blackitt: Look at them, bloody Catholics. Filling the bloody
     world up with bloody people they can't afford to bloody feed.

Mrs Blackitt: What are we dear?

Mr Blackitt: Protestant, and fiercely proud of it...

Mrs Blackitt: Why do they have so many children...?

Mr Blackitt: Because every time they have sexual intercourse they
     have to have a baby.

Mrs Blackitt: But it's the same with us, Harry.

Mr Blackitt: What d'you mean...?

Mrs Blackitt: Well I mean we've got two children and we've had
     sexual intercourse twice.

Mr Blackitt: That's not the point... We *could* have it any time we
     wanted.

Mrs Blackitt: Really?

Mr Blackitt: Oh yes. And, what's more, because we don't believe in
     all that Papist claptrap we can take precautions.

Mrs Blackitt: What, you mean lock the door...?

Mr Blackitt: No no, I mean, because we are members of the
     Protestant Reformed Church which successfully challenged the
     autocratic power of the Papacy in the mid-sixteenth century,
     we can wear little rubber devices to prevent issue.

Mrs Blackitt: What do you mean?

Mr Blackitt: I could, if I wanted, have sexual intercourse with
     you...

Mrs Blackitt: Oh, yes... Harry...

Mr Blackitt: And by wearing a rubber sheath over my old feller I
     could ensure that when I came off... you would not be
     impregnated.

Mrs Blackitt: Ooh!

Mr Blackitt: That's what being a Protestant's all about. That's
     why it's the church for me. That's why it's the church for
     anyone who respects the  individual and the individual's right
     to decide for him or herself. When Martin Luther nailed his
     protest up to the church door in 1517, he may not have
     realised the full significance of what he was doing. But four
     hundred years later, thanks to him, my dear, I can wear
     whatever I want on my John Thomas. And Protestantism doesn't
     stop at the simple condom. Oh no! I can wear French Ticklers
     if I want.

Mrs Blackitt: You what?

Mr Blackitt: French Ticklers... Black Mambos... Crocodile Ribs...
     Sheaths that are designed not only to protect but also to
     enhance the stimulation of sexual congress...

Mrs Blackitt: Have you got one?

Mr Blackitt: Have I got one? Well no... But I can go down the road
     any time I want and walk into Harry's and hold my head up
     high, and say in a loud steady voice: 'Harry I want you to
     sell me a *condom*. In fact today I think I'll have a French
     Tickler, for I am a Protestant...'

Mrs Blackitt: Well why don't you?

Mr Blackitt: But they... [He points at the stream of children still
     pouring past the house.]... they cannot. Because their church
     never made the great leap out of the Middle Ages, and the
     domination of alien episcopal supremacy!

                        the Adventures of

                             MARTIN
                             LUTHER
                               in

                         Reform-O-Scope

                          presented by
               The Protestant Film Marketing Board
                       in association with
                 Sol. C. Ziegler, Andy Rotbeiner
                    and the people of Beirut

                             GERMANY
                 in the grip of the 16th century

An exciting and controversial examination of the Protestant
reformer whose re-assessment of the role of the individual in
Christian belief shook the foundations of a post-feudal Germany in
the grip of the sixteenth century.

It was a day much like any other in the quiet little town of
Wittenberg. Mamie Meyer was preparing fat for the evening meal when
the full force of the Reformation struck.

          [A woman and two rather plain daughters are sitting
          outside their house with bowls. A man arrives
          breathless.]

Hymie: Mamie! Martin Luther's out!

          [Consternation amongst the womenfolk.]

Mamie: Oh! Martin Luther!

          [She hurries her daughters inside.]

     Did you get the suet, Hymie?

Hymie: Oy vay - the suet I clean forgot!

Mamie: The suet you forgot!

Hymie: The lard, the fish oil, the butter fat, the dripping, the
     wool grease I remember... [Hands over the shopping]... but the
     suet... oy vay...

Mamie: [pointing to his head] So what'd keep up there? Adipose
     tissue?

Hymie: Look out! Here he comes.

          [Mamie goes inside shouting.]

Mamie: Girls, girls! Your father forgot the suet!

          [Groans from the girls inside.]

          [Martin Luther is at the gate. His ears prick up at the
          female voices. His eyes flick from side to side.]

Hymie: Hallo Martin.

Martin Luther: Where's the john?

Hymie: We don't have one.

Martin Luther: No john? What d'you do?

Hymie: We eat fat.

Martin Luther: And that stops you going to the john?

Hymie: It's a theory.

Martin Luther: Yeah, but does it work?

Hymie: We ain't got no john.

Martin Luther: Yeah, but d'you need to go?

Hymie: You know how it is with theories - some days it's fine...
     maybe one, two... three days... and then just when it looks
     like you're ready for to publish... [Expression of resignation
     and disgust.]... Whoosh! You need a new kitchen floor.

Martin Luther: Oh you should be so lucky!

          [A girl's laugh from inside. Martin Luther looks up -
          alert.]

Martin Luther: D'you need any cleaning inside?

Hymie: Oh no... today it's all going fine.

Martin Luther: Oh well, how's about showing me the cutlery?

Hymie: Martin - I got a woman and children in there.

Martin Luther: So there's no problem... I just look at a few
     spoons... and...

          [Martin Luther starts to go in. Hymie stops him.]

Hymie: I got two girls in there, Martin... you know what I mean.

Martin Luther: Honest! I don't look at your girls! I don't even
     think about them! There! I put them out of my mind! Their
     arms, their necks... their little legs... and bosoms... I
     *wipe* from my mind.

Hymie: You just want to see spoons?

Martin Luther: My life! That's what I want to see.

Hymie: I know I'm going to regret this.

Martin Luther: No, listen! Cutlery is really my thing now. Girls
     with round breasts is over for me.

Hymie: What am I doing? I know what's going to happen.

Martin Luther: I'll crouch behind you.

          [He goes in. Martin Luther follows, crouching.]

Hymie: Mamie! Guess who's come to see us!

Mamie: Hymie! Are you out of your mind already? You know how old
     your daughters are?

Hymie: He only wants to see the spoons.

Mamie: What you have to bring him into my house for?

Hymie: Mamie, he doesn't even think about girls any more.

Martin Luther: Mrs Meyer - as far as girls is concerned, I shot my
     wad!

Mamie: You shot your *wad*?

Martin Luther: Def - in - ately...

          [Pause.]

Mamie: Which spoons you wanna view?

Martin Luther: Eh... [shrugs]... I guess the soup spoons...

Mamie: [suddenly interested] Ah! Now they're good spoons.

Martin Luther: You got them arranged?

Mamie: No, but I could arrange them for you.

Martin Luther: Don't put yourself to no bother, Mrs Meyer.

Mamie: It's no bother... I want for you to see those spoons like I
     would want to see them myself.

Martin Luther: Oh you're too kind, Mrs Meyer... You could get your
     daughters to show me them...

Mamie: Hymie get him out of here.

Hymie: Mamie, he only said for Myrtle and Audrey to show him the
     *spoons*.

Mamie: Like you think I run some kind of bordello here...

Martin Luther: Mrs Meyer! How can you say such a thing?

Mamie: Listen Martin Luther! I know what you want to do with my
     girls!

Martin Luther: Show me the spoons...

Mamie: You want for them to pull up their shirts and then lean over
     the chair with their legs apart...

Hymie: Mamie don't get excited...

Mamie: I'm getting excited? It's him that's getting excited!

Martin Luther: My mind is on the spoons.

Mamie: But you can't stop thinking of those little girls over the
     chairs.

          [Luther is struggling with himself.]

Hymie: I got to go to the bathroom.

Mamie: [grabs him] Hymie! I'm a married woman!

Hymie: So... just show him the spoons.

          [Hymie goes.]

Mamie: And you don't want to put nothing up me?

Martin Luther: Mrs Meyer - you read my mind.

Mamie: Oh...

          [They go out discreetly.]

But despite the efforts of Protestants to promote the idea of sex
for pleasure, children continued to multiply everywhere.

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE
                       -------------------

                             PART II

                       GROWTH AND LEARNING

[A school chapel.]

Headmaster: And spotteth twice they the camels before the third
     hour. And so the Midianites went forth to Ram Gilead in Kadesh
     Bilgemath by Shor Ethra Regalion, to the house of 
     Gash-Bil-Betheul-Bazda, he who brought the butter dish to 
     Balshazar and the tent peg to the house of Rashomon, and there 
     slew they the goats, yea, and placed they the bits in little 
     pots. Here endeth the lesson.

          [The Headmaster closes the Bible. the Chaplain rises.]

Chaplain: Let us praise God. Oh Lord...

Congregation: Oh Lord...

Chaplain: Oooh you are so big...

Congregation: Oooh you are so big...

Chaplain: So absolutely huge.

Congregation: So ab - solutely huge.

Chaplain: Gosh, we're all really impressed down here I can tell
     you.

Congregation: Gosh, we're all really impressed down here I can tell
     you.

Chaplain: Forgive Us, O Lord, for this dreadful toadying.

Congregation: And barefaced flattery.

Chaplain: But you are so strong and, well, just so super.

Congregation: Fan - tastic.

Headmaster: Amen. Now two boys have been found rubbing linseed oil
     into the school cormorant. Now some of you may feel that the
     cormorant does not play an important part in the life of the
     school but I remind you that it was presented to us by the
     Corporation of the town of Sudbury to commemorate Empire Day,
     when we try to remember the names of all those from the
     Sudbury area so gallantly gave their lives to keep China
     British. So from now on the cormorant is strictly out of
     bounds. Oh... and Jenkins... apparently your mother died this
     morning. [He turns to the Chaplain.] Chaplain.

          [The congregation rises and the Chaplain leads them in
          singing.]

Chaplain and Congregation:
     Oh Lord, please don't burn us,
     Don't grill or toast your flock,
     Don't put us on the barbecue,
     Or simmer us in stock,
     Don't braise or bake or boil us,
     Or stir-fry us in a wok...

     Oh please don't lightly poach us,
     Or baste us with hot fat,
     Don't fricassee or roast us,
     Or boil us in a vat,
     And please don't stick thy servants Lord,
     In a Rotissomat...

          [A classroom. The boys are sitting quietly studying.]

Boy: He's coming!

          [Pandemonium breaks out. The Headmaster walks in.]

Headmaster: All right, settle down, settle down. [He puts his
     papers down.] Now before I begin the lesson will those of you
     who are playing in the match this afternoon move your clothes
     down on to the lower peg immediately after lunch before you
     write your letter home, if you're not getting your hair cut,
     unless you've got a younger brother who is going out this
     weekend as the guest of another boy, in which case collect his
     note before lunch, put it in your letter after you've had your
     hair cut, and make sure he moves your clothes down onto the
     lower peg for you. Now...

Wymer: Sir?

Headmaster: Yes, Wymer?

Wymer: My younger brother's going out with Dibble this weekend,
     sir, but I'm not having my hair cut today sir, so do I move my
     clothes down or...

Headmaster: I do wish you'd listen, Wymer, it's perfectly simple.
     If you're not getting your hair cut, you don't have to move
     your brother's clothes down to the lower peg, you simply
     collect his note before lunch after you've done your scripture
     prep when you've written your letter home before rest, move
     your own clothes on to the lower peg, greet the visitors, and
     report to Mr Viney that you've had your chit signed. Now,
     sex... sex, sex, sex, where were we?

          [Silence from form. A lot of hard thinking of the type
          indulged by schoolboys who know they don't know the
          answer.]

     Well, had I got as far as the penis entering the vagina?

Pupils: Er... er... no sir. No we didn't, sir.

Headmaster: Well had I done foreplay?

Pupils: ...Yes sir.

Headmaster: Well, as we all know about foreplay no doubt you can
     tell me what the purpose of foreplay is... Biggs.

Biggs: Don't know, sorry sir.

Headmaster: Carter.

Carter: Er... was it taking your clothes off, sir?

Headmaster: And after that?

Wymer: Putting them on the lower peg sir?

          [Headmaster throws a board duster at him and hits him.]

Headmaster: The purpose of foreplay is to cause the vagina to
     lubricate so that the penis can penetrate more easily.

Watson: Could we have a window open please sir?

Headmaster: Yes... Harris will you?... And, of course, to cause the
     man's penis to erect and har...den. Now, did I do vaginal
     juices last week oh do pay attention Wadsworth, I know it's
     Friday afternoon oh watching the football are you boy - right
     move over there. I'm warning you I may decide to set an
     exam this term.

Pupils: Oh sir...

Headmaster: So just listen... now did I or did I not do vaginal
     juices?

Pupils: Yes sir.

Headmaster: Name two ways of getting them flowing, Watson.

Watson: Rubbing the clitoris, sir.

Headmaster: What's wrong with a kiss, boy? Hm? Why not start her
     off with a nice kiss? You don't have to go leaping straight
     for the clitoris like a bull at a gate. Give her a kiss, boy.

Wymer: Suck the nipple, sir.

Headmaster: Good. Good. Good, well done, Wymer.

Duckworth: Stroking the thighs, sir.

Headmaster: Yes, I suppose so.

Another: Bite the neck.

Headmaster: Good. Nibbling the ear. Kneading the buttocks, and so
     on and so forth. So we have all these possibilities before we
     stampede towards the clitoris, Watson.

Watson: Yes sir. Sorry sir.

Headmaster: All these form of stimulation can now take place.

          [The Headmaster pulls the bed down.]

     ... And of course tongueing will give you the best idea of how
     the juices are coming along. [Calls.] Helen... Now penetration
     and coitus, that is to say intercourse up to and including
     orgasm.

          [Mrs Williams has entered.]

     Ah hallo, dear.

          [The pupils have shuffled more or less to their feet.]

     *Do* stand up when my wife enters the room, Carter.

Carter: Oh sorry, sir. Sorry.

Mrs Williams: Humphrey, I hope you don't mind, but I told the
     Garfields we *would* dine with them tonight.

Headmaster: [starting to disrobe] Yes, yes, I suppose we must...

Mrs Williams: [taking off her clothes] I said we'd be there by
     eight.

Headmaster: Well at least it'll give me a reason to wind up the
     staff meeting.

Mrs Williams: Well I know you don't like them but I couldn't make
     another excuse.

Headmaster: [he's got his shirt off] Well it's just that I felt -
     Wymer. This is for your benefit. Will you kindly wake up. I've
     no intention of going through this all again. [The boys are no
     more interested than they were in the last lesson on the
     Binomial Theorem, though they pretend, as usual.] Now we'll
     take the foreplay as read, if you don't mind, dear.

Mrs Williams: No of course not, Humphrey.

Headmaster: So the man starts by entering, or mounting his good
     lady wife in the standard way. The penis is now as you will
     observe more or less fully erect. There we are. Ah that's
     better. Now... Carter.

Carter: Yes sir.

Headmaster: What is it?

Carter: It's an ocarina... sir.

Headmaster: Bring it up here. The man now starts making thrusting
     movements with his pelvic area, moving the penis up and down
     inside the vagina so... put it there boy, put it there... on
     the table... while the wife maximizes her clitoral stimulation
     by the shaft of the penis by pushing forward, thank you
     dear... now as sexual excitement mounts... what's funny Biggs?

Biggs: Oh, nothing sir.

Headmaster: Oh do please share your little joke with the rest of
     us... I mean, obviously something frightfully funny's going
     on...

Biggs: No, honestly, sir.

Headmaster: Well as it's so funny I think you'd better be selected
     to play for the boys' team in the rugby match against the
     masters this afternoon.

Biggs: [looks horrified] Oh no, sir.

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE
                       -------------------

                            PART III

                       FIGHTING EACH OTHER

Biggs: [now a soldiers-in-arms] O.K. Blackitt, Sturridge and
     Walters you take the buggers on the left flank. Hordern,
     Spadger and I will go for the gunpost.

Blackitt: [a Deptford Cockney] Hang on, you'll never make it,
     sir... Let us come with you... 

Biggs: Do as you're told man.

Blackitt: Righto, skipper. [He starts to go, then stops.] Oh, sir,
     sir... if we... if we don't meet again... sir, I'd just like
     to say it's been a real privilege fighting alongside you,
     sir...

          [They are continually ducking as bullets fly past them
          and shells burst overhead.]

Biggs: Yes, well I think this is hardly the time or place for a
     goodbye speech... eh...

          [Biggs is clearly anxious to go.]

Blackitt: No, me, and the lads realise that but... well... we may
     never meet again, sir, so...

Biggs: All right, Blackitt, thanks a lot.

Blackitt: No just a mo, sir! You see me and the lads had a little
     whip-round, sir, and we bought you something, sir... we bought
     you this, sir...

          [He produces a handsome ormolu clock from his pack. Biggs
          is at a loss for words. He is continually ducking.]

Biggs: Well, I don't know what to say... It's a lovely thought...
     thank you... thank you *all*... but I think we'd better... get
     to cover now...

          [He starts to go.]

Blackitt: Hang on a tick, sir, we got something else for you as
     well, sir.

          [Two of the others emerge from some bushes with a
          grandfather clock.]

     Sorry it's another clock, sir... only there was a bit of a
     mix-up... Walters thought *he* was buying the present, and
     Spadger and I had already got the other one.

Biggs: Well it's beautiful... they're both beau -

          [A bullet suddenly shatters the face of the grandfather
          clock.]

     ... But I think we'd better get to cover now, and I'll thank
     you properly later...

          [Biggs starts to go again but Blackitt hasn't finished.]

Blackitt: And Corporal Sturridge got this for you as well, sir. He
     didn't know about the others, sir - it's Swiss.

          [He hands over a wristwatch.]

Biggs: Well now that is thoughtful, Sturridge. Good man.

          [A shell bursts right overhead. Biggs flings himself down
          into the mud.]

Blackitt: And there's a card, sir... from all of us... [He produces
     a blood-splattered envelope.]... Sorry about the blood, sir.

Biggs: Thank you all.

          [He pockets it and tries to go on.]

Blackitt: Squad, three cheers for Captain Biggs. Hip Hip -

All: Hooray!

Blackitt: Hip Hip -

All: Hoor...

          [An almighty burst of machine-gun fire silences most of
          them... Blackitt is hit.]

Biggs: Blackitt! Blackitt!

Blackitt: [hurt] Ah! I'll be all right, sir... Oh there's just one
     other thing, sir. Spadge, give him the cheque...

Spadger: Oh yeah...

Biggs: Oh now this is really going to far...

Spadger: I don't seem to be able to find it, sir... [Explosion.]
     Er, it'll be in Number Four trench... I'll go and get it. [He
     starts to crawl off.]

Biggs: [losing his cool] Oh! For Christ's sake forget it, man.

          [The others all look at Biggs after this outburst, as if
          they can't believe this ingratitude.]

Blackitt: Oh! Ah!

Spadger: You shouldn't have said that, sir. You've hurt his
     feelings now...

Blackitt: Don't mind me, Spadge... Toffs is all the same... One
     minute it's all 'please' and 'thank you', the next they'll
     kick you in the teeth...

Walters: Let's not give him the cake...

Biggs: I don't want *any* cake...

Spadger: Look, Blackitt cooked it specially for you, you bastard.

          [They all look at Blackitt rolling in the mud.]

Sturridge: Yeah, he saved his rations for six weeks.

Biggs: I'm sorry, I don't mean to be ungrateful...

Blackitt: I'll be all right.

          [Shell crashes. Blackitt dies.]

Spadger: Blackie! Blackie! [He turns to Biggs with tears in his
     eyes.] Look at him... [He pulls up the supine form of
     Blackitt.] He worked on that cake like no-one else I've ever
     known. [He props him in the mud again.] Some nights it was so
     cold we could hardly move, but Blackie'd de out there -
     slicing lemons, mixing the sugar and the almonds... I mean you
     try getting butter melted at fifteen below zero! There's love
     in that cake... [He picks up Blackitt again.] This man's love
     and this man's care and this man's - Aarggh!
     [He gets shot.]

     [Biggs runs over to them in horror.]

Biggs: Oh my Christ!

Sturridge: You bastard.

Biggs: All right! All right! We will eat the cake. They're right...
     it's too good a cake not to eat. get the plates and knives,
     Walters...

Walters: Yes, sir... how many plates?

Biggs: Six.

          [A shot rings out. Walters drops dead.]

Biggs: Er... no... better make it five.

Sturridge: Tablecloth, sir...?

Biggs: Yes, get the tablecloth...!

          [Explosion. Sturridge gets shot.]

Biggs: No no no, I'll get the tablecloth and you'd better get the
     gate-leg table, Hordern.

          [Hordern is shot in the leg.]

Hordern: I'll bring two sir, in case one gets scrumpled...

          [Suddenly we find this has all been a film, which a
          General now stops.]

General: Well, of course, warfare isn't all fun. Right, stop that.
     It's all very well to laugh at the Military, but when one
     considers the meaning of life it is a struggle between
     alternative viewpoints of life itself. And without the
     ability to defend one's own viewpoint against other perhaps
     more aggressive ideologies then reasonableness and moderation
     could quite simply disappear. That is why we'll always need an
     army and may God strike me down were it to be otherwise.

          [The Hand of god descends and vaporizes him.]

          [The audience of two old ladies and two kids applauds
          hesitantly.]

          [Outside the hut RSM Whateverhisnameis is drilling a
          small squad of recruits.]

RSM: Don't stand there gawping like you've never seen the Hand of
     God before. Now! Today we're going to do marching up and down
     the square. That is unless any of you got anything better to
     do? Well, anyone got anything they'd rather be doing than
     marching up and down the square?

          [Atkinson puts his hand up.]

     Yes? Atkinson? What would you rather be doing, Atkinson?

Atkinson: Well to be quite honest, Sarge, I'd rather be at home
     with the wife and kids.

RSM: Would you now?

Atkinson: Yes, sarge.

RSM: Right off you go. [Atkinson goes.] Now, everybody else happy
     with my little plan of marching up and down the square a bit?

Coles: Sarge...

RSM: Yes?

Coles: I've got a book I'd quite like to read...

RSM: Right! You go read your book then! [Coles runs off.] Now
     everybody else quite content to join in with my little scheme
     of marching hup and down the square?

Wycliff: Sarge?

RSM: Yes, Wycliff, what is it?

Wycliff: [tentatively] Well... I'm... er... learning the piano...

RSM: [with contempt] 'Learning the piano'?

Wycliff: Yes, sarge...

RSM: And I suppose you want to go and practise eh? Marching up and
     down the square not good enough for you, eh?

Wycliff: Well...

RSM: Right! Off you go! [Turns to the rest.] Now what about the
     rest of you? Rather be at the pictures I suppose.

Squad: Ooh, yes, ooh rather.

RSM: All right off you go. [They go.] Bloody army! I don't know
     what it's coming to... Right, Sgt Major, marching up and down
     the square... Left-right-left... left... left... 
     left-right-left...

          [The RSM marches himself off into the distance of the
          barracks square.]

Democracy and humanitarianism have always been tarde marks of the
British Army and have stamped its triumph throughout history, in
the furthest-flung corners of the Empire. But no matter where or
when there was fighting to be done, it has always been the calm
leadership of the officer class that has made the British Army what
it is.

                       The First Zulu War.

                    Natal 1879 (not Glasgow)

          [Inside a tent.]

Pakenham-Walsh: Morning Ainsworth.

Ainsworth: Morning Pakenham-Walsh.

Pakenham-Walsh: Sleep well?

Ainsworth: Not bad. Bitten to shreds though. Must be a hole in the
     bloody mosquito net.

Pakenham-Walsh: Yes, savage little blighters aren't they?

First Lieut Chadwick: [arriving] Excuse me, sir.

Ainsworth: Yes Chadwick?

Chadwick: I'm afraid Perkins got rather badly bitten during the
     night.

Ainsworth: Well so did we. Huh.

Chadwick: Yes, but I do think the doctor ought to see him.

Ainsworth: Well go and fetch him, then.

Chadwick: Right you are, sir.

Ainsworth: Suppose I'd better go along. Coming, Pakenham?

Pakenham-Walsh: Yes I suppose so.

          [Chadwick leaves. Ainsworth and Pakenham-Walsh thread
          their leisurely way through the line of assegais.
          Pakenham-Walsh's valet is speared by a Zulu warrior but
          Pakenham-Walsh valiantly saves his jacket from the mud.
          They enter Perkins's tent. Perkins is on his camp bed.]

Ainsworth: Ah! Morning Perkins.

Perkins: Morning sir.

Ainsworth: What's all the trouble then?

Perkins: Bitten sir. During the night.

Ainsworth: Hm. Whole leg gone eh?

Perkins: Yes.

          [As they talk, the din of battle continues outside.
          Screams of dying men, crackling of tents set on fire.]

Ainsworth: How's it feel?

Perkins: Stings a bit.

Ainsworth: Mmm. Well it would, wouldn't it. That's quite a bite
     you've got there you know.

Perkins: Yes, real beauty isn't it?

All: Yes.

Ainsworth: Any idea how it happened?

Perkins: None at all. Complete mystery to me. Woke up just now...
     one sock too many.

Pakenham-Walsh: You must have a hell of a hole in your net.

Ainsworth: Hm. We've sent for the doctor.

Perkins: Ooh, hardly worth it, is it?

Ainsworth: Oh yes... better safe than sorry.

Pakenham-Walsh: Yes, good Lord, look at this.

          [He indicates a gigantic hole in the mosquito net.]

Ainsworth: By jove, that's enormous.

Pakenham-Walsh: You don't think it'll come back, do you?

Ainsworth: For more, you mean?

Pakenham-Walsh: Yes.

Ainsworth: You're right. We'd better get this stitched.

Pakenham-Walsh: Right.

Ainsworth: Hallo Doc.

Livingstone: [entering the tent with Chadwick] Morning. I came as
     fast as I could. Is something up?

Ainsworth: Yes, during the night old Perkins had his leg bitten
     sort of... off.

Livingstone: Ah hah!? Been in the wars have we?

Perkins: Yes.

Livingstone: Any headache, bowels all right? Well, let's have a
     look at this one leg of yours then. [Looks around under sheet]
     Yes... yes... yes... yes... yes... yes... well, this is
     nothing to worry about.

Perkins: Oh good.

Livingstone: There's a lot of it about, probably a virus, keep
     warm, plenty of rest, and if you're playing football or
     anything try and favour the other leg.

Perkins: Oh right ho.

Livingstone: Be as right as rain in a couple of days.

Perkins: Thanks for the reassurance, doc.

Livingstone: Not at all, that's what I'm here for. Any other
     problems I can reassure you about?

Perkins: No I'm fine.

Livingstone: Jolly good. Well, must be off.

Perkins: So it'll just grow back then, will it?

Livingstone: Er... I think I'd better come clean with you about
     this... it's... um it's not a virus, I'm afraid. You see, a
     virus is what we doctors call very very small. So small it
     could not possibly have made off with a whole leg. What we're
     looking for here is I think, and this is no more than an
     educated guess, I'd like to make that clear, is some 
     multi-cellular life form with stripes, huge razor-sharp teeth,
     about eleven foot long and of the genu *felis horribilis*.
     What we doctors, in fact, call a tiger.

All in tent: A tiger...!!

          [Outside, everyone engaged in battle, including the
          Zulus, breaks off and shouts in horror:]

All: A tiger!

          [The Zulus run off.]

Pakenham-Walsh: A tiger - in Africa?

Ainsworth: Hm...

Pakenham-Walsh: A tiger in Africa...?

Ainsworth: Ah... well it's probably escaped from a zoo.

Pakenham-Walsh: Well it doesn't sound very likely.

Ainsworth: [quietly] Stumm, stumm...

          [A severely-wounded Sergeant staggers into the tent.]

Sergeant: Sir, sir, the attack's over, sir! the Zulus are
     retreating.

Ainsworth: [dismissively] Oh jolly good. [He turns his back to the
     group around Perkins.]

Sergeant: Quite a lot of casualties though, sir. C Division wiped
     out. Signals gone. Thirty men killed in F Section. I should
     think about a hundred - a hundred and fifty men altogether.

Ainsworth: [not very interested] Yes, yes I see, yes... Jolly good.

Sergeant: I haven't got the final figures, sir. There's a lot of
     seriously wounded in the compound...

Ainsworth: [interrupting] Yes... well, the thing is, Sergeant, I've
     got a bit of a problem here. [With gravity.] One of the
     officers has lost a leg.

Sergeant: [stunned by the news] Oh *no*, sir!

Ainsworth: [gravely] I'm afraid so. Probably a tiger.

Sergeant: In Africa?

Ainsworth and Pakenham-Walsh: Stumm, stumm...

Ainsworth: The M.O. says we can stitch it back on if we find it
     immediately.

Sergeant: Right sir! I'll organise a party right away, sir!

Ainsworth: Well it's hardly time for that, is it Sergeant...?

Sergeant: A search party...

Ainsworth: Ah! *Much* better idea. I'll tell you what, organise one
     straight away.

Sergeant: Yes sir!

          [Outside dead British bodies (of the other ranks) are
          everywhere.]

Sergeant: [apologetically] Sorry about the mess, sir. We'll try and
     get it cleared up, by the time you get back.

          [They walk through the carnage. Orderlies are cheerfully
          attending to the equally cheery wounded and the only
          slightly less cheery dead.]

A dying man: [covered in blood] We showed 'em, didn't we, sir?

Ainsworth: Yes.

          [He gives a thumbs up and dies.]

Sergeant: [addressing a soldier who is giving water to a dying man]
     We've got to get a search party, leave that alone.

Another cheery cockney: [with an assegai sticking out of his chest]
     This is fun, sir, init... all this killing... bloodshed...
     bloody good fun sir, init?

Ainsworth: [abstracted] Yes... very good.

          [He waves and moves on.]

A severed head: Morning, sir!

Ainsworth: Nasty wound you've got there, Potter.

Severed head: [cheerily] Thank you very much sir!

Ainsworth: Come on private - we're making up a search party.

Another terrible casualty: Better than staying at home, eh sir! At
     home if you kill someone they arrest you. Here they give you
     a gun, and show you what to do, sir. I mean, I killed fifteen
     of those buggers sir! Now at home they'd hang me. *Here* they
     give me a fucking medal sir!

          [The search party for Perkins's leg is passing through
     thick jungle. As they emerge into a clearing they suddenly see
     a tiger's head sticking out of some bushes.]

Ainsworth: Look!

          [Their eyes follow along the bushes to where the tiger's
     tail is sticking out several yards away. For a moment it looks
     like a very long tiger.]

     My God, it's *huge*!

          [The tiger's head rises up out of the thicket with its
          paws up. The tiger's rear end backs out of the thicket
          further down.]

Rear end: Don't shoot... don't shoot. We're not a tiger. [Takes off
     head.] We were just... um...

Ainsworth: Why are you dressed as a tiger?

Rear end: Hmmm... oh... why! Why why... isn't it a lovely day
     today...?

Ainsworth: Answer the question.

Rear end: Oh we were just er...

Front end: Actually! We're dressed like this because... oh no
     that's not it.

Rear end: We did it for a lark. Part of a spree. High spirits you
     know. Simple as that.

Front end: Nothing more to it...

          [All stare.]

     Well *actually*... we're on a mission for British
     Intellingence, there's a pro-Tsarist Ashanti Chief...

Rear end: No, no.

Front end: No, no, no.

Rear end: No, no we're doing it for an advertisement...

Front end: Ah that's it, forget about the Russians. We're doing an
     advert for Tiger Brand Coffee.

Rear end: 'Tiger Brand Coffee is a real treat
     Even tigers prefer a cup of it to real meat'.

          [Pause.]

Ainsworth: Now look...

Rear end: All right, all right. we are dressed as a tiger because
     he had an auntie who did it in 1839 and this is the fiftieth
     anniversary.

Front end: No. We're doing it for a bet.

Rear end: God told us to do it.

Front end: To tell the truth, we are completely mad. we are inmates
     of a Bengali psychiatric institution and we escaped by making
     this skin out of old cereal packets...

Perkins: It doesn't matter.

Ainsworth: What?

Perkins: It doesn't matter why they're dressed as a tiger, have
     they got my leg?

Ainsworth: Good thinking. Well have you?

Rear end: Actually!

Ainsworth: Yes.

Rear end: It's because we were thinking of training as taxidermists
     and we wanted to get a feel of it from the animal's point of
     view.

Ainsworth: Be quiet. Now, look we're just asking you if you have
     got this man's leg...

Front end: A wooden leg?

Ainsworth: No, no, a proper leg. Look he was fast asleep and
     someone or something came in and removed it.

Front end: Without waking him up?

Ainsworth: Yes.

Front end: I don't believe you.

Rear end: We found the tiger skin in a bicycle shop in Cairo, and
     the owner wanted to take it down to Dar Es Salaam.

Ainsworth: Shut up. Now look, have you or have you not got his leg?

Rear end: Yes.

Front end: No. No no no.

Both: No no no no no no. Nope. No.

Ainsworth: Why did you say 'yes'?

Front end: I didn't.

Ainsworth: I'm not talking to you...

Rear end: Er... er...

Ainsworth: Right! Search the thicket.

Front end: Oh come on, I mean do we look like the sort of chaps
     who'd creep into a camp at... night, steal into someone's
     tent, anaesthetise them, tissue-type them, amputate a leg and
     run away with it?

Ainsworth: Search the thicket!

Front end: Oh *leg*! You're looking for a *leg*. Actually I think
     there is one in there somewhere. Somebody must have abandoned
     it here, knowing you were coming after it, and we stumbled
     across it actually and wondered what it was... They'll be
     miles away by now and I expect we'll have to take all the
     blame.

          [During the last exchange a native turns and leers at the
          camera, while the dialogue continues behind him. Then he
          unzips his body to reveal a fully dressed white announcer
          in dinner jacket and bow tie underneath.]

Zulu announcer: Hallo, good evening and welcome to the Middle of
     the Film.

Lady TV presenter: Hallo and welcome to the Middle of the Film. The
     moment where we take a break and invite you, the audience, to
     join us, the film-makers, in 'Find the Fish'. We're going to
     show you a scene from another film and ask you to guess where
     the fish is. But if you think you know, don't keep it to
     yourselves - YELL OUT - so that all the cinema can hear you.
     So here we are with 'Find the Fish'.

                               THE
                             MIDDLE
                           OF THE FILM

                          FIND THE FISH

Man: I wonder where that fish has gone.

Woman: You did love it so.
     You looked after it like a son.

Man: [strangely] And it went wherever I did go.

Woman: Is it in the cupboard?

Audience: Yes! No!

Woman: Wouldn't you like to know.
     It was a lovely little fish.

Man: [strangely] And it went wherever I did go.

Man in audience: It's behind the sofa!

          [An elephant joins the man and woman.]

Woman: Where can the fish be?

Man in audience: Have you thought of the drawers in the bureau?

Woman: It is a most elusive fish.

Man: [strangely] And it went wherever I did go!

Woman: Oh fishy, fishy, fishy, fish.

Man: Fish, fish, fish, fishy oh!

Woman: Oh fishy, fishy, fishy fish.

Man: [strangely] That went wherever I did go.

          First fish: That was terrific!

                    Second fish: Great!

          Third fish: Best bit so far.

Fishes: Yeah! Absolutely... ! Terrific! Yeah!... Fantastic...
     Really great

     [Whistles 'More'... Pause.]

Fifth fish: They haven't said much about the Meaning of Life so
     far, have they...?

First fish: Well, it's been building up to it.

Second fish: Has it?

Fifth fish: yeah, I expect they'll get on to it now.

Third fish: Personally I very much doubt if they're going to say
     anything about the Meaning of Life at all.

Fourth fish: Oh, come on... they've got to say something...

Other fishes: ... Bound to... yeah... yeah...

          [They swim around a bit.]

Second fish: Not much happening at the moment, is there...?

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE
                       -------------------

                             PART IV

                           MIDDLE AGE

[A hotel lobby. The lift doors open.]

[Mrs Hendy is bending down in front of Mr Hendy, doing something of
an intimate nature to his camera lens.]

Mr Hendy: Oh that's much better. Thank you honey.

Mrs Hendy: You're welcome.

Mr Hendy: It was sort of misty before. That's fine.

          [A strange girl in a crinoline steps forward. This is
          M'Lady Joeline. played by Mr Gilliam.]

Joeline: Hi! How are you?

Mr Hendy: We're just fine.

Joeline: So what kind of food you like to eat this evening?

Mr Hendy: Well we sort of like pineapples...

Mrs Hendy: Yeah anything with pineapples in is great for us...

Joeline: Well, how about the Dungeon Room?

Mr Hendy: Oh that sounds fine...

Joeline: Sure is. It's real Hawaiian food served in an authentic
     medieval English dungeon atmosphere...

[Suddenly a red hot brand sears the flesh of some poor wretch. This
is the restaurant. Dark, full of torture instruments, stocks,
Chamber of Horrors stuff.]

[They sit down. A waitress dressed in a grotesque travesty of a
Beefeater's outfit, comes up.]

Waitress: Hello, I'm Diana, I'm your waitress for tonight... Where
     are you from?

Mr and Mrs Hendy: We're from Room 259.

Mr Hendy: Where are you from?

Waitress: [pointing to kitchen] Oh I'm from the doors over there...

Mr Hendy: Oh.

Mrs Hendy: Great...

Waitress: [reaching across to the central serving table] Iced
     Water...

Mrs Hendy: Oh thank you...

Waitress: Coffee...

Mr Hendy: Than you *very* much...

Waitress: Ketchup...

Mr Hendy: Oh lovely... real nice

Waitress: T.V....?

Mr Hendy: Oh... that's fine...

Mrs Hendy: Yeah that's swell

          [The Waitress dumps a T.V. down on the table.]

Waitress: Telephone...

Mr Hendy: Er... telephone...?

Waitress: You can phone any other table in the restaurant after
     six.

Mr Hendy: Oh that's great...

Mrs Hendy: Some choice...

Mr Hendy: Yeah, right...

Waitress: O.K.... D'you want any food with your meal?

Mr Hendy: Well, what d'you have?

Waitress: Well we have things shaped like this in green or we have
     things shaped like that in brown...

Mr Hendy: What d'you think darling?

Mrs Hendy: Well it *is* our anniversary, Marvin...

Mr Hendy: Yeah... what the hell... we'll have a couple of the
     things shaped like that in brown, please...

Waitress: O.K. fine... thank you sir... [She writes]... 2 brown
     Number 259... and will you be having intercourse tonight...?

Mr Hendy: Er... do we have to decide now...?

Mrs Hendy: Sounds a good idea honey. I mean it sounds swell. I mean
     why not?

Mr Hendy: Yeah, right... could be fun...

          [Waitress takes out a condom and slaps it on the table.]

Waitress: Compliments of the Super Inn - Have a nice fuck!

Mr Hendy: Oh, thank you.

Waitress: You're welcome...

          [She leaves.]

Mr Hendy: [reads:] 'Super Inn Skins' - that's nice.

          [Suddenly a Hawaiian band comes through the door and
          surrounds Mr and Mrs Hendy at their table, before leaving
          them to their own devices, which are not many. There is
          a long silence.]

Waiter: Good evening... would you care for something to talk about?

          [He hands them each a menu card with a list of subjects
          on.]

Mr Hendy: Oh that would be wonderful.

Waiter: Our special tonight is minorities...

Mr Hendy: Oh that sounds interesting...

Mrs Hendy: What's this conversation here...?

Waiter: Oh that's football... you can talk about the Steelers-Bears
     game, Saturday... or you could reminisce about really great
     World Series - 

Mrs Hendy: No... no, no.

Mr Hendy: What's this one here?

Waiter: That's philosophy.

Mrs Hendy: Is that a sport?

Waiter: No it's more of an attempt to construct a viable hypothesis
     to explain the Meaning of Life.

          [The fish in the tank suddenly prick up their fins.]

Fish: What's he say, eh?

Mr Hendy: Oh that sounds wonderful... Would you like to talk about
     the Meaning of Life, darling...?

Mrs Hendy: Sure, why not?

Waiter: Philosophy for two?

Mr Hendy: Right...

Waiter: You folks want me to start you off?

Mr Hendy: Oh really we'd appreciate that...

Waiter: OK. Well er... look, have you ever wondered just why you're
     here?

Mr Hendy: Well... we went to Miami last year and California the
     year before that, and we've...

Waiter: No, no... I mean why *we're* here. On this planet?

Mr Hendy: [guardedly]... N... n... nope.

Waiter: Right! Have you ever *wanted* to know what it's all about?

Mr Hendy: [emphatically] No!

Waiter: Right ho! Well, see, throughout history there have been
     certain men and women who have tried to find the solution to
     the mysteries of existence.

Mrs Hendy: Great.

Waiter: And we call these guys 'philosophers'.

Mrs Hendy: And that's what we're talking about!

Waiter: Right!

Mrs Hendy: That's neat!

Waiter: Well you look like you're getting the idea, so why don't I
     give you these conversation cards - they'll tell you a little
     about philosophical method, names of famous philosophers...
     there y'are. Have a nice conversation!

Mr Hendy: Thank you! Thank you very much.

          [He leaves.]

Mrs Hendy: He's cute.

Mr Hendy: Yeah, real understanding.

          [They sit and look at the cards, then rather formally and
          uncertainly Mrs Hendy opens the conversation.]

Mrs Hendy: Oh! I never knew that *Schopenhauer* was a
     *philosopher*...

Mr Hendy: Oh yeah... He's the one that begins with an S.

Mrs Hendy: Oh...

Mr Hendy: ... Um [pause]... like Nietzsche...

Mrs Hendy: Does Nietzsche begin with an S?

Mr Hendy: There's an S in Nietzsche...

Mrs Hendy: Oh wow! Yes there is. Do all philosophers have an S in
     them?

Mr Hendy: Yeah I think most of them do.

Mrs Hendy: Oh!... Does that mean Selina Jones is a philosopher?

Mr Hendy: Yeah... Right, she could be... she sings about the
     Meaning of Life.

Mrs Hendy: Yeah, that's right, but I don't think she writes her own
     material.

Mr Hendy: No. Maybe Schopenhauer writes her material?

Mrs Hendy: No... Burt Bacharach writes is.

Mr Hendy: There's no 'S' in Burt Bacharach...

Mrs Hendy: ... Or in Hal David...

Mr Hendy: Who's Hal David?

Mrs Hendy: He writes the lyrics, Burt just writes the tunes... only
     now he's married to Carole Bayer Sager...

Mr Hendy: Oh... Waiter... this conversation isn't very good.

Waiter: Oh, I'm sorry, sir... We *do* have one today that's not on
     the menu. It's a sort of... er... speciality of the house.
     Live Organ Transplants.

Mrs Hendy: Live Organ Transplants? What's *that*?

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE
                       -------------------

                             PART V

                     LIVE ORGAN TRANSPLANTS

[A photo of the Emperor Haile Selassie hangs on the wall of a
suburban house. Upstairs 'Hava Nagila' is being played on a lone
violin. The door bell rings.]

Mr Bloke: Don't worry dear, I'll get it!

          [He opens the door.]

Mr Bloke: Yes!

First Man: Hello, er can we have your liver...?

Mr Bloke: My what?

First Man: Your liver... it's a large glandular organ in your
     abdomen... you know it's a reddish-brown and it's sort of -

Mr Bloke: Yes, I know what it is, but I'm using it.

Second Man: Come on sir... don't muck us about.

          [They move in.]

Mr Bloke: Hey!

          [They shut the door behind him.]

          [The first man makes a grab at his wallet and finds a
          card in it.]

First Man: Hallo! What's this then...?

Mr Bloke: A liver donor's card.

First Man: Need we say more?

Second Man: No!

Mr Bloke: Look, I can't give it to you now. It says 'In The Event
     of Death'...

First Man: No-one who has ever had their liver taken out by us has
     survived...

          [The second man is rummaging around in a bag of clanking
          tools.]

Second Man: Just lie there, sir. it won't take a minute.

          [They throw him onto the dining room table and, without
          any more ceremony, start to cut him open. A rather sever
          lady appears at the door.]

Mrs Bloke: 'Ere, what's going on?

First man: He's donating his liver, madam...

Mr Bloke: Aarrgh... oh!... aaargh ow! Ow!

Mrs Bloke: Is this because he took out one of those silly cards?

First Man: That's right, madam.

Mr Bloke: Ow! Oooh! Oohh! Oh... oh... God... aargh aargh...

Mrs Bloke: Typical of him. He goes down to the public library -
     sees a few signs up... comes home all full of good intentions.
     He gives blood... he does cold research... all that sort of
     thing.

Mr Bloke: Aaaagh... oh... aaarghh!

Mrs Bloke: What d'you do with them all anyway?

Second man: They all go to saving lives, madam.

Mr Bloke: Aaaaargh! Oh... ow! Oh... oh my God!

Mrs Bloke: That's what *he* used to say... it's all for the good of
     the country, he used to say.

Mr Bloke: Aaaargh!... Ow! Ooh!

Mrs Bloke: D'*you* think it's *all* for the good of the country?

First Man: Uh?

Mrs Bloke: D'*you* think it's *all* for the good of the country?

First Man: Well I wouldn't know about that, madam...we're just
     doing our jobs, you know...

Mr Bloke: Owwwwweeeeeeeeeh! Ow!

Mrs Bloke: You're not doctors, then?

First Man: Oh!... Blimey no...!

          [The second man grins and raises his eyes as he digs
          around in the stomach. They laugh. A head comes round the
          door... It's a young man.]

Young Man: Mum, Dad,... I'm off out... now. I'll see you about
     seven...

Mrs Bloke: Righto, son... look after yourself.

Mr Bloke: Aaargh... ow! Oh... aaargh aargh!

Mrs Bloke: D'you er... fancy a cup of tea...?

First Man: Oh well, that would be very nice, yeah... Thank you,
     thank you very much madam. Thank you. [Aside.] I thought she'd
     never ask...

          [She takes him into the kitchen... shuts the door. She
          bustles about preparing the tea...]

     You do realise... he has to be... well... dead... by the terms
     of the card... before he donates his liver.

Mrs Bloke: Well I told him that... but he never listens to me...
     silly man.

First Man: Only... I was wondering what you was thinking of doing
     after that... I mean... will you stay on your own or... is
     there someone else... sort of... on the horizon...?

Mrs Bloke: I'm too old for that sort of thing. I'm past my prime...

First Man: Not at all... you're a very attractive woman.

Mrs Bloke: [laughs a little] Well... I'm certainly not thinking of
     getting hitched up again...

First Man: Sure?

Mrs Bloke: Sure.

First Man: [coming a little closer] Can we have your liver then?

Mrs Bloke: No... I don't want to die.

First Man: Oh come on, it's perfectly natural. Only take a couple
     of minutes.

Mrs Bloke: Oh... I'd be scared.

First Man: All right, I'll tell you what. Look, listen to this - 

          [A man in pink evening dress emerges from the fridge.]

Man in Pink Evening Dress: Whenever life gets you down, Mrs Brown
     And things seem hard or tough
     And people are stupid obnoxious or daft
     And you feel that you've had quite enough...

[As he starts to sing, the wall of the kitchen disintegrates to
reveal a magnificent night sky. The vocalist in pink escorts Mrs
Bloke up into the stars.]

     Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving
     And revolving at 900 miles an hour,
     That's orbiting at 19 miles a second, so it's reckoned,
     A sun that is the source of all our power.
     The sun and you and me and all the stars that we can see,
     Are moving at a million miles a day
     In an outer spiral arm, at 40,000 miles an hour,
     Of the galaxy we call the Milky Way.

     Our galaxy itself contains 100 billion stars
     It's 100,000 light years side to side.
     It bulges in the middle, 16,000 light years thick
     But out by us its just 3,000 light years wide
     We're 30,000 light years from galactic central point,
     We go round every 200 million years
     And our galaxy is only one of millions of billions
     In this amazing and expanding Universe.

     The Universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding
     In all of the directions it can whizz
     As fast as it can go, at the speed of light you know,
     12 million miles a minute, and that's the fastest speed there
          is.
     So remember when you're feeling very small and insecure
     How amazingly unlikely is your birth
     And pray that there's intelligent life somewhere up in space
     Because there' bugger all down here on earth.

     [The vocalist in pink climbs back into the fridge and the door
     slams to.]

Mrs Bloke: Makes you feel so sort of insignificant, doesn't it?

First Man: Yeah yeah... Can we have your liver, then?

Mrs Bloke: Yeah. All right, you talked me into it.

First Man: Eric!

          [A lettering artist is just finishing painting the words
          'Liver Donors Inc' onto a wall plaque enumerating all the
          subsidiaries of the Very Big Corporation of America.]

Chairman: [of the Very Big Corporation of America]... which brings
     us once again to the urgent realisation of just how much there
     is still left to own. Item 6 on the Agenda, the Meaning of
     Life... Now Harry, you've had some thoughts on this...

Harry: That's right, yeah. I've had a team working on this over the
     past few weeks, and what we've come up with can be reduced to
     two fundamental concepts... One... people are not wearing
     enough hats. Two... matter is energy; in the Universe there
     are many energy fields which we cannot normally perceive. Some
     energies have a spiritual source which act upon a person's
     soul. However, this soul does not exist *ab inito*, as
     orthodox Christianity teaches; it has to be brought into
     existence by a process of guided self-observation. However,
     this is rarely achieved owing to man's unique ability to be
     distracted from spiritual matters by everyday trivia.

          [Pause.]

Max: What was that about hats again?

Harry: Er... people aren't wearing enough.

Chairman: Is this true?

Edmund: [who is sitting next to Harry] Certainly. Hat sales have
     increased, but not *pari passu... as our research -

Bert: When you say 'enough', enough for what purpose...?

Gunther: Can I ask with reference to your second point, when you
     say souls don't develop because people become distracted...
     has anyone noticed that building there before?

          [They all turn towards the window to see a building
          approaching or sliding into position outside.]

All: Gulp! What? Good Lord!

                           THE CRIMSON
                       PERMANENT ASSURANCE

                        A tale of piracy
                        on the high seas
                           of finance

                         London, England

In the bleak days of 1983, as England languished in the doldrums of
a ruinous monetarist policy, the good and loyal men of the
Permanent Assurance Company - a once-proud family firm recently
fallen an hard times - strained under the yoke of their oppressive
new corporate management...

Pushed beyond the bounds of decent and reasonable victimisation -
the aged retainers take their destiny in their own hands and...
MUTINY!

And so - the Crimson Permanent Assurance was launched upon the high
seas of international finance!

There it lay, the prize they sought - the richest jewel in the
crown of the IMF - a financial district swollen with multi-
nationals, conglomerates and fat, bloated merchant banks.

Hidden behind the faceless towering canyons of glass, the world of
high finance sat smug and self-satisfied as their future, in the
shape of their past, slipped silently through the streets -
returning to wreak a terrible revenge.

Adopting, adapting, and improving traditional business practices
the Permanent Assurance puts into motion an audacious and totally
unsuspected Take Over Bid.

And so, heartened by their initial success, the desperate and
reasonably violent men of the Permanent Assurance battled on,
until... as the sun set slowly in the west the outstanding return
on their bold business venture became apparent... the once proud
financial giants lay in ruins - their assets stripped - their
policies in tatters.

[They sing]

It's fun charter an accountant
And sail the wide accountan-cy,
To find, explore the funds offshore
And skirt the shoals of bankruptcy.

It can be manly in insurance:
We'll up your premium semi-annually,
It's all tax-deductible,
We're fairly incorruptible,
Sailing on the wide accountan-cy!

And so... they sailed off into the ledgers of history - one by one
the financial capitals of the world crumbling under the might of
their business acumen - or so it would have been... if certain
modern theories concerning the shape of the world had not proved to
be... disastrously wrong.

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE
                       -------------------

                             PART VI

                        THE AUTUMN YEARS

[Elegant restaurant. A man in a dressing gown, who is not Noel
Coward sits at a piano.]

Not Noel Coward: Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Here's a little
     number I tossed off recently in the Caribbean. [Sings]

     Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis,
     Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong?
     It's swell to have a stiffy,
     It's divine to own a dick,
     From the tiniest little tadger,
     To the world's biggest prick.

     So three cheers for your Willy or John Thomas,
     Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake,
     Your piece of pork, your wife's best friend,
     Your Percy or your cock,
     You can wrap it up in ribbons,
     You can slip it in your sock,
     But don't take it out in public,
     Or they will stick you in the dock,
     And you won't come back.

[Spontaneous applause breaks out all over the restaurant.]

     Oh... thank you very much.

Woman: Oh what a frightfully witty song.

          [Clapping.]

     [Mr Creosote enters.]

First Fish: [in tank] Oh shit! It's Mr creosote.

          [All the fish disappear with six flicks of the tail.]

Maitre D: Ah good afternoon, sir, and how are we today?

Mr Creosote: Better...

Maitre D: Better?

Mr Creosote: Better get a bucket, I'm going to throw up.

Maitre D: Gaston! A bucket for monsieur!

          [They seat him at his usual table. A gleaming silver
          bucket is placed beside him and he leans over and throws
          up into it.]

Maitre D: Merci Gaston.

          [He claps his hands and the bucket is whisked away.]

Mr Creosote: I haven't finished!

Maitre D: Oh! Pardon! Gaston!... A thousand pardons monsieur. [Puts
     the bucket back.]

          [The Maitre D produces the menu as Mr Creosote continues
          spewing.]

Maitre D: Now this afternoon we monsieur's favourite - the jugged
     hare. The hare is *very* high, and the sauce is very rich with
     truffles, anchovies, Grand Marnier, bacon and cream.

          [Mr Creosote pauses. The Maitre D claps his hands and
          signs to Gaston, who whisks away the bucket.]

Maitre D: Thank you, Gaston.

Mr Creosote: There's still more.

          [Gaston rapidly replaces the bucket.]

Maitre D: Allow me! A new bucket for monsieur.

          [The Maitre D picks the bucket up and hands it over to
          Gaston. Mr Creosote leans over and throws up onto the
          floor.]

     And the cleaning woman.

          [Gaston hurries off. The Maitre D takes care to avoid the
          vomit and places the menu in front of Mr Creosote.]

     And maintenant, would monsieur care for an aperitif?

          [Creosote vomits over the menu. It is covered.]

     Or would you prefer to order straight away? Today for
     appetizers... er... excuse me...

          [The Maitre D leans over and wipes away the sick with his
          hand so that the words of the menu are readable.]

     ... moules marinieres, pate de foie gras, beluga caviar, eggs
     Benedictine, tart de poireaux - that's leek tart - frogs' legs
     amandine or oeufs de caille Richard Shepherd - c'est a dire,
     little quails' eggs on a bed of pureed mushrooms, it's very
     delicate, very subtle...

Mr Creosote: I'll have the lot.

Maitre D: A wise choice, monsieur! And now, how would you like it
     served? All mixed up in a bucket?

Mr Creosote: Yes. With the eggs on top.

Maitre D: But of course, avec les oeufs frites.

Mr Creosote: And don't skimp on the pate.

Maitre D: Oh monsieur I can assure you, just because it is mixed up
     with all the other things we would not dream of giving you
     less than the full amount. In fact I will personally make sure
     you have a *double* helping. Maintenant quelque chose a 
     boire - something to drink, monsieur?

Mr Creosote: Yeah, six bottles of Chateau Latour '45 and a double
     Jeroboam of champagne.

Maitre D: Bon, and the usual brown ales...?

Mr Creosote: Yeah... No wait a minute... I think I can only manage
     six crates today.

Maitre D: Tut tut tut! I hope monsieur was not overdoing it last
     night...?

Mr Creosote: Shut up!

Maitre D: D'accord. Ah the new bucket and the cleaning woman.

          [Gaston arrives. The Cleaning Woman gets down on her
          hands and knees. Mr Creosote vomits over her.]

          [Some guests at another table start to leave. The 
          Maitre D approaches.]

Maitre D: Monsieur, is there something wrong with the food?

          [The Maitre D indicates the table of half-eaten main
          courses. The guests shrink from his vomit-covered hand.
          The Maitre D realises and shakes a little off. It hits
          another guest, who wipes his eye.]

Guest: No. The food was... excellent...

Maitre D: Perhaps you are not happy with the service?

Guest: Er no... no... no complaints.

Guest's Wife: It's just we have to go - um - I'm having rather a
     heavy period.

          [A slight embarrassed silence while the rest of the party
          look at her.]

Guest: And... we... have a train to catch.

Guest's Wife: [as if covering for her previous gaffe] Oh! Yes!
     Yes... of course! We have a train to catch... and I don't want
     to start bleeding over the seats.

          [An awkward pause. The Maitre D gropes for words.]

Guest: Perhaps we should ne going...

          [They start to go. The Maitre D follows.]

Maitre D: Very well, monsieur. Thank you so much, so nice to see
     you and I hope very much we will see you again very soon. Au
     revoir, monsieur.

          [He pauses. A look of awful realization suffuses his
          face.]

Maitre D: ... Oh dear... I've trodden in monsieur's bucket.

          [The Maitre D claps his hands.]

     Another bucket for monsieur...

          [Mr Creosote is sick down the Maitre D's trousers.]

     and perhaps a hose...

          [Someone at another table gently throws up.]

Companion: Oh Max, really!

          [At another table someone else has really thrown up all
          over the place. His mother and brother look at him
          incredulously. Meanwhile Mr Creosote has scoffed the lot.
          The Maitre D approaches him with a silver tray.]

Maitre D: And finally, monsieur, a wafer-thin mint.

Mr Creosote: No.

Maitre D: Oh sir! It's only a tiny little thin one.

Mr Creosote: No. Fuck off - I'm full... [Belches]

Maitre D: Oh sir... it's only *wafer* thin.

Mr Creosote: Look - I couldn't eat another thing. I'm absolutely
     stuffed. Bugger off.

Maitre D: Oh sir, just... just *one*...

Mr Creosote: Oh all right. Just one.

Maitre D: Just the one, sir... voila... bon appetit...

          [Mr Creosote somehow manages to stuff the wafer-thin mint
          into his mouth and then swallows. The Maitre D takes a
          flying leap and cowers behind some potted plants. There
          is an ominous splitting sound. Mr Creosote looks rather
          helpless and then he explodes, covering waiters, diners,
          and technicians in a truly horrendous mix of half
          digested food, entrails and parts of his body. People
          start vomiting.]

Maitre D: [returns to Mr Creosote's table] Thank you, sir, and now
     the check.

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE
                       ___________________


                            PART VI B

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE

[Some time later.]

[The Cleaning Woman is still on her knees, cleaning up the remains
of Mr Creosote. The Maitre D lights up a cigarette in pensive
mood.]

Maitre D: You know, Maria, I sometimes wonder whether we'll ever
     discover the meaning of it all working in a place like this.

Maria: [shrugs] Oh, I've worked in worse places... philosophically
     speaking.

Maitre D: Really, Maria?

Maria: Yes... I used to work in the Academie Francaise
     But it didn't do me any good at all...
     And I once worked in the library in the Prado in Madrid,
     But it didn't teach me nothing, I recall...
     And the Library of Congress, you'd have thought would hold
          some key...
     But it didn't. And neither did the Bodleian Library.
     In the British Museum I hoped to find some clue,
     I worked there from 9 till 6 - read every volume through,
     But it didn't teach me nothing about Life's mystery...
     I just kept getting older, and it got more difficult to see.
     Until eventually me eyes went and me arthritis got bad,
     And so now I'm cleaning up in here - but I can't really be 
          sad,
     Cause you see I feel that Life's a game
     You sometimes win or lose,
     And though I may be down right now
     At least I don't work for Jews...

          [The Maitre D pours the bucket over her head and turns to
          the camera looking most upset.]

Maitre D: I'm so sorry... I had no idea we had a racist working
     here... I apologise... most sincerely... I mean... where are
     you going - I can explain... oh, quel dommage...

          [The camera pans off the Maitre D and alights on Gaston,
          smoking a cigarette.]

Gaston: As for me... if you want to know what I think... I'll show
     you something... come with me...

Maitre D: [out of shot] I was saying that - hallo... hallo...

Gaston: Come on... this way.

          [He nods to the camera and walks out of the restaurant
          and the camera follows him.]

Voice of Maitre D: I can explain everything.

Gaston: Come on - don't be shy. Mind the stairs... All right. I
     think this will help explain.

          [He walks through the town.]

Gaston: Come along... Come along... Over here... Come on... Come
     on... This way... Come on... Stay by me, uh? Nearly there now.

          [Eventually Gaston comes over a hill and nods down to a
          little thatched cottage nestling idyllically in a valley.
          Smoke rises up from the chimney.]

     You see that? That's where I was born. You know, one day, when
     I was a little boy, my mother she took me on her knee and she
     said: 'Gaston, my son. The world is a beautiful place. You
     must go into it, and love everyone, not hate people. You must
     try and make everyone happy, and bring peace and contentment
     everywhere you go.' And so... I became a waiter...

          [There is a rather long pause, while he looks a bit 
          self-deprecating and nods shyly at the live.]

     Well... it's... it's not much of a philosophy, I know...
     but... well... fuck you... I can live my own life in my own
     way if I want to. Fuck off! Don't come following me!

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE
                       -------------------

                            PART VII

                              DEATH

Distraught Male Voice: I just can't go on. I'm not good any more,
     goodbye... goodbye... aaaargh!... Aaaargh!

          [A leaf falls to the ground.]

Distraught Female Voice: Oh my God! What'll I do!? I can't live
     without him... I... aaaargh!

          [Another leaf falls.]

Distraught Children's Voices: Mummy... Mummy... Mummy... Daddy...

     [Two more leaves fall.]

More Distraught Voices: Oh no! Aaaargh!

          [All the remaining leaves fall with one accord.]

This man is about to die. In a few moments now he will be killed.
For Arthur Jarrett is a convicted criminal who has been allowed to
choose the manner of his own execution.

Governor: Arthur Charles Herbert Runcie MacAdam Jarrett, you have
     been convicted by twelve good persons and true, of the crime
     of first degree making of gratuitous sexist jokes in a moving
     picture.

Padre: Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...

          [Ingmar Mergman now takes over the direction of the film
          and re-invokes one of his greatest triumphs on a low
          budget. Bare windswept trees starkly silhouetted against
          the... oh you know. Lots of good sound effects, too:
          howling wind, howling dogs, howling sabre-toothed field
          mice. Suddenly we see the Grim Reaper. He is hooded, in
          a black cloak with a sackcloth jock-strap, and bearing...
          a scythe.]

          [He materializes outside a lowly cottage and strikes the
          door with his scythe. Geoffrey, who is Marketing Director
          of Uro-Pacific Ltd, opens the door. From inside the house
          comes the sound of a dinner party.]

Geoffrey: Yes?

          [Pause. The Reaper breathes death-rattlingly.]

     Is it about the hedge?

          [More breathing.]

     Look, I'm awfully sorry but...

Grim Reaper: I am the Grim Reaper.

Geoffrey: I am Death.

Geoffrey: Yes well, the thing is, we've got some people from
     America for dinner tonight...

          [Geoffrey's wife, Angela is coming to see who is at the
          door. She calls:]

Angela: Who is it, darling?

Geoffrey: It's a Mr Death or something... he's come about the
     reaping... [To Reaper.] I don't think we need any at the
     moment.

Angela: [appearing] Hallo. Well don't leave him hanging around
     outside darling, ask him in.

Geoffrey: Darling, I don't think it's quite the moment...

Angela: Do come in, come along in, come and have a drink, do. Come
     on...

          [She returns to her guests.]

     It's one of the little men from the village... Do come in,
     please. This is Howard Katzenberg from Philadelphia...

Katzenberg: Hi.

Angela: And his wife, Debbie.

Debbie: Hallo there.

Angela: And these are the Portland-Smythes, Jeremy and Fiona.

Fiona: Good evening.

Angela: This is Mr Death.

          [There is a slightly awkward pause.]

     Well do get Mr Death a drink, darling.

          [The Grim Reaper looks a little startled.]

Angela: Mr Death is a reaper.

Grim Reaper: The Grim Reaper.

Angela: Hardly surprising in this weather, ha ha ha...

Katzenberg: So you still reap around here do you, Mr Death?

Grim Reaper: I am the Grim Reaper.

Geoffrey: [sotto voce] That's about all he says... [Loudly] There's
     your drink, Mr Death.

Angela: Do sit down.

Debbie: We were just talking about some of the awful problems
     facing the -

          [The Grim Reaper knocks the glass off the table. Startled
          silence.]

Angela: Would you prefer white? I'm afraid we don't have any beer.

Jeremy: The Stilton's awfully good.

Grim Reaper: I am not of this world.

          [He walks into the middle of the table. There is a sharp
          intake of breath all round.]

Geoffrey: Good Lord!

          [The penny is beginning to drop.]

Grim Reaper: I am Death.

Debbie: [nervously] Well isn't that extraordinary? We were just
     talking about death only five minutes ago.

Angela: [even more nervously] Yes we were. You know, whether death
     is really... the end...

Debbie: As my husband, Howard here, feels... or whether there is...
     and one so hates to use words like 'soul' or 'spirit'...

Jeremy: But what *other* words can one use...

Geoffrey: Exactly...

Grim Reaper: You do not understand.

Debbie: Ah no... obviously not...

Katzenberg: Let me tell you something, Mr Death...

Grim Reaper: You do not understand!

Katzenberg: Just one moment. I would like to express on behalf of
     everyone here, what a really unique experience this is...

Jeremy: Hear hear.

Angela: Yes, we're *so* delighted that you dropped in, Mr Death...

Katzenberg: Can I finish please...

Debbie: Mr Death... is there an after-life?

Katzenberg: Dear, if you could just wait please a moment...

Angela: Are you sure you wouldn't like some sherry?

Katzenberg: Angela, I'd like just to say at this time...

Grim Reaper: Be quiet!

Katzenberg: Can I just say this at this time, please...

Grim Reaper: Silence!!! I have come for you.

          [Pause as this sinks in. Sidelong glance. A stifled
          fart.]

Angela: ... You mean to...

Grim Reaper: ... Take you away. That is my purpose. I am Death.

Geoffrey: Well that's cast rather a gloom over the evening hasn't
     it?

Katzenberg: I don't see it that way, Geoff. Let me tell you what I
     think we're dealing with here, a potentially positive learning
     experience...

Grim Reaper: Shut up! Shut up you American. You always talk, you
     Americans, you talk and you talk and say 'Let me tell you
     something' and 'I just wanna say this', Well you're dead now,
     so shut up.

Katzenberg: Dead?

Grim Reaper: Dead.

Angela: All of us??

Grim Reaper: All of you.

Geoffrey: Now look here. You barge in here, quite uninvited, break
     glasses and then announce quite casually that we're all dead.
     Well I would remind you that you are a guest in this house
     and...

          [The Grim Reaper pokes him in the eye.]

Grim Reaper: Be quiet! You Englishmen... You're all so fucking
     pompous and none of you have got any balls.

Debbie: Can I ask you a question?

Grim Reaper: What?

Debbie: ... How can we all have died at the *same* time?

Grim Reaper: [pointing] The salmon mousse! [They all goggle.]

Geoffrey: [to Angela] Darling, you didn't use tinned salmon did 
     you?

Angela: [unbelievably embarrassed] I'm most dreadfully
     embarrassed...

Grim Reaper: Now, the time has come. Follow... follow me...

          [Geoffrey suddenly runs forward with a revolver. He
          looses four shots at the Grim Reaper from about three
          feet. They pass through him. Pause. Everyone is rather
          embarrassed.]

Geoffrey: Sorry... Just... testing... Sorry... [He sits.]

Grim Reaper: Come! [Out of their bodies, spirit forms arise and
     follow the Grim Reaper.]

Angela: The fishmonger promised me he'd have some fresh salmon and
     he's normally *so* reliable...

Jeremy: Can we bring our glasses?

Fiona: Good idea.

Debbie: Hey I didn't even eat the mousse... [They follow the Grim
     Reaper out of the house.]

Angela: Honestly, darling, I'm so embarrassed... I mean to serve
     salmon with botulism at a dinner party is social death...

Jeremy: Shall we take our cars?

Geoffrey: Why not?

          [Slightly to the Grim Reaper's surprise, they follow him
          up to heaven in a Porsche, a Jensen and a Volvo.]

Grim Reaper: Behold... Paradise!

          [Heaven bears a striking resemblance to a Holiday Inn.]

Mr Hendy: I love it here, darling.

Mrs Hendy: Me too, Marvin.

Receptionist: Hello. Welcome to Heaven. Excuse me, could you just
     sign here, please sir? Thank you. There's a table for you
     through there in the restaurant. For the ladies...

Fiona: [reading the box of chocolates that has been handed to her]
     'After Life Mints'.

Receptionist: Happy Christmas.

Debbie: Oh is it Christmas today?

Receptionist: Of course madam, it's Christmas, *every* day, in
     Heaven.

Debbie: How about that?

          [A restaurant in Heaven. It is full of all the characters
          who have died in the film. Plus some of the naked girls,
          because... well, we don't have to give a reason, do we?]

Tony Bennett: Good evening ladies and gentlemen, it's truly a real
     honourable experience to be here this evening a very wonderful
     and emotional moment for all of us, and I'd like to sing a
     song for all of you: [sings] 

     It's Christmas in Heaven: all the children sing

     It's Christmas in Heaven
     Hark hark those church bells ring'

     It's Christmas in Heaven
     The snow falls from the sky...

     But it's nice and warm and everyone
     Looks smart and wears a tie

     It's Christmas in Heaven
     There's great films on TV...
     'The Sound of Music' *twice* an hour
     And 'Jaws' I, II, *and* III

     There's gifts for all the family
     There' toiletries and trains...

     There's Sony Walkman Headphones sets
     And the latest video games!

     It's Christmas It's Christmas in Heaven
     Hip hip hip hip hip hooray
     Every single day
     Is Christmas Day!

     It's Christmas It's Christmas in Heaven
     Hip hip hip hip hip hooray
     Every single day
     Is Christmas Day!'

          [But before we get to the end of this chorus the TV set
          is switched off and the whole picture collapses into a
          little spot and we pull out to find that we have been
          watching a TV set in front of the Middle of the Film
          lady.]

                             THE END
                           OF THE FILM

Lady Presenter: [briskly] Well, that's the End of the Film, now
     here's the Meaning of Life.

          [An envelope is handed to her. She opens it in a 
          business-like way.]

     Thank you Brigitte. [She reads.]... Well, it's nothing
     special. Try and be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a
     good book every now and then, get some walking in and try and
     live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds
     and nations. And finally, here are some completely gratuitous
     pictures of penises to annoy the censors and to hopefully
     spark some sort of controversy which it seems is the only way
     these days to get the jaded video-sated public off their
     fucking arses and back in the sodding cinema. Family
     entertainment bollocks! What they want is filth, people doing
     things to each other with chainsaws during tupperware parties,
     babysitters being stabbed with knitting needles by gay
     presidential candidates, vigilante groups strangling chickens,
     armed bands of theatre critics exterminating mutant goats -
     where's the fun in pictures? Oh well, there we are - here's
     the theme music. Goodnight.

                   CAST IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE

                       THE MEANING OF LIFE

First Fish          Graham Chapman
Second Fish         John Cleese
Third Fish          Terry Gilliam
Fourth Fish         Eric Idle
Fifth Fish          Terry Jones
Sixth Fish          Michael Palin
Creosotish Man      George Silver
Singer
  'Meaning of Life' Eric Idle
Mrs Moore           Valerie Whittington
First Nurse         Judy Loe
Second Nurse        Imogen Bickford Smith
First Doctor        Graham Chapman
Second Doctor       John Cleese
Mr Moore            Eric Idle
Administrator       Michael Palin
Dad                 Michael Palin
Mum                 Terry Jones
Priest              Terry Jones
Bride               Jennifer Franks
Groom               Andrew Maclachlan
Mr Blackitt         Graham Chapman
Mrs Blackitt        Eric Idle
Martin Luther       Terry Jones
Hymie               Michael Palin
Mamie               Graham Chapman
Daughters           Victoria Plum
                    Anne Rosenfield
Headmaster          John Cleese
Chaplain            Michael Palin
Wymer               Graham Chapman
Biggs               Terry Jones
Carter              Michael Palin
Watson              Eric Idle
Mrs Williams        Patricia Quinn
Captain Biggs       Terry Jones
Blackitt            Eric Idle
Spadger             Michael Palin
Walters             Terry Gilliam
Sturridge           John Cleese
Hordern             Graham Chapman
General             Graham Chapman
R.S.M.              Michael Palin
Atkinson            Eric Idle
Coles               Graham Chapman
Wycliff             Andrew Maclachlan
Pakenham-Walsh      Michael Palin
Ainsworth           John Cleese
Chadwick            Simon Jones
Perkins             Eric Idle
Livingstone         Graham Chapman
Sergeant            Terry Jones
Another Cheery
  Cockney           Andrew Maclachlan
A Severed Head      Mark Holmes
Another Terrible
  Casualty          Eric Idle
Front End           Eric Idle
Rear End            Michael Palin
Zulu Announcer      Terry Gilliam
Lady Presenter      Michael Palin
Man with
  Bendy Arms        Terry Jones
Woman               Graham Chapman
Troll with a Tray   Mark Holmes
Mr Hendy            Michael Palin
Mrs Hendy           Eric Idle
Joeline             Terry Gilliam
Waitress            Carol Cleveland
Waiter              John Cleese
Mr Bloke            Terry Gilliam
First Man           John Cleese
Second Man          Graham Chapman
Mrs Bloke           Terry Jones
Young Man           Peter Lovstrom
Distinguished
  Vocalist in Pink  Eric Idle
Noel Coward*        Eric Idle
Mr Creosote         Terry Jones
Maitre D            John Cleese
Gaston              Eric Idle
First Guest         Graham Chapman
Second Guest        Mark Holmes
First Guest's Wife  Carol Cleveland
Second Guest's
  Wife              Angela Mann
Third Guest         Andrew Maclachlan
Cleaning Woman      Terry Jones
Governor            Michael Palin
Arthur Jarrett      Graham Chapman
Padre               Michael Palin
Grim Reaper         John Cleese
Geoffrey            Graham Chapman
Angela              Eric Idle
Jeremy              Simon Jones
Fiona               Terry Jones
Katzenberg          Terry Gilliam
Debbie              Michael Palin
Receptionist        Carol Cleveland
Tony Bennett**      Graham Chapman

* Not *the* Noel Coward, of course
** Not *the* Tony Bennett, of course

                 THE CRIMSON PERMANENT ASSURANCE

                             Starred

Sydney Arnold       Cameron Miller
Ross Davidson       Paddy Ryan
Eric Francis        Eric Stovell
Russell Kilminster  Andrew Bicknell
Peter Merrill       Tim Doublas
Larry Noble         Billy John
John Scott Martin   Len Marten
Guy Bertrand        Gareth Milne
Myrtle Devenish     Leslie Sarony
Matt Frewer         Wally Thomas
Peter Mantle

Photographed by     Peter Hannan B.S.C.
Edited by           Julian Doyle
Production
  Designer          Harry Lange
Costume Designer    Jim Acheson
Choreography        Arlene Phillips
Makeup and Hair
  Design            Maggie Weston
Special Effects
  Supervisor        George Gibbs
Director of
  Photography       Roger Pratt
Art Director        John Beard
Make-up Artist      Elaine Carew
Hairdressers        Maureen Stephenson
                    Sallie Evans
Wardrobe            Joyce Stoneman
Music               John Du Prez

Transcribed by Jason R. Heimbaugh (jasonh@joker.aiss.uiuc.edu)

$ ****  The Dennis Moore Sketch                                              ****
****  Transcribed 4/18/87 from Monty Python's Previous Record & TV Series  ****
****  by Jonathan Partington ( JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK )      ****
 
 
                            England, 1747
 
(Sounds of a coach and horses, galloping)
 
Cleese:  Stand and deliver!
Chapman: Not on your life (SHOT) ... aagh!
 
(Girl screams)
 
Cl: Let that be a warning to you all.  You move at your peril, for I have two
    pistols here.  I know one of them isn't loaded any more, but the other one
    is, so that's one of you dead for sure...or just about for sure anyway.  It
    certainly wouldn't be worth your while risking it because I'm a very good
    shot.  I practise every day...well, not absolutely every day, but most days
    in the week.  I expect I must practise, oh, at least four or five times a
    week...or more, really, but some weekends, like last weekend, there really
    wasn't the time, so that brings the average down a bit.  I should say it's
    a solid four days' practice a week...At least...I mean...I reckon I could
    hit that tree over there.  Er...the one just behind that hillock.  The
    little hillock, not the big one on the...you see the three trees over
    there?  Well, the one furthest away on the right...  (fade)
 
(Fade up again)
 
Cl:  What's the...  the one like that with the leaves that are sort of
     regularly veined and the veins go right out with a sort of um...
Girl: Serrated?
Cl: Serrated edges.
Id: A willow!
Cl: Yes.
Id: That's nothing like a willow.
Cl: Well it doesn't matter, anyway.  I can hit it seven times out of ten,
    that's the point.
Id: Never a willow.
Cl: Shut up!  It's a hold-up, not a Botany lesson.  Now, no false moves
    please.  I want you to hand over all the lupins you've got.
Jones: Lupins?
Cl: Yes, lupins. Come on, come on.
Id: What do you mean, lupins?
Cl: Don't try to play for time.
Id: I'm not, but... the *flower* lupin?
Cl: Yes, that's right.
Jo: Well we haven't got any lupins.
Girl: Honestly.
Cl:  Look, my friends.  I happen to know that this is the Lupin Express.
Jo: Damn!
Girl: Oh, here you are.
Cl: In a bunch, in a bunch!
Jo: Sorry.
Cl: Come on, Concorde! (Gallops off)
Chorus (sings):
 Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore, galloping through the sward,
 Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore, and his horse Concorde.
 He steals from the rich, he gives to the poor,
 Mr Moore, Mr Moore, Mr Moore.
 
 
To:               CLARINET@YALEVMX
From:             JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK
                  (JRP1%CAM.PHX@UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF)
Authentic-sender: MAIL01@UK.AC.CAMBRIDGE.ENGINEERING.SERC-ICF
 
****   The Knights Who Say "Ni!"                                           ****
****   From, of course, "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"                  ****
****   Transcribed (from memory even!) by                                  ****
****   Malcolm Dickinson '89 ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET ) on 4/6/86          ****
****   and corrected on 10/20/86 and again on 3/11/87.                     ****
 
****  Transcript #11 from the film;                                        ****
****  Continued from #10, ANTHRAX PYTHON.                                  ****
 
(After scene 24, which has not been transcribed due to its lack of funny bits,
 Arthur and Bedevere find themselves in the middle of a forest.  Suddenly,
 they are surrounded by 8-foot-tall knights with horns on their helmets: the
 infamous Knights of Ni.)
 
Knights of Ni: Ni!  Ni!  Ni!  Ni!  Ni!  Ni!
Arthur:        Who are you?
Knight of Ni:  We are the Knights who say.....   "Ni"!
Arthur:        (horrified) No!  Not the Knights who say "Ni"!
Knight of Ni:  The same.
Other Knight of Ni: Who are we?
Knight of Ni:  We are the keepers of the sacred words: Ni, Ping, and Nee-womm!
Other Knight of Ni: Nee-womm!
Arthur:        (to Bedevere) Those who hear them seldom live to tell the tale!
Knight of Ni: The knights who say "Ni" demand..... a sacrifice!
Arthur:       Knights of Ni, we are but simple travelers who seek the enchanter
              who lives beyond these woods.
Knights of Ni: Ni!  Ni!  Ni!  Ni!  Ni!  Ni!  Ni!  Ni!  Ni!
Bedevere:      No! Noooo!  Aaaugh!  No!
Knight of Ni:  We shall say "Ni" again to you... if you do not appease us.
Arthur:        Well what is it you want?
Knight of Ni:  We want.....
 
(pregnant pause)
 
                             A SHRUBBERY!!!!
(minor music)
Arthur:        A *WHAT*?
Knights of Ni: Ni!  Ni!!  Ni!  Ni!
Arthur:       No!  No!  Please, please, no more!  We will find you a shrubbery.
Knight of Ni: You must return here with a shrubbery... or else you will never
              pass through this wood...   alive.
Arthur:       O Knights of Ni, you are just and fair, and we will return with a
              shrubbery.
Knight of Ni: One that looks nice.
Arthur:       Of course!
Knight of Ni: And not *too* expensive.
Arthur:       Yes!
Knight of Ni: Noowwwww.... GO!
 
(a brief glimpse of the now-dead historian, with his wife talking to two
policemen and pointing the way that the knight went)
 
(screen:  THE TALE OF SIR LAUNCELOT, interrupted by the animation sketch
 "Bloody Weather")
 
(screen:  THE TALE OF SIR LAUNCELOT, this time followed by the Tale of Sir
 Launcelot ( see SWAMP PYTHON, transcript #12 from the film ))
 
Scene: Arthur and Bedevere, in a nearby village, where an old crone is beating
a cat.  They stop and talk to her.
 
Arthur: Old Crone!  Is there anywhere in this town where we could buy a
        *shrubbery*?
(minor music)
 
Old Crone: Who sent you?
Arthur:    The Knights Who Say "Ni!".
Old Crone: Aaaugh!  No.  Never, we have no shrubberies here.
Arthur:    If you do not tell us where we can buy a shrubbery, my friend and
           I... will say... we will say... "Ni!".
Old Crone: Aaaugh!  Do your worst!
Arthur:    VERY WELL!  If you will not assist us voluntarily.....
           (he and Bedevere look around to see if anyone is looking)
           Ni!
Old Crone: (in pain) No!  Never!  No shrubbery!!
Arthur:    Ni!
Bedevere:  Noo!  Noo--
Arthur:    (to Bedevere) No no no no, no, it's not that, it's "Ni!"
Bedevere:  Nu!
Arthur:    No no, "Ni!"; you're not doing it properly.
Bedevere:  Nuh!
Arthur:    "Ni!"
Bedevere:  Ni!
Arthur:    "Ni!"  That's it, that's it, you've got it.
Bedevere:  Ni!
Arthur and Bedevere, repeatedly: Ni!  Ni!
(the old crone writhes in pain)
 
Roger rides up on a *real* horse and looks down at Arthur and Bedevere.
 
Rober: Are you saying "Ni!" to that old woman?
Arthur (caught in the act) Ummmm.... yes.
Rober: Oh, what sad times are there when passing ruffians can say "Ni!" at will
       to old ladies!  There is a pestilence in this land!  Nothing is sacred!
       Even those who arrange and design shrubberies are under considerable
       economic stress at this period in history!
Arthur: Did you say "shrubberies"?
Roger:  Yes.  Shrubberies are my trade.  I am a shrubber.  My name is Roger the
        Shrubber.  I arrange, design, and sell shrubberies.
Bedevere: (to Roger)  Ni!
Arthur: (to Bedevere) No! No no no, no!
 
(scene change: Arthur and Bedevere standing in front of a low shrubbery,
surrounded by a 1-foot-high picket fence.  The Knights of Ni are examining the
shrubbery.)
 
Arthur: O Knights of Ni.  We have brought you your shrubbery.  May we go now?
Knight of Ni: It is a good shrubbery.  I like the laurels particularly.
              But there is one small problem.
Arthur:       What is that?
Knight of Ni: We are now *no longer* the Knights Who Say "Ni"!
Other Knights of Ni: Ni!  Shh! Shh!
Knight of Ni: We are now the Knights who say "Ekky-ekky-ekky-ekky-z'Bang,
              zoom-Boing, z'nourrrwringnmmm".
Other Knight of Ni: Ni!
Knight of Ni: Therefore, we must give you a test.
Arthur:       What is this test, o Knights of.....
              Knights who 'til recently said "Ni"?
Knight of Ni: Firstly, you must find....
 
                      ANOTHER SHRUBBERY!!!
(minor music)
Arthur:       Not *another* shrubbery!!
Knight of Ni: (excitedly) THEN... Then, when you have found the shrubbery,
              you must place it here, beside this shrubbery, only slightly
              higher, so we get the two-level effect with a little path
              running down the middle.
Other Knights of Ni:  A path!  A path!  A path!   Shh, shhh.  Ni!  Ni!
Knight of Ni: Then, when you have found the shrubbery, you must cut down the
              mightiest tree in the forest...
              Wiiiiiithh....  A HERRING!
(minor music)
 
Arthur:       We shall do no such thing!
Knight of Ni: Oh, please!
Arthur:       Cut down a tree with a herring?  It can't be done!
Knights of Ni: AAugh!  AAAAAH!  Oww!! (writhe in pain)
Knight of Ni: Don't say that word!
Arthur:       What word?
Knight of Ni: I cannot tell; suffice to say, it is one of the words the
              Knights of Ni cannot hear!
Arthur:       How we *not* say the word if you don't tell us what it is?!
(Knights of Ni are in pain again)
Knight of Ni: Ahhhh! 'E said it again!
Arthur:       What, "is"?
Knight of Ni: No, not "is"!  You wouldn't get very far in life not saying
              "is"!
Bedevere:    My liege!  It's Sir Robin!
 
Sir Robin and his minstrels "ride" up.
 
Minstrels (singing):  He's sacking it in, and packing it up,
                      and sneaking away, and buggering up,
                      And chickening out, and pissing a pole...
Arthur:       Sir Robin!
Robin:        My liege!  It's good to see you!
Knight of Ni: Now *'e* said the word!
Arthur:       Surely you've not given up the quest for the Holy Grail!
Minstrels, by way of answering:
                      He's sneaking away, and buggering up,
Robin:         Shut Up!
               No no, no, far from it!
Knight of Ni:  'E said the word again!
Robin:         ...I was...looking for it...
Knights of Ni: AAAAAAAuugh!
Robin:         uh, here--here in this...forest.
Arthur:        No, it is far from this place.
Knight of Ni:  Aaaaaaugh!  Stop saying the word!!!!
Arthur:        (getting really annoyed with the Knights of Ni) OH, STOP IT!!
Knight of Ni:  Ow!  He said it again!
Arthur:        Patsy!  (motions all of his party to move on)
Knight of Ni:  Wait!  I said it!  I said it!
               Oh!  I've said it again!
               And there again...that's three hits!
Arthur, Bedevere, and Sir Robin ride off with the minstrels and Patsy.
 
Voice over, with animation:
 
And so Arthur and Bedevere and Sir Robin set out on their search to find the
enchanter of whom the old man had spoken in Scene 24.
 
Beyond the forest they met Launcelot, and Galahad, and there was much
rejoicing.
 
In the frozen land of Nador, they were forced to eat Robin's minstrels...
and there was much rejoicing.
 
A year passed.
 
Winter changed into spring;
Spring changed into summer;
Summer changed back into winter;
And winter gave spring and summer a miss and went straight on into autumn.
 
Until one day.
 
(we skip the "tim the enchanter" scene and...)
****   continue in GRENADE PYTHON, transcript #13 in the film              ****
 
****   end of file NI PYTHON, transcript #11 in the film                   ****
****  Nudge Nudge, know what I mean, know what I mean!                     ****
****  Transcribed from the "Monty Python Live at City Center" album        ****
****  by Malcolm Dickinson ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )  4/3/86              ****
 
 
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?
**** The Peasant scene from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"              ****
**** Transcribed from the film by                                          ****
**** Malcolm Dickinson ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )  on 12/1/86,             ****
**** expressly for use of the BBOARD@YALEVM Python Collection              ****
 
**** This is transcript #3 from the movie                                  ****
**** (film continued from DEAD PYTHON)                                     ****
 
Arthur and his trusty servant Patsy "ride" into a field where peasants are
working.  They come up behind a cart which is being dragged by a hunched-over
peasant in ragged clothing.  Patsy slows as they near the cart.
 
Arthur: Old Woman!
 
The peasant turns around, revealing that he is in fact a man.
 
Man:    Man!
Arthur: Man, sorry....  What night lives in that castle over there?
Man:    I'm thirty-seven!
Arthur: (suprised) What?
Man:    I'm thirty-seven!  I'm not old--
Arthur: Well I can't just call you "man"...
Man:    Well you could say "Dennis"--
Arthur: I didn't know you were called Dennis!
Man:    Well, you didn't bother to find out, did you?!
Arthur: I did say sorry about the "old woman", but from behind, you looked--
Man:    Well I object to your...you automatically treat me like an inferior!
Arthur: Well I *am* king...
Man:    Oh, king, eh, very nice.  And 'ow'd you get that, eh?
        (he reaches his destination and stops, dropping the cart)
        By exploiting the workers!  By 'angin' on to outdated imperialist dogma
        which perpetuates the economic and social differences in our society.
        If there's ever going to be any progress,--
Woman:  Dennis!  There's some lovely filth down 'ere!
        (noticing Arthur) Oh!  'Ow'd'ja do?
Arthur: How do you do, good lady.  I am Arthur, king of the Britons.  Whose
        castle is that?
Woman:  King of the 'oo?
Arthur: King of the Britons.
Woman:  'Oo are the Britons?
Arthur: Well we all are!  We are all Britons!  And I am your king.
Woman:  I didn't know we 'ad a king!  I thought we were autonomous collective.
Man:    (mad)  You're fooling yourself!  We're living in a dictatorship!  A
        self-perpetuating autocracy in which the working classes--
Woman:  There you go, bringing class into it again...
Man:    That's what it's all about!  If only people would--
Arthur: Please, *please*, good people, I am in haste!  WHO lives in that
        castle?
Woman:  No one lives there.
Arthur: Then who is your lord?
Woman:  We don't have a lord!
Arthur: (spurised) What??
Man:    I *told* you!  We're an anarcho-syndicalist commune!  We're taking
        turns to act as a sort of executive-officer-for-the-week--
Arthur: (uninterested) Yes...
Man:    But all the decisions *of* that officer 'ave to be ratified at a
        special bi-weekly meeting--
Arthur: (perturbed) Yes I see!
Man:    By a simple majority, in the case of purely internal affairs--
Arthur: (mad) Be quiet!
Man:    But by a two-thirds majority, in the case of more major--
Arthur: (very angry) BE QUIET!  I *order* you to be quiet!
Woman:  "Order", eh, 'oo does 'e think 'e is?
Arthur: I am your king!
Woman:  Well I didn't vote for you!
Arthur: You don't vote for kings!
Woman:  Well 'ow'd you become king then?
(holy music up)
Arthur: The Lady of the Lake-- her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite,
        held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water, signifying by
        divine providence that I, Arthur, was to carry Excalibur.  THAT is why
        I am your king!
Man:    (laughingly) Listen: Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords
        is no basis for a system of government!  Supreme executive power
        derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some... farcical
        aquatic ceremony!
Arthur: (yelling) BE QUIET!
Man:    You can't expect to wield supreme executive power just 'cause some
        watery tart threw a sword at you!!
Arthur: (coming forward and grabbing the man) Shut *UP*!
Man:    I mean, if I went 'round, saying I was an emperor, just because some
        moistened bink had lobbed a scimitar at me, they'd put me away!
Arthur: (throwing the man around) Shut up, will you, SHUT UP!
Man:    Aha!  Now we see the violence inherent in the system!
Arthur: SHUT UP!
Man:    (yelling to all the other workers) Come and see the violence inherent
        in the system!  HELP, HELP, I'M BEING REPRESSED!
Arthur: (letting go and walking away)  Bloody PEASANT!
Man:    Oh, what a giveaway!  Did'j'hear that, did'j'hear that, eh?  That's
        what I'm all about!  Did you see 'im repressing me?  You saw it,
        didn't you?!
 
**** Continued in File #4 from the movie, KNIGHT PYTHON  ****
 
**** End of File PEASANT PYTHON    12/16/86 M.M.D. ****
****  The Penguin on top of the Tellyvision set                            ****
****  and The Death of Mary, Queen of Scots                                ****
****  from Monty Python's Flying Circus                                    ****
****  Transcribed from memory by                                           ****
****  Malcolm Dickinson ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )  3/28/86,               ****
****  and revised to 99 94/100% accuracy by R. "GUMBY" Preston             ****
****  ( TACIRC@GWUVM.BITNET ), 11/16/86.                                   ****
 
 
(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.
 
 
 
*** end of file PENGUIN PYTHON ***
****  The Pet Shop Sketch                                                  ****
****  From "And Now For Something Completely Different"                    ****
****  Transcribed from memory by Bret "<your advertisement here>" Shefter  ****
****  ( SHEBREB@YALEVM.BITNET )    3/28/86                                 ****
****  and revised by Malcolm "Sleep. Who needs it?" Dickinson              ****
****  ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )   4/3/86.                                 ****
 
*** Continued from the MEDOCTOR PYTHON  file.  ***
 
                               The Pet Shoppe
 
 
A customer enters a pet shop.
 
Customer: 'Ello, I wish to register a complaint.
 
(The owner does not respond.)
 
C: 'Ello, Miss?
Owner: What do you mean "miss"?
C: <pause> I'm sorry, I have a cold.  I wish to make a complaint!
O: We're closin' for lunch.
C: Never mind that, my lad.  I wish to complain about this parrot what I
   purchased not half an hour ago from this very boutique.
O: Oh yes, the, uh, the Norwegian Blue...What's,uh...What's wrong with it?
C: I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad. 'E's dead, that's what's
   wrong with it!
O: No, no, 'e's uh,...he's resting.
C: Look, matey, I know a dead parrot when I see one, and I'm looking
   at one right now.
O: No no he's not dead, he's, he's restin'!  Remarkable bird, the Norwegian
   Blue, idn'it, ay?  Beautiful plumage!
C: The plumage don't enter into it.  It's stone dead.
O: Nononono, no, no!  'E's resting!
C: All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him up!
   (shouting at the cage)
   'Ello, Mister Polly Parrot!  I've got a lovely fresh cuttle fish for you if
   you show...(owner hits the cage)
O: There, he moved!
C: No, he didn't, that was you hitting the cage!
O: I never!!
C: Yes, you did!
O: I never, never did anything...
C: (yelling and hitting the cage repeatedly) 'ELLO POLLY!!!!!
   Testing! Testing!  Testing!  Testing!  This is your nine o'clock alarm call!
 
(Takes parrot out of the cage and thumps its head on the counter.  Throws it up
in the air and watches it plummet to the floor.)
 
C: Now that's what I call a dead parrot.
O: No, no.....No, 'e's stunned!
C: STUNNED?!?
O: Yeah!  You stunned him, just as he was wakin' up!  Norwegian Blues
   stun easily, major.
C: Um...now look...now look, mate, I've definitely 'ad enough of this.
   That parrot is definitely deceased, and when I purchased it not 'alf an hour
   ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement was due to it bein'
   tired and shagged out following a prolonged squawk.
O: Well, he's...he's, ah...probably pining for the fjords.
C: PININ' for the FJORDS?!?!?!?  What kind of talk is that?, look, why
   did he fall flat on his back the moment I got 'im home?
O: The Norwegian Blue prefers keepin' on it's back!  Remarkable bird, id'nit,
   squire?  Lovely plumage!
C: Look, I took the liberty of examining that parrot when I got it home,
   and I discovered the only reason that it had been sitting on its perch in
   the first place was that it had been NAILED there.
 
(pause)
 
O: Well, o'course it was nailed there!  If I hadn't nailed that bird down,
   it would have nuzzled up to those bars, bent 'em apart with its beak, and
   VOOM!  Feeweeweewee!
C: "VOOM"?!?  Mate, this bird wouldn't "voom" if you put four million volts
   through it!  'E's bleedin' demised!
O: No no!  'E's pining!
C: 'E's not pinin'!  'E's passed on!  This parrot is no more!  He has ceased
   to be!  'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker!  'E's a stiff!  Bereft
   of life, 'e rests in peace!  If you hadn't nailed 'im to the perch 'e'd be
   pushing up the daisies!  'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory!  'E's off
   the twig!  'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run
   down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!!
   THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!!
 
(pause)
 
O: Well, I'd better replace it, then.
(he takes a quick peek behind the counter)
O:  Sorry squire, I've had a look 'round the back of the shop, and uh, we're
    right out of parrots.
C: I see.  I see, I get the picture.
O: <pause> I got a slug.
 
(pause)
 
C: (sweet as sugar) Pray, does it talk?
O: Nnnnot really.
C: WELL IT'S HARDLY A BLOODY REPLACEMENT, IS IT?!!???!!?
O: Look, if you go to my brother's pet shop in Bolton, he'll replace
   the parrot for you.
C: Bolton, eh? Very well.
 
The customer leaves.
 
The customer enters the same pet shop.  The owner is putting on a false
moustache.
 
C: This is Bolton, is it?
O: (with a fake mustache) No, it's Ipswitch.
C: (looking at the camera) That's inter-city rail for you.
 
The customer goes to the train station.
He addresses a man standing behind a desk marked "Complaints".
 
C: I wish to complain, British-Railways Person.
Attendant: I DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS JOB, YOU KNOW!!!
C: I beg your pardon...?
A: I'm a qualified brain surgeon!  I only do this job because I like
   being my own boss!
C: Excuse me, this is irrelevant, isn't it?
A: Yeah, well it's not easy to pad these python files out to 150 lines,
   you know.
C: Well, I wish to complain. I got on the Bolton train and found myself
   deposited here in Ipswitch.
A: No, this is Bolton.
C: (to the camera) The pet shop man's brother was lying!!
A: Can't blame British Rail for that.
C: In that case, I shall return to the pet shop!
 
He does.
 
C: I understand this IS Bolton.
O: (still with the fake mustache) Yes?
C: You told me it was Ipswitch!
O: ...It was a pun.
C: (pause) A PUN?!?
O: No, no...not a pun...What's that thing that spells the same backwards
   as forwards?
C: (Long pause)  A palindrome...?
O: Yeah, that's it!
C: It's not a palindrome! The palindrome of "Bolton" would be "Notlob"!!
   It don't work!!
O: Well, what do you want?
C: I'm not prepared to pursue my line of inquiry any longer as I think
   this is getting too silly!
 
Sergeant-Major: Quite agree, quite agree, too silly, far too silly...
                (takes customer by the arm) Come on, you, you've got to go
                do another sketch now!  Come on...  (he walks off stage left,
                followed by the director and cameramen, leaving the owner alone
                on the set)
 
O: (to the audience)  Well!  I never wanted to do this in the first place.
                      I wanted to be...
 
                      A LUMBERJACK!
 
                      (he takes off his white lab coat to reveal a checkered
                      shirt and suspenders under it)
 
                      Floating down the mighty rivers of British Columbia!
                      With my best girl by my side!   etc. etc. etc.
                      ( continued in LUMBERJK PYTHON )
 
 
************************  Alternative Ending: **************************
 
C: Pray, does it talk?
O: Nnnnot really.
C: WELL IT'S HARDLY A BLOODY REPLACEMENT, IS IT?!!???!!?
O: N-no, I guess not.  (gets ashamed, looks at his feet)
C: Well.
 
(pause)
 
O: (quietly)  D'you....     d'you want to come back to my place?
C: (looks around) Yeah, all right, sure.
 
 
***  end of file PETSHOP PYTHON  ***
****   The scene in Pilate's chamber from "Monty Python's Life of Brian"   ****
****   Transcribed 6/21/86 by Dwayne A. X. E. E. ( CS107124@YUSOL )        ****
 
 
(Brian is hauled into Pilate's audience chamber.  It is big and impressive,
 although a certain amount of redecorating is underway.  The Centurion salutes.)
 
Centurion: Hail Caesar.
Pilate:    Hail Caesar.
Centurion: Only one survivor, Sir.
Pilate:    Thwow him to the floor.
Centurion: What, Sir?
Pilate:    Thwow him to the floor.
Centurion: Ah!
           (He motions to the two Roman guards, who throw Brian to the ground.)
Pilate:    Now, what is your name, Jew?
Brian:     Brian.
Pilate:    Bwian, eh?
Brian:     (trying to be helpful)  No, *Brian*.
           (The Centurion cuffs him.)
Pilate:    The little wascal has thpiwit.
Centurion: Has what, sir?
Pilate:    *THPIWIT*.
Centurion: Yes, he did, sir.
Pilate:    No, no, thpiwit...bwavado...a touch of dewwing-do.
Centurion: (still not really understanding) Ah. About eleven, sir.
Pilate:    (to Brian) So you dare to waid uth.
Brian:     (rising to his feet) To what?
Pilate:    Stwike him, centuwion, vewwy woughly.
Centurion: And throw him to the floor, Sir?
Pilate:    What?
Centurion: THWOW him to the floor again, Sir?
Pilate:    Oh, yeth.  Thwow him to the floor.
           (The Centurion knocks Brian hard on the side of the head again and
            the two guards throw him to the floor.)
Pilate:    Now, Jewith wapscallion.
Brian:     I'm not Jewish ...  I'm a Roman!
Pilate:    *WOMAN*?
Brian:     No, *ROMAN*.
          (But he's not quick enough to avoid another blow from the Centurion.)
Pilate:    Tho, your father was a *WOMAN*.  Who wath he?
Brian:     (proudly) He was a centurion in the Jerusalem Garrison.
Pilate:    Oh.  What was his name?
Brian:     Nortius Maximus.
 
(An involuntary titter arises from the Centurion.)
 
Pilate:    Centuwion, do we have anyone of that name in the gawwison?
Centurion: Well...no, sir.
Pilate:    You sound vewwy sure...have you checked?
Centurion: Well...no, sir.  I think it's a joke, sir...like...Sillius
           Soddus, or...Biggus Dickus.
Pilate:    What's so funny about Bigguth Dickuth?
Centurion: Well,...it's a...a joke name, sir.
Pilate:    I have a vewwy gweat fwend in Wome called Bigguth Dickuth.
 
(Involuntary laughter from a nearby guard surprises Pilate.)
 
Pilate:    Silence!  What is all this insolence?  You will find yourself in
           gladiator school vewwy quickly with wotten behaviour like that.
 
(The guard tries to stop giggling.  Pilate turns away from him.  He is angry.) )
 
Brian:     Can I go now sir...
           (The Centurion strikes him.)
Pilate:    Wait till Bigguth hears of this!
 
(The guard immediately breaks up again.  Pilate turns on him.)
 
Pilate:    Wight!  Centuwion...take him away.
Centurion: Oh sir, he only....
Pilate:    I want him fighting wabid wild animals within a week.
Centurion: Yes, sir.
           (He starts to drag out the wretched guard.  Brian notices that
            little attention is being paid to him.)
Pilate:  I will not have my fwendth widiculed by the common tholdiewy.
         (He walks slowly towards the other guards.)
Pilate:  Now...anyone else feel like a little giggle when I mention my fwend-
              (He goes right up to one of the guards.)
         Biggus ...  Dickus.  He has a wife you know.
              (The guards tense up.)
         Called Incontinentia.
              (The guards relax.)
         Incontinentia Buttockth!
                (The guards fall about laughing.  Brian takes advantage of the
                chaos to slip away.)
         Thilenth!  I've had enough of this wowdy webel behaviour.  Thtop it!
         You call yourselves Pawaetonian guards?  Thilence!
                (But the guards are all hysterical by now.  Pilate notices
                Brian escaping.)
         You cwowd of cwacking-up cweeps.  Theize him!  Blow your noses and
         theize him!  Oh, my bum.
 
*****   Here endeth Part Ten of Life of Brian (of Nazareth)     *****
*****   Please send your comments, praise, complaints or        *****
*****   copyright infringement lawsuits to ...                  *****
*****   Dwayne A. X. E. E. (<CS107124@YUSOL>)                   *****
****     The "We Were Poor" Sketch                                         ****
****     From "Monty Python Live at City Center" and                       ****
****     "Monty Python Live at the Hollywood Bowl"                         ****
****     Transcribed by Dave Bregman ( FAC1037@UOFT01.BITNET )             ****
 
Four well-dressed men sitting together at a vacation resort.  "Farewell
to Thee" being played in the background on Hawaiian guitar.
 
Michael Palin:  Ahh.. Very passable, this, very passable.
Graham Chapman: Nothing like a good glass of Chateau de Chassilier wine,
                ay Gessiah?
Terry Gilliam:  You're right there Obediah.
Eric Idle:      Who'd a thought thirty years ago we'd all be sittin'
                here drinking Chateau de Chassilier wine?
MP: Aye.  In them days, we'd a' been glad to have the price of a cup
    o' tea.
GC: A cup ' COLD tea.
EI: Without milk or sugar.
TG: OR tea!
MP: In a filthy, cracked cup.
EI: We never used to have a cup.  We used to have to drink out of a
    rolled up newspaper.
GC: The best WE could manage was to suck on a piece of damp cloth.
TG: But you know, we were happy in those days, though we were poor.
MP: Aye.  BECAUSE we were poor.  My old Dad used to say to me, "Money
    doesn't buy you happiness."
EI: 'E was right.  I was happier then and I had NOTHIN'.  We used to
    live in this tiiiny old house, with greaaaaat big holes in the roof.
GC: House?  You were lucky to have a HOUSE!  We used to live in one
    room, all hundred and twenty-six of us, no furniture.  Half the
    floor was missing; we were all huddled together in one corner for
    fear of FALLING!
TG: You were lucky to have a ROOM!  *We* used to have to live in a
    corridor!
MP: Ohhhh we used to DREAM of livin' in a corridor!  Woulda' been a
    palace to us.  We used to live in an old water tank on a rubbish
    tip.  We got woken up every morning by having a load of rotting
    fish dumped all over us!  House!?  Hmph.
EI: Well when I say "house" it was only a hole in the ground covered
    by a piece of tarpolin, but it was a house to US.
GC: We were evicted from *our* hole in the ground; we had to go and
    live in a lake!
TG: You were lucky to have a LAKE!  There were a hundred and sixty
    of us living in a small shoebox in the middle of the road.
MP: Cardboard box?
TG: Aye.
MP: You were lucky.  We lived for three months in a brown paper bag in
    a septic tank.  We used to have to get up at six o'clock in the
    morning, clean the bag, eat a crust of stale bread, go to work down
    mill for fourteen hours a day week in-week out.  When we got home,
    out Dad would thrash us to sleep with his belt!
GC: Luxury.  We used to have to get out of the lake at three o'clock in
    the morning, clean the lake, eat a handful of hot gravel, go to
    work at the mill every day for tuppence a month, come home, and Dad
    would beat us around the head and neck with a broken bottle, if we
    were LUCKY!
TG: Well we had it tough.  We used to have to get up out of the shoebox
    at twelve o'clock at night, and LICK the road clean with our tongues.
    We had half a handful of freezing cold gravel, worked twenty-four
    hours a day at the mill for fourpence every six years, and when we
    got home, our Dad would slice us in two with a bread knife.
EI: Right.  I had to get up in the morning at ten o'clock at night,
    half an hour before I went to bed, (pause for laughter), eat a lump
    of cold poison, work twenty-nine hours a day down mill, and pay mill
    owner for permission to come to work, and when we got home,
    our Dad would kill us, and dance about on our graves
    singing "Hallelujah."
MP: But you try and tell the young people today that... and they won't
    believe ya'.
ALL: Nope, nope..
 
 
****  The Rhubarb Tart song                                                ****
****  Transcribed 2/3/87 by                                                ****
****  Jonathan Partington ( JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK )         ****
 
 
     THE RHUBARB TART SONG
     =====================
 
I want another slice of rhubarb tart.
I want another lovely slice.
I'm not disparaging the blueberry pie
But rhubarb tart is oh so very nice.
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb tart!
A whatbarb tart? A rhubarb tart!
I want another slice of rhubarb tart!
 
The principles of modern philosophy
Were postulated by Descartes.
Discarding everything he wasn't certain of
He said 'I think therefore I am a rhubarb tart.'
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb tart!
A Rene who? Rene Descartes!
Poor nut he thought he was a rhubarb tart!
 
Read all the existentialist philosophers,
Like Schopenhauer and Jean-Paul Sartre.
Even Martin Heidegger agrees on one thing:
Eternal happiness is rhubarb tart.
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb tart!
A Jean-Paul who? A Jean-Paul Sartre!
Eternal happiness is rhubarb tart.
 
A rhubarb tart has fascinated all the poets.
Especially the immortal bard.
He caused Richard the Third to call on Bosworth Field:
'My kingdom for a slice of rhubarb tart!'
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb bard!
Immortal what? Immortal tart!
As rhymes go that is really pretty bard!
 
                        -- John Cleese
 
To:               CLARINET@YALEVMX
**** Brave and Bold Sir Robin -- his song                                  ****
**** Transcribed, expressly for the python collection at BBoard@Yalevm     ****
**** from the memory of Malcolm <Clarinet@Yalevm.BitNet> Dickinson 4/6/86  ****
**** Corrections by Bret <SheBreB@YaleVM.BitNet> Shefter 2/6/87            ****
 
**** Transcript #9 from the film.                                          ****
**** Continued from transcript #8, FRENCH PYTHON                           ****
**** or from transcript #8A, STORY PYTHON.                                 ****
 
 
                 **    The Tale  of Sir Robin.    **
 
So, each of the knights went their separate ways.
Sir Robin rode north, through the dark forest of Ewing, accompanied by his
favorite minstrels.
 
 
Minstrel: song:
 
Bravely bold Sir Robin
Brought forth from Camelot.
He was not afraid to die,
Oh, brave Sir Robin!
He was not at all afraid to be killed in nasty ways.
Brave, brave, brave Sir Robin.
 
He was not in the least bit scared to be mashed into a pulp.
Or to have his eyes gouged out, and his elbows broken!
To have his kneecaps split, and his body burned away
And his limbs all hacked and mangled, brave Sir Robin.
 
His head smashed in and his heart cut out,
And his liver removed and his bowls unplugged,
And his nostrils raked and his bottom burnt off,
And his peni--
 
Robin:  That's...That's, uh...  That's enough music for now, lads.  It looks
like there's dirty work afoot.
 
As mysterious music comes up, Robin and his minstrels pass Dennis, from the
PEASANT sketch, and his wife.
 
Dennis: Anarcho-syndicism is a way of *preserving* freedom!
His Wife: Oh, Dennis, *forget* about freedom!  We 'aven't got enough mud!
 
They also pass three signs that read:
              _________________      _______________________
              (____ CAMELOT 43 )    ( CERTAIN DEATH 1 ______)
                  ( CAMELOT 43 )    ( CERTAIN DEATH 1 )
                  ( CAMELOT 43 )    ( CERTAIN DEATH 1 )
                  (____________)    (_________________)
 
A little further on, he passes on the far side of a tree, on which, on the
near side, three knights are impaled on a single lance.
 
Suddenly, just as Sir Robin is at his most nervous:
-------- at this point, the movie and album go their separate ways: -----------
 
--------------------------------in the movie-----------------------------------
Three headed knight: HALT!!!  WHO ART THOU???
Minstrel:            He is brave Sir Robin, brave Sir Robin,
                     Who--
Robin:               Shut up!!! (to the knight)  Um, n-n-nobody, really, I-I-I-
                     J-Just, um, j-just  passing through.
Three headed knight: WHAT DO YOU WANT???
Minstrel:            To fight, and--
Robin:               SHUT UP!!!  Um, ooh, n-nothing, nothing, really, I-I-I,
                     j-just, just to, um, just to...  p-p-pass through, good
                     sir knight?
Three headed knight: I'M AFRAID NOT!!!
Robin:               Ah. (pause) Well, actually, I...I am a knight of the
                     round table....
Three-headed knight: You're a knight of the Round Table???
Robin:               I am.
 
Three-headed knight:
Left:    In that case I shall have to kill you.
Middle:  Shall I?
Right:   Oh, I don't think so.
Middle:  Well what do I think?
Left:    I think, kill it!
Right:   Oh, Let's be nice to him.
Left:    Oh, shut up!
Middle:  Perhaps...
Left:    And you!  Quick, get the sword out, I want to cut 'is head off!
Right:   Oh, cut your own head off.
Middle:  Yes, do us all a favor!
Left:    What?!!
Right:   Yappin' on, all the time...
Middle:  You're lucky; you're not next to him!
Left:    What d'you mean??
Middle:  You SNORE!
Left:    Ooh, I don't!  Anyway, you've got bad breath!
Middle:  Well it's only 'cause you don't brush my teeth!
Right:   Oh, stop bitching and let's go and have tea!
Left:    All right, all right, all right.  We'll kill him first, and then have
         tea and biscuits.
Middle:  Yes.
Right:   Oh, Not biscuits.
Left:    All right, all right, not biscuits, but let's KILL HIM ANYWAY.
All:     RIGHT.
(pause: the three look around.  No one is there.)
 
---------------------------------on the album----------------------------------
Voice over:  YES!!  It was the dreaded Three Headed Knight, the fiercest
             creature for *yards* around!
             For second....  after second..., Robin held his own, but the
             onslaught proved too much for the brave knight.  Scarcely was
             his armor damp, when Robin suddenly, dramatically, changed his
             tactics!
---------------------record and film in agreement again------------------------
 
Left: 'E's backed off!
Right: So 'e has, 'e's scarfed!
 
 
Minstrel:                               Robin:
 
Brave Sir Robin ran away.               No!
Bravely ran away away....               I didn't!
When Danger reared its ugly head,
He bravely turned his tail and fled     No!!
Yes brave Sir Robin turned about        I didn't!
And gallantly chickened out..
 
Bravely taking to his feet              I never did!
He beat a very brave retreat            All lies!
Brave as ??-??, brave Sir Robin!        I never!
 
Voice over from the album:  Meanwhile, King Arthur and Sir Bedevere, not more
                            than a swallow's flight away, had discovered
                            something.
 
**** continued in transcript #10, NI PYTHON.                               ****
 
**** end of file ROBIN PYTHON 4/6/86 M.M.D.                                ****
****   ROCK NOTES                                                          ****
****   from Monty Python's Contractual Obligations Album                   ****
****   transcribed May, 1986 and uploaded to CMS January 1987              ****
****   by R. "Gumby" Preston ( KL791C@GWUVM.BITNET )                       ****
 
Newscaster:
 
Rex Stardust, lead electric triangle with Toad the Wet Sprocket has had to
have an elbow removed following their recent successful worldwide tour of
Finland. Flamboyant ambidextrous Rex apparently fell off the back of a
motorcycle. "Fell off the back of a motorcyclist, most likely," quipped ace
drummer Jumbo McCluney upon hearing of the accident. Plans are already
afoot for a major tour of Iceland.
 
Divorced after only eight minutes, popular television singing star, Charisma,
changed her mind on the way out of the registry office, when she realized
she had married one of the Donkeys by mistake. The evening before in LA's
glittering nightspot, the Abitoir, she had proposed to drummer Reg Abbot
of Blind Drunk, after a whirlwind romance and a knee-trembler. But when
the hangover lifted, it was Keith Sly of the Donkeys who was on her arm
in the registry office.  Keith, who was too ill to notice, remained
unsteady during the short ceremony and when asked to exchange vows, began
to recite names and addresses of people who also used the stuff. Charisma
spotted the error as Keith was being carried into the wedding ambulance
and became emotionally upset. However, the mistake was soon cleared
up, and she stayed long enough to consummate their divorce.
 
Dead Monkeys are to split up again, according to their manager, Lefty
Goldblatt.  They've been in the business now ten years, nine as other
groups.  Originally the Dead Salmon, they became for a while, Trout.
Then Fried Trout, then Poached Trout In A White Wine Sauce, and finally,
Herring.  Splitting up for nearly a month, the re-formed as Red Herring,
which became Dead Herring for a while, and then Dead Loss, which reflected
the current state of the group.  Splitting up again to get their heads
together, they reformed a fortnight later as Heads Together, a tight little
name which lasted them through a difficult period when their drummer was
suspected of suffering from death.  It turned out to be only a rumor and
they became Dead Together, then Dead Gear, which lead to Dead Donkeys,
Lead Donkeys, and the inevitable split up.  After nearly ten days, they
reformed again as Sole Manier, then Dead Sole, Rock Cod, Turbot, Haddock,
White Baith, the Places, Fish, Bream, Mackerel, Salmon, Poached Salmon,
Poached Salmon In A White Wine Sauce, Salmon-monia, and Helen Shapiro.
This last name, their favorite, had to be dropped following an injunction
and they split up again.  When they reformed after a recordbreaking two
days, they ditched the fishy references and became Dead Monkeys, a name
which they stuck with for the rest of their careers. Now, a fortnight
later, they've finally split up.
(telephone ringing)
Hello.
"Hello"
Yes?
"What do you think of Dead Duck?"
What do I think of Dead Duck?
"or Lobster?"
Lobster?...
 
 
****  The Ovine Aviation sketch                                            ****
****  From the first Monty Python's Flying Circus episode ever!!!          ****
****  Transcribed 4/12/86 by (guess who?)                                  ****
****  Bret "Yup, again" Shefter ( SHEBREB@YALEVM.BITNET )                  ****
****  Text first received from Leon Marr, whose userid is so secret that   ****
****  even his mother knows it!                                            ****
 
 
                            Ovine Aviation
 
(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
         misappre'ension 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 attempts 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.
**** "Sit on my Face"                                                      ****
**** from "Monty Python Live at the Hollywood Bowl"                        ****
**** Transcribed by Dave Bregman ( FAC1037@UOFT01.BITNET )                 ****
 
                          Sit on My Face
 
 
Sit on my face, and tell me that you love me.
I'll sit on your face and tell you I love you, too.
I love to hear you moralize,
When I'm between your thighs;
You blow me away!
 
Sit on my face and let my lips embrace you.
I'll sit on your face and let my love be truly.
Life can be fine if we both sixty-nine,
And we'll sit on our faces in all sorts of places and play,
'Till we're blown away!
 
****  The Spam Sketch                                                      ****
****  From the second series of "Monty Python's Flying Circus"             ****
****  Transcribed 9/17/87 from "Monty Python's Previous Record" by         ****
****  Jonathan Partington ( JRP1@PHX.CAM.AC.UK )                           ****
 
 
(Spam = Spiced Pork And Ham, a sort of cheap luncheon meat)
 
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!
 
 
****  end of file SPAM PYTHON  9/18/87 ****
From:       JRP1@PHX.CAM.AC.UK
To:         Clarinet@YALEVM
 
****  The Spanish Inquisition Sketch                                       ****
****  From "Monty Python's Flying Circus" and "And Now for Something       ****
****  Completely Different"                                                ****
****  Transcribed by Jonathan Partington                                   ****
****  ( JRP1%CAM.PHX%UK.AC.CAM.ENG-ICF@AC.UK )  4/12/87                    ****
****  Edited by Malcolm Dickinson ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )  9/18/87      ****
 
 
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!
 
**** end of file SPANISH PYTHON 9/18/87 ****
From:       JRP1@PHX.CAM.AC.UK
To:         Clarinet@YALEVM
 
****     EVERY SPERM IS SACRED (Michael Palin & Terry Jones)               ****
****     by Michael Palin and Terry Jones                                  ****
****     from Monty Python's "The Meaning of Life"                         ****
****     Transcribed by Dave Bregman ( FAC1037@UOFT01.BITNET )             ****
 
 
There are Jews in the world, there are Buddhists,
there are Hindus and Mormons and then
there are those that follow Mohammed  -but-
I've never been one of them.
I am a Roman Catholic
and have been since before I was born,
and the one thing they say about Catholics is
they'll take you as soon as you're warm.
You don't have to be a six-footer.
You don't have to have a great brain.
You don't have to have any clothes on, you're
a Catholic the moment dad came
...Because...
Every sperm is sacred,
every sperm is great,
If a sperm is wasted,
God gets quite irate.  (2x)
Let the heathens spill theirs,
on the dusty ground.
God shall make them pay for
each sperm that can't be found.
Every sperm is wanted,
every sperm is good.
Every sperm is needed,
in your neighborhood.
Hindu, Taoist, Mormon,
spill theirs just anywhere
but God loves those who treat their
semen with more care.
(misc choruses)
Every sperm is useful,
every sperm is fine.
God needs everybodies,
mine, and mine, and mine.
Let the pagans spill theirs
on mountain hill and plain.
God shall strike them down for
each sperm that's spilled in vain.
(misc. choruses and finale)
 
****   The Stoning scene from "Monty Python's Life of Brian"              ****
****   Transcribed 4/29/86 by Dwayne A. X. E. E. ( CS107124@YUSOL )        ****
 
(The Stoning Place.  A Jewish OFFICIAL stands there, with some helpers,
 confronting the potential stonee, MATTHIAS.  A large crowd watches.  90% are
 women in beards.  Around the perimeter are a few Roman troops.)
 
Official:  Matthias, son of Deuteronomy of Gath ...
Matthias:  (to Official's Helper): Do I say "Yes"?
Official's Helper: Yes.
Matthias:  Yes.
Official:  You have been found guilty by the elders of the town of uttering the
           name of our Lord and so as a blasphemer you are to be stoned to
           death.
Matthias:  Look, I'd had a lovely supper and all I said to my wife was, "That
           piece
Official:  Blasphemy!  He's said it again.
Women:     Yes, he did.
Official:  Did you hear him?
Women:     Yes we did.  Really.
Official:  (suspiciously) Are there any women here today?
 
(The women all shake their heads.  The Official faces Matthias again.)
 
Official:  Very well, by virtue of the authority vested in me ...
 
(One of the women throws a stone and it hits Matthias on the knee.)
 
Matthias:  Ow. Lay off.  We haven't started yet.
Official:  (turning around) Come on, who threw that?
 
(Silence.)
           Who threw that stone?  Come on.
Women:     (pointing to the culprit, keeping their voices as low in pitch as
           they can)
           She did.
           *He did.*
           He. Him.
Culprit:   (very deep voice) Sorry, I thought we'd started.
Official:  Go to the back.
Culprit:   Oh dear.
           (disappointedly goes to back)
Official:  There's always one, isn't there?  Now, where were we? ...
Matthias:  Look.  I don't think it ought to be blasphemy, just saying
           "Jehovah!"
 
(Sensation!!!!  The women gasp.)
 
Women:    (high voices) He said it again.
          (low voices)  He said it again.
Official: (to Matthias) You're only making it worse for yourself.
Matthias: Making it worse?  How can it be worse?  Jehovah, Jehovah, Jehovah.
 
(Great Sensation!!!!!!)
 
Official:  I'm warning you.  If you say "Jehovah" once more ...
           (He gasps at his error and claps his hand over his mouth.  A stone
           hits him on the side of the head.  He reacts.)
           Right!  Who threw that?
Women:     (high voices)
           It was her.
           It was *him*.
           (low voices)
           It was him.
Official:  Was it you?
Culprit:  Yes.
Official:  All right.
Culprit:  Well, you did say "Jehovah."
 
(The women all shriek and throw stones at her from very close range.  She falls
 to the ground stunned.  Quick cut of Romans reacting.  They shake their heads
 and mutter to each other.)
 
Official:  Stop that.  Stop it, will you stop that.  Now look, no one is to
           stone anyone until I blow this whistle.  *Even*...and I want to
           make this absolutely clear...*even* if they *do* say "Jehovah."
 
(There is a pause.  Then all the women throw stones at the Official and he
 goes down in a heap.  Five women carry a huge rock, run up and drop it on the
 Official.  Everyone claps.  The guards sadly shake their heads.)
 
*****   Here endeth Part Four of Life of Brian (of Nazareth)    *****
*****   Please send your comments, praise, complaints or        *****
*****   copyright infringement lawsuits to ...                  *****
*****   Dwayne A. X. E. E. (<CS107124@YUSOL>)                   *****
****                   The Story of the Film So Far                        ****
 
****  from the Album of the Soundtrack of the Trailer of the Film of       ****
****  "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"                                    ****
****  Transcribed by Malcolm Dickinson '89 ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )      ****
****  10/30/86                                                             ****
 
**** Transcript #8A from the Album; this scene follows                     ****
**** transcript #8, FRENCH PYTHON.                                         ****
 
 
The Story of the Film So Far:
 
Doug and Bob are metropolitan policemen with a difference.  Doug likes
nothing more than slipping into little cocktail frocks, while Bob bouffants
his hair for a night on duty.  Still, as the art immace, no one gives their
last names.
 
 
The *Real* Story of the Film So Far:
 
Pucky Reginald Vas Deferens is a nuclear scientist in love with mafia boss
Enrico Marx, who is himself married to Conchito Macbeth, a lively belly-dancer
at the Belgian disco whose manager, Burly Ivan Crapp, has a naked daughter
Janice engaged to J.J. Spinman, New York private detective, employed by
elegant Laura Herron to trace the missing million-pound bidet that Hitler
gave to Eva Brown as a bar mitzvah present during a state visit to Crufts, and
which remained hidden until a World Cup referee, Horse Jenkenson, was found
hanged in a New Jersey tenement with the plans of a Russian secret weapon
partially tatooed on his elbow.
 
In Brisbon, the Brain brothers, Nicky and Vance, torture a Mayfair
psychologist, who reveals to Dora Brain in a tender and emotional death scene
that his hair is not his own.
 
Meanwhile, the Kent Touring Eleven have trapped husky Matilda Tritt on a
sticky near Hastings, and she reveals all before enforcing the follow army.
 
Peter Niesewand and Cyril Garfunkel arrive just in time with the Welsh Police,
and the Harry Orchestra, and proceed to sing a love song which allows Dr.
Indira McNorton *just* enough time to cross the alps into Geneva, where he
meets Kon Rapp, a kung fu fanatic and cat lover, who frivilously shoots him,
but not before introducing him to lively intelligent Norweigan widow Lanny
Krimt, who shows him her inner thighs, where he finds the address of a good
French restaurant, and unexpectedly meets Gabriello Machismo, an ex-Korean
plastic surgeon whose frankly blond assistant Sally Lesbitt is now the
half-brother of a distant cousin of Ray Vorn Ding-ding-a-dong, the Eurovision
song, and *owner* of the million-pound bidet given by Hitler to Eva Brown as a
bar mitzvah present during a state visit to Crufts, and which remained hidden,
etc. etc. etc.
 
This they now do.
 
Meanwhile, Harold and Victor Medway III discover a newfound love for each
other in an flashback near Devon, where they meet up with Doug and Bob, the
metropolitan policemen who suprisingly turn out to be in this film at all, who
kill everyone, and live happily ever after.
 
 
**** continued in trancript #9, ROBIN PYTHON.                              ****
 
**** end of file STORY PYTHON 10/13/86 M.M.D.                              ****
****  The string sketch                                                    ****
****  Transcribed from "The Instant Monty Python Record Collection"        ****
****  by Malcolm Dickinson ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )   4/5/86.            ****
 
 
Adrian Wapcaplet:  Aah, come in, come in, Mr....Simpson.  Aaah, welcome to
    Mousebat, Follicle, Goosecreature, Ampersand, Spong, Wapcaplet, Looseliver,
    Vendetta and Prang!
Mr. Simpson: Thank you.
Wapcaplet: Do sit down--my name's Wapcaplet, Adrian Wapcaplet...
Mr. Simpson: how'd'y'do.
Wapcaplet: Now, Mr. Simpson... Simpson, Simpson... French, is it?
S: No.
W: Aah.  Now, I understand you want us to advertise your washing powder.
S: String.
W: String, washing powder, what's the difference.  We can sell *anything*.
S: Good.  Well I have this large quantity of string, a hundred and twenty-two
   thousand *miles* of it to be exact, which I inherited, and I thought if I
   advertised it--
W: Of course!  A national campaign.  Useful stuff, string, no trouble there.
S: Ah, but there's a snag, you see.  Due to bad planning, the hundred and
   twenty-two thousand miles is in three inch lengths.  So it's not very
   useful.
W: Well, that's our selling point!
   "SIMPSON'S INDIVIDUAL STRINGETTES!"
S: What?
W: "THE NOW STRING!  READY CUT, EASY TO HANDLE, SIMPSON'S INDIVIDUAL EMPEROR
    STRINGETTES - JUST THE RIGHT LENGTH!"
S: For what?
W: "A MILLION HOUSEHOLD USES!"
S: Such as?
W: Uhmm...Tying up very small parcels, attatching notes to pigeons' legs, uh,
   destroying household pests...
S: Destroying household pests?!  How?
W: Well, if they're bigger than a mouse, you can strangle them with it, and if
   they're smaller than, you flog them to death with it!
S: Well *surely*!....
W: "DESTROY NINETY-NINE PERCENT OF KNOWN HOUSEHOLD PESTS WITH PRE-SLICED,
   RUSTPROOF, EASY-TO-HANDLE, LOW CALORIE SIMPSON'S INDIVIDUAL EMPEROR
   STRINGETTES, FREE FROM ARTIFICIAL COLORING, AS USED IN HOSPITALS!"
S: 'Ospitals!?!?!?!!?
W: Have you ever in a Hospital where they didn't have string?
S: No, but it's only *string*!
W: ONLY STRING?!  It's everything!  It's...it's waterproof!
S: No it isn't!
W: All right, it's water resistant then!
S: It isn't!
W: All right, it's water absorbent!  It's...Super Absorbent String!
   "ABSORB WATER TODAY WITH SIMPSON'S INDIVIDUAL WATER ABSORB-A-TEX
    STRINGETTES!  AWAY WITH FLOODS!"
S: You just said it was waterproof!
W: "AWAY WITH THE DULL DRUDGERY OF WORKADAY TIDAL WAVES!  USE SIMPSON'S
    INDIVIDUAL FLOOD PREVENTERS!"
S: You're mad!
W: Shut up, shut up, shut up!  Sex, sex sex, must get sex into it.  Wait,
   I see a television commercial-
 
   There's this nude woman in a bath holding a bit of your string.  That's
   great, great, but we need a doctor, got to have a medical opinion.
 
   There's a nude woman in a bath with a doctor--that's too sexy.  Put an
   archbishop there watching them, that'll take the curse off it.  Now, we
   need children and animals.
 
   There's two kids admiring the string, and a dog admiring the archbishop
   who's blessing the string.  Uhh...international flavor's missing...make the
   archbishop Greek Orthodox.  Why not Archbishop Macarios?  No, no, he's
   dead... nevermind, we'll get his brother, it'll be cheaper... So, there's
   this nude woman....
 
**** The opening scene from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"              ****
**** Transcribed from the film by                                          ****
**** Malcolm Dickinson ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )  on 12/1/86,             ****
**** expressly for use of the BBOARD@YALEVM Python Collection              ****
 
**** This is Transcript #1 from the movie                                  ****
 
     The film begins.  Out of a dense fog trots Arthur, accompanied on two
     empty coconut halves by his trusty servant, Patsy.  They approach a
     castle.  Suddenly a guard appears atop a high rampart.
 
Guard:  Halt!  Who goes there?
Arthur: It is I, Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, from the castle of Camelot.
        King of the Britons, defeater of the Saxons, sovereign of all England!
Guard:  Who's the other one?
Arthur: I am, and this is my trusty servant Patsy.  We have ridden the length
        and breadth of the land in search of knights who will join me in my
        court at Camelot.  I must speak with your lord and master.
Guard:  What, ridden on a horse?
Arthur: Yes.
Guard:  You're using coconuts!
Arthur: What?
Guard:  You've got two empty 'alves of coconuts and you're bangin' 'em
        together!
Arthur: So?    We have ridden since the snows of winter covered this land.
        Through the kingdom of Mercia, through...
Guard:  Where'd you get the coconuts?
Arthur: (somewhat taken aback) We found them.
Guard:  Found them?  In Mercia?  The coconut's tropical!
Arthur: What do you mean?
Guard:  This is a temperate zone!
Arthur: The swallow may fly south with the sun, or the house maarten or the
        plummer may seek warmer climes in winter, but these are not strangers
        to our land!
Guard:  Are you suggesting that coconuts migrate?
Arthur: Not at all!  They could be carried.
Guard:  (indcredulous) What, a swallow, carrying a coconut?
Arthur: It could grip it by the husk!
Guard:  It's not a question of where 'e grips it!  It's a simple question of
        weight ratios!  A five-ounce bird could *not* carry a one-pound
        coconut!
Arthur: (exasperated)
        Well it doesn't matter!  Will you go and tell your master that Arthur
        from the court of Camelot is here!
 
(pause)
 
Guard:  Listen.  In order to maintain air-speed velocity, a swallow needs to
        beat its wings forty-three times every second, right?
 
Arthur: Please!
Guard:  (patiently)   Am I right.
Arthur: I'm not interested!
 
       ( A second guard appears on the rampart. )
 
G2:     It could be carried by an African swallow!
G1:     Oh, yeah, an African swallow, maybe, but not a European swallow, that's
        my point.
G2:     Oh, yeah, I agree with that.
Arthur: (extremely exasperated) Will you ask your master if he wants to join
        my court at Camelot!!
 
(pause)
 
G1:     But then of course, African swallows are non-migratory.
G2:     Oh yeah...
 
(Arthur and Patsy give up and trot away)
 
G1:     So they couldn't bring a coconut back anyway.
G2:     Wait a minute!  Supposing *two* swallows carried it together!
G1:     Nooo..... They'd have to have it on a line...
G2:     Well, simple!  They'd just use a strand of creeper!
G1:     What, held under the dorsal guiding feathers?
G2:     Well, why not?
 
****   continued in DEAD PYTHON, transcript #2 in the movie                ****
 
****   end of file SWALLOW PYTHON      12/1/86 MMD                         ****
****  The Tale of Sir Launcelot: SWAMP PYTHON                              ****
****  From "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"                               ****
****  Laboriously plagiarized by Bret "zzzz...." Shefter                   ****
****  ( SHEBREB@YALEVM.BITNET ) on the tenth day of April in the year of   ****
****  our Bret 1986                                                        ****
****  Laboriously corrected by Malcolm Dickinson                           ****
****  ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET )  10/30/86 and a bit more again on 3/11/87 ****
 
****  Transcript #12 from the Film                                         ****
****  Continued from the middle of transcript #10, NI PYTHON               ****
 
 
                      THE TALE OF SIR LAUNCELOT
 
As Sir Launcelot, the boldest and most expensive of the knights, lost his way
in the Forest of Ewing, at nearby Swamp Castle, a celebration was underway.
 
 
Setting: A small garret room in the Tall Tower of Swamp Castle.
         The King and his son the Prince.
 
King: (gesturing expansively out the window) One day, lad, *all* this will be
      yours.
Son:  What, the curtains?
King: No, not the curtains, lad!  All that you can see, stretched out over the
      'ills and valleys of this land.  That'll be your kindom, lad.
Son:  But, Mother...
King: Father, lad, Father.
Son:  But, Father, I don't want any of that.
King: Listen, lad:  I built this kingdom up from nuthin'.  When I started
      here, all of this was swamp!  Other kings said it was *daft* to build a
      castle in a swamp, but I built it all the same, just to show 'em!  It
      sank into the swamp.  SO, I built a second one!  That sank into the
      swamp.  So I built a *third* one.  That burned down, fell over, *then*
      sank into the swamp.  But the fourth one......stayed up.  And that's what
      you're gonna get, lad:  the *strongest* castle in these islands.
Son:  But I don't want any of that! I'd rather...
King: Rather what?
Son:  I'd rather...just...sing!......
      <music up>
King: Stop that!  Stop that!  You're not going into a song while I'm here!
      <music dies away>
      Now, listen, lad.  In twenty minutes you're gettin' married to a girl
      whose father owns the biggest *tracts* of open land in England.
Son:  But I don't want land!
King: Listen, Alice...
Son:  'Erbert...
King: 'Erbert.  We live in a bloody swamp!  We need all the land we can get!!
Son:  But... but I don't *like* 'er!
King: don't like 'er?!?  What's wrong with 'er?  She's...  beautiful, she's...
      *rich*, she's got...  HUGE.............  tracts o' land...
Son:  Ah...ah know.  But I want the girl that I marry to have...  a
      certain...*special*...something...  <music up>
King: Cut that out!!  Cut that out.... <grabs the prince>
      <music dies away>
      You're marryin' Princess Lucky, so you'd better get used to the idea!
      <slaps the prince>
      GUARDS!!!  <two guards come in>
      Make sure the prince doesn't leave this room until I come and get 'im.
      <starts to go>
Guard 1: <repeating> Not to leave the room, even if you come and get 'im.
Guard 2: *Hic*
King:    Nono....  *Until* I come and get him.
Guard 1: Until you come and get him, we're not to enter the room.
King:    <stops> Nono, no... You *stay* in the room, and make sure *he*
         doesn't leave.
Guard 1: And you'll come and get him.
Guard 2: *Hic*
King:    Right.
Guard 1: We don't need to do anything, apart from just stop him, entering the
         room.
King:    Nono.  *Leaving* the room.
Guard 1: Leaving the room, yes.
King:    All right?
Guard 1: 'Right.
King:    Right.  <goes out the door>
Guard 1: Oh!  If if if uhhhh.... if if uhhhhh....  If if if we......
King:    <coming back in> Yes, what is it?
Guard 1: Oh.  I-if.......     Oh.... (forgetting)
King:    Look, it's quite simple.
Guard 1: Uh.....
King:    You just stay here, and make sure 'e doesn't leave the room.
         All right?
Guard 2: *hic*
Guard 1: Oh, I remember!  Uhhhh, can he leave the room with us?
King:    No...nono, no.   You just keep him in 'ere, and make sure...
Guard 1: Oh yes, we'll keep him in here, obviously, but if he *had*
         to leave, and we *were* with him...
King:    nononono just KEEP HIM IN HERE
Guard 1: ...Until you or anyone else...
King:    No, not anyone else, just me...
Guard 1: ...Just you...
Guard 2: *hic*
King:    Get back.
Guard 1: Get back.
King:    All right?
Guard 1: Right, we'll stay here until you get back.
Guard 2: *hic*
King:    <pause>  And, uh... make sure 'e doesn't leave.
Guard 1: What?
King:    <pause>  Make sure 'e doesn't leave!
Guard 1: The prince??????
King:    Yes, MAKE SURE 'E DOESN'T LEAVE...
Guard 2: *hic*
Guard 1: Oh, yes, of course!!  I thought you meant him!  <motions towards
         the second guard>  You know, it seemed a bit daft me having to guard
         him when 'e's a guard...
King:    <pause> Is that clear?
Guard 1: Oh, quite clear, no problems!
Guard 2: *hic*
King:    Right. <starts to leave. The guards follow him>
         Where are *you* going?
Guard 1: We're coming with you!
King: Nono, I want you to *stay* here and MAKE SURE 'E DOESN'T LEAVE!
Guard 1: Oh, I see, right!
Son:     <plaintively>  but father...
King:    Shut your noise, you!  And get that suit on.  <leaves>
 
<music up>
<king re-enters>
         AND NO SINGING!
Guard 2: *hic*
King: Oh, go and get a glass of water.  (leaves)
 
The Prince looks at the guards.  They look at him.  He smiles.  They smile
back.  He gets a pen a paper out.  He smiles at them.  They smile back.
He scribbles something on it very fast, not looking at it.  He smiles at the
guards.  They smile back.  The Prince gets a bow and arrow from the wall.
He sticks the note on the arrow.  He smiles at the guards.  They smile back.
He side-steps to the window.  He smiles at the guards.  They smile back.
He shoots the arrow with the note out the window.  He puts down the bow.
He smiles at the guards.  They smile back.
 
Guard 2: *Hic*
 
Meanwhile, at a nearby stream, Sir Launcelot approaches.  We hear horse's
hooves in the distance.  Sir Launcelot appears, followed by Concorde, who is
banging two coconut halves together to make the noise of a horse.  They are
crossing a stream by jumping between the boulders that lie in it.
 
Launcelot: <they jump from one rock to the next> Well taken, Concorde!
Concorde:  Thank you, sir!  Most kind!
Launcelot: And again..... oooover we go. <jumps to another rock>
           <Concorde makes the jump behind him>
Launcelot: Good.... Steady.....
           And now, the big one... <jumps>  Come on, Concorde!
           <an arrow whizzes through the air and embeds itself in Concorde>
Concorde:  (as he falls) Message for you, sir.  (he falls)
Launcelot: Concorde!! Concorde, speak to me!
           (spies the arrow and unwraps the message)
           <reads> "To whoever finds this note.  I have been...*imprisoned* by
           my father who wishes me to marry against my will, please please
           please come and rescue me.  I am in the Tall Tower of...Swamp
           Castle."  At last!  A call, a cry of distress!  This could be the
           sign that leads us to the Holy Grail!  Brave, brave Concorde, you
           shall not have died in vain!
                   <starts to draw sword>
 
Concorde:  Uh... I--I'm not quite dead, sir!
Launcelot: (a bit put off) Well...you shall not have been *mortally wounded*
           in vain! <draws sword>
Concorde:  I--I think I--I could pull through, sir.
Launcelot: (a bit more put off) Oh, I see.
Concorde:  Actually, I think I'm allright to come with you, sir--
Launcelot: No no, sweet Concorde, stay here.  I will send help as soon as I've
           accomplished a daring and heroic rescue in my own particular...
           <pauses, trying to think of word.  Gives up...>
Concorde:  Idiom, sir?
Launcelot: Idiom!
Concorde:  No, I feel fine, actually--
Launcelot: Farewell, sweet Concorde!!
           <runs off, leaving Concorde looking after him perplexedly>
Concorde:  (pause) I'll just stay here, then, shall I, sir?  ... Yeah.
           (drums fingers)
 
Scene: The drawbridge of Swamp Castle.  Two guards standing here looking very
       bored.  Off in the distance, they see Launcelot running towards them
       waving his sword in the air.  They look at each other, then back at
       Launcelot. They seem confused.  He does not get any closer, though he
       he keeps running.  The guards look at each other again.  One taps his
       forehead.  They lean on their pikes and idly watch Sir Launcelot
       still running towards them and getting nowhere.  They look at each
       other.  Suddenly Launcelot appears right next to them and runs one of
       them through.  He dies, considerably surprised.  Launcelot runs in.
 
Other guard: (ineffectually) Hey...
 
       Launcelot runs through the castle, slicing, dicing, grating, mincing,
       and otherwise generally killing the entire populace.  He fights his
       way up to the Tower through the throngs of bewildered wedding guests.
       He reached the Tower and throws open the door.
 
Guard 1: Hello!  Now, you're not allowed to enter the roo--  Urgh.
         <dies, run though>
Guard 2: *Hic*  <also run through>
Launcelot: <kneeling before the white-garbed figure in the room> O fair one,
           behold your humble Sir Launcelot of Camelot.  I have come to take--
           <sees it's a man, gets up immediately> Oh, I'm terribly sorry.
Prince: <claps hands delightedly> You got my note!
Launcelot: Ah, well, I--I got, uh, *a* note....
Prince:    You've come to rescue me!!
Launcelot: Ah, well, no, you see, um--
Prince: I *knew* some one would!
        I knew that somewhere out there, there must be, *someone*--<music up>
King: <barging in, quite upset>  Stop that, Stop that, STOP IT!  STOP IT!!
      <music out> (to Launcelot)  'Oo are you?
Prince: (hurt) I'm your son!
King: (to son) No, not *you*!!!
Launcelot: Uh, I am Sir Launcelot, sir.
Prince: (proudly) 'E's come to rescue me, Father!
Launcelot: Well let's not jump to conclusions--
King: (to Launcelot) Did you kill all those guards?!
Launcelot: (trying to remember)  Uhhh...
           (suddenly) Oh yes!   (highly embarrassed) Sorry....
King:      They cost fifty pounds each!
Launcelot: Well I'm awfully sorry... Um, I really *can* explain everything--
Prince:    Don't be afraid, Sir Launcelot! I've got a rope all ready! (displays
           rope made of shredded bedsheets and ties one end to bedpost)
King:      You killed eight wedding guests in all!
Launcelot: Well you see the thing is, I thought your son was a *lady*....
King:      I can understand that!
Prince:    (climbing out window) Hurry, Sir Launcelot!  Hurry!
King:      SHUT UP!!  (to Launcelot) You only killed the bride's father, that's
           all!!!
Launcelot: Well, I really didn't *mean* to....
King:      Didn't MEAN to?!?  You put your *sword* right through 'is 'ead!!!
Launcelot: Oh, dear!  Is he all right?
King:      You even kicked the bride in chest!  This is going to cost me a
           fortune....
Launcelot: Well I can explain; I was in the forest, um, riding north from
           Camelot when I got this note, you see--
King:      (abruptly) Camelot?  Are you from, uh, Camelot?
Son:       (outside window) Hurry, Sir Launcelot!
Launcelot: Uh...I am a knight of King Arthur, Sir.
King:      Very nice Castle, Camelot, uh...very good pig country!
           (pause)
Launcelot: Is it?
Prince:    Hurry, I'm *ready*!!!
King:      Would you, uh, like to come 'n' have a drink?
           <goes to window, draws dagger>
Launcelot: Well, that--that's awfully nice of you--
Prince:    (from outside) I am ready!!
Launcelot: --I mean, to be so understanding, um--
<The King cuts the blanket-rope, which slithers out the window>
Prince:    Ooh!
Launcelot: --I'm afraid when I am in this sort of idiom, I sometimes get a bit
           , um, sort of carried away....
King:      Oh, don't worry about that--
<they leave the room>
Prince:    (splat)
 
Sir Launcelot and the king are going down the stairs.
King:  Now, this is the main hall.  (gesturing) We're going to have all this
knocked through, and made into one big, uh, living--
 
One of the remaining guests looks up and, upon recognizing Launcelot as the one
who caused all the damage, shouts, "There he is!"
 
King: Oh, bloody 'ell.
 
Launcelot draws his sword and goes beserk again, accompanied by the
appropriate fighting music and action.
 
Launcelot is at last subdued before causing too much damage, save only kicking
the bride again, and the King brings things back to order.
King: Stop!  Stop!  Hold it, hold it, please!
Launcelot: (very embarrassed) Sorry.  Sorry!  You see what I mean, I just get
           carried away, I'm really most awfully sorry.
           (to all) Sorry!  Sorry, everyone....
Guest:  'E's killed the best man!
King: Ladies and gentlemen.  This is Sir Launcelot, a very brave and
      influential knight, and my special guest here today.
Guest: He killed my auntie!
King: Please!  This is supposed to be a...*happy* occasion!  Let's not
      *bicker* and *argue* about 'oo killed 'oo!  We are here today to witness
      the union of two young people in the joyful bond of a holy wedlock.
      (groans)
      Unfortunately, one of them, my son 'Erbert has just fallen to 'is death.
      (gasps) But, I like to think I've lost a son, so much as gained a
      daughter.  (weak applause)
      For, since the tragic death of her father...
Voice: He's not quite dead....
King: (thrown) Since the near-fatal *wounding* of 'er father....
Voice: 'E's getting better!
King: <whispers to a guard, who circles towards the back of the room, where the
      father lies> For, since her own father, who, when 'e seemed about to
      recover, suddenly felt the icy hand of death upon him...
(thump)
Voice: He's died!!
King: I want his only daughter to look upon me as her own Dad, in a very real,
      and legally binding sense.  (more weak applause)
      And I feel sure that the merger--er, the *union*,--between the princess
      and the brave but *dangerous* Sir Launcelot of Camelot--
Launcelot: <taken aback>  What?
Someone: Look!  The Dead Prince!  (general reaction)
Concorde: <entering with the Prince in his arms>  He's not *quite* dead!
Prince: No, I feel much better!
King: You fell out of the Tall Tower, you creep!!!
Prince: No, I was saved at the last minute.
King: 'Ow?
Prince: Well, I'll tell you:
         <music starts>
King: Not like that! Not like that!  No!  Stop it!  STOP!<but it is too late>
Guests:                 He's going to tell,
                        he's going to tell,
                        he's going to tell,
                        he's going to tell!
 
                        He's going to tell,
                        he's going to tell,
                        he's going to tell,
                        he's going to tell!
 
Concorde:  <suddenly appearing out of the crowd> Quickly, sir, come this way!
Launcelot: No, no!  It doesn't fit my idiom!  I must escape more........
           (sigh)
Concorde:  Dramatically, sir?
Launcelot: Dramatically!  <grabs bell pull>
           Runs up stairs.  Jumps in the air.  Swings down towards the window.
           Falls about twelve feet short, having not given himself a very good
           start.  Swings back and forth for a short time.>
           'Scuse me, could, uh, could someone give me a push, please?
 
 
****   Continued in the middle of NI PYTHON, transcript #11 from the film  ****
 
****   End of file SWAMP PYTHON, transcript #12 from the film              ****
**** A trial scene from Monty Python                                       ****
**** Transcribed 8/15/87 by Jonathan Partington ( JRP1@PHX.CAM.AC.UK )     ****
 
 
Bailiff (Cleese): I'm sorry I'm late, m'lud, I couldn't find a kosher car
                  park.  Don't bother to recap, m'lud, I'll pick it up as we go
                  along.  Call Mrs Fiona Lewis.
 
(Enter Chapman, in drag)
 
Fiona Lewis (Chapman):  I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing
                        but the truth, so anyway, I said to her, I said, they
                        can't afford that on what he earns, I mean for a start
                        the feathers get up your nose, I ask you, four and
                        sixpence a pound, and him with a wooden leg, I don't
                        know how she puts up with it after all the trouble
                        she's had with her you-know-what, anyway, it *was* a
                        white wedding, much to everyone's surprise, of course
                        they bought everything on the hire purchase, I think
                        they ought to send them back where they came from, I
                        mean you've got to be cruel to be kind, so Mrs Harris
                        said, so she said she said she said, a dead crab she
                        said she said?  well her sister's gone to Rhodesia,
                        what with her womb and all, and her youngest, fit as a
                        filing cabinet, and the goldfish, the goldfish, they've
                        got whooping-cough, they keep spitting water at the
                        Bratbys, well they *do*, don't they, I mean, you
                        *can't*, can you, I mean they're not even married or
                        anything, they're not even *divorced*, and he's in the
                        KGB if you ask me, he says he's a tree surgoen, but I
                        don't like the sound of his liver, all that squeaking
                        and banging every night till the small hours, well, his
                        mother's been much better since she had her head off,
                        don't you talk to me about bladders, I said...
 
**** End of file TRIAL PYTHON ****
**** From:  JRP1@PHX.CAM.AC.UK  ****
****   THE UNDERTAKER SKETCH                                               ****
****   from Monty Python's Contractual Obligations Album                   ****
****   transcribed May, 1986 and uploaded to CMS January 1987              ****
****   by R. "Gumby" Preston ( KL791C@GWUVM.BITNET )                       ****
 
 
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.
 
****  More Monty Python!!! A little-known biblical lesson                  ****
****  Transcribed by Bret "Who else?" Shefter ( SHEBREB@YALEVM.BITNET )    ****
 
 
                     St. Victor of Python
 
     And it came to pass that Saint Victor was taken from this place
to another place, where he was lain to rest himself amongst sheets
of muslin and velvet.
     And there stroked was he by maidens of the Orient.
     For sixteen days and nights stroked they him, yea verily and
caressed him.
     His hair, ruffled they.  And their fingers rubbethed they in oil
of olives, and ranneth them across all parts of his body for as much
as to soothe him.
     And the soles of his feet licked they.  And the upper parts of
his thigh did they anoint with the balm of forbidden trees.
     And with the teeth of their mouths, nibbled they the pointed
bits at the top of his ears.  Yea verily, and did their tongues
thereof make themselves acquainted with his most secret places.
     For fifteen days and nights did Victor withstand these maidens,
until he cried out, saying:
     "This...is fantastic!  Oh...this is *terrific!!*"
     And the Lord did here the cry of Victor.  And verily came He down
and slew the maidens.  And caused their cottonwool bugs to blow away,
and their Kleenex to be laid waste utterly.
     And Victor, in his anguish, cried out that the Lord was a rotten
bastard.
     So the Lord sent an angel to comfort Victor for the weekend.
     And entered they together the jaccuzzi.
 
   Here endeth the lesson.
****  The Crunchy Frog Sketch                                              ****
****  From "Monty Python Live at the Hollywood Bowl" and                   ****
****  "Monty Python Live at City Cente 1974"                               ****
****  Transcribed from memory on 3/28/86 by                                ****
****  Bret Shefter '89 ( SHEBREB@YALEVM.BITNET )                           ****
 
 
Inspector: 'ELLO!
Mr. Hilton: 'Ello.
Inspector:  Mr. 'ilton?
Hilton:  A-yes?
I: You are the sole proprietor and owner of the Whizzo Chocolate Company?
H: I am, yes.
I: Constable Clitoris and I are from the 'ygiene squad, and we'd like to have
   a word with you about your box of chocolates entitled the "Whizzo Quality
   Assortment".
H: Oh, yes.
I: If I may begin at the beginning.  First there is the Cherry Fondue.
   Now this is extremely nasty. (pause) But we can't prosecute you for that.
H: Ah, agreed.
I: Then we have number four.  Number four: Crunchy Frog.
H: Yes.
I: Am I right in thinking there's a real frog in 'ere?
H: Yes, a little one.
I: What sort of frog?
H: A...a *dead* frog.
I: Is it cooked?
H: No.
I: What, a RAW frog?!?
H: Oh, we use only the finest baby frogs, dew-picked and flown from Iraq,
   cleansed in the finest quality spring water, lightly killed, and sealed in
   a succulent, Swiss, quintuple-smooth, treble-milk chocolate envelope, and
   lovingly frosted with glucose.
I: That's as may be, but it's still a frog!
H: What else?
I: Well, don't you even take the bones out?
H: If we took the bones out, it wouldn't be crunchy, would it?
I: Constable Clitoris et one of those!! We have to protect the public!
C: Uh, would you excuse me a moment, Sir?   (exits)
I: We have to protect the public! People aren't going to think there's a real
   frog in chocolate! Constable Clitoris thought it was an almond whirl!
   They're bound to expect some sort of mock frog!
H: (outraged) MOCK frog!?!  We use NO artificial additives or preservatives of
   ANY kind!
I: Nevertheless, I advise you in future to replace the words "Crunchy Frog"
   with the legend, "Crunchy, Raw, Unboned Real Dead Frog" if you wish to avoid
   prosecution!
H: What about our sales?
I: FUCK your sales!  We've got to protect the public!  Now what about this
   one, number five, it was number five, wasn't it?  Number five:  Ram's
   Bladder Cup. (beat) Now, what sort of confectionery is that?!?
H: Oh, we use only the finest juicy chunks of fresh Cornish Ram's bladder,
   emptied, steamed, flavoured with sesame seeds, whipped into a fondue, and
   garnished with lark's vomit.
I: LARK'S VOMIT?!?!?
H: Correct.
I: It doesn't say anything here about lark's vomit!
H: Ah, it does, at the bottom of the label, after "monosodium glutamate".
I: I hardly think that's good enough!  I think it's be more appropriate if the
   box bore a great red label: "WARNING: LARK'S VOMIT!!!"
H: Our sales would plummet!
I: (screaming) Well why don't you move into more conventional areas of
   confectionary??!!
(the constable returns)
I: Like Praline, or, or Lime Creme, a very popular flavor, I'm lead to
   understand.  Or Raspberry Lite.  I mean, what's this one, what's
   this one?  'Ere we are: Cockroach Cluster!  --      --   Anthrax Ripple!
C: MMMMWWWAAAAAGGGGGHHHH!!
 
** For those of you watching this transcript on your terminal, the young     **
** constable has just thrown up into his helmet.  This is the longest        **
** continuous vomit seen on Broadway since John Barrymore puked over Laertes **
** in the second act of Hamlet in 1941.                                      **
 
I: (continuing)  And what is this one: Spring Surprise?
H: Ah, that's one of our specialities.  Covered in dark, velvety chocolate,
   when you pop it into your mouth, stainless steel bolts spring out and plunge
   straight through both cheeks.
I: (stunned) Well where's the pleasure in THAT?!?  If people pop a nice little
   chockie into their mouth, they don't expect to get their cheeks pierced!!!
   In any case, it is an inadequate description of the sweetmeat.  I shall have
   to ask you to accompany me to the station.
H: (shrugging) It's a fair cop.
I: And DON'T talk to the audience.
****  The Australian Table Wines sketch
****  From Monty Python
****  Transcribed by ( WHITESID@MCMASTER.BITNET )
 
A lot of people in this country pooh-pooh Australian table wines.  This is a
pity, as many fine Australian wines appeal not only to the Australian palette,
but also to the cognoscenti of Great Britain.
 
"Black Stump Bordeaux" is rightly praised as a peppermint flavoured
Burgundy, whilst a good "Sydney Syrup" can rank with any of the world's
best sugary wines.
 
"Chateau Bleu", too, has won many prizes; not least for its taste, and
its lingering afterburn.
 
"Old Smokey, 1968" has been compared favourably to a Welsh claret,
whilst the Australian wino society thouroughly recommends a 1970 "Coq du
Rod Laver", which, believe me, has a kick on it like a mule:  8 bottles
of this, and you're really finished -- at the opening of the Sydney
Bridge Club, they were fishing them out of the main sewers every half an
hour.
 
Of the sparkling wines, the most famous is "Perth Pink".  This is a
bottle with a message in, and the message is BEWARE!.  This is not a
wine for drinking -- this is a wine for laying down and avoiding.
 
Another good fighting wine is "Melbourne Old-and-Yellow", which is
particularly heavy, and should be used only for hand-to-hand combat.
 
Quite the reverse is true of "Chateau Chunder", which is an Appelachian
controle, specially grown for those keen on regurgitation -- a fine wine
which really opens up the sluices at both ends.
 
Real emetic fans will also go for a "Hobart Muddy", and a prize winning
"Cuiver Reserve Chateau Bottled Nuit San Wogga Wogga", which has a
bouquet like an aborigine's armpit.
****  The Witch Scene from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"               ****
****  Transcribed from memory and later corrected from the tape by         ****
****  Malcolm ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET ) Dickinson   3/25/86               ****
 
**** This is transcript #5 from the movie, continued from KNIGHT PYTHON    ****
 
Bedevere stands on a stage in front of a large crowd of wild villagers.
 
Villager: We have found a witch, may we burn her?
Crowd: BURN!! BUUUURN HER!
Bedevere: But how do you *know* she is a witch?
Villager: She looks like one!
Other Villagers: Yeah!  She looks like one!!!
Bedevere: Bring her forward.
 
(a young woman is pushed through the crowd of villagers to the platform.  She
 is dressed all in black, has a carrot tied around her face on top of her nose,
 and a black paper hat on her head.  She talks funny because her nose is
 closed by the carrot.)
 
Witch: I'm not a witch, I'm not a witch!
Bedevere: Er,...but you are dressed as one.
Witch: THEY dressed me up like this.
Villagers: No! nooo!  We didn't!  We didn't!
Witch: And this isn't my nose, it's a false one!
 
(Bedevere lifts up the carrot to reveal the woman's real nose, which is in
 fact rather small.)
 
Bedevere: Well?
One Villager: Well, we did do the nose.
Bedevere: The nose?
Villager: And the Hat.  But she's a witch!
Villagers: Yeah! Burn her! Burn! Burn her!
B: Did you dress her up like this?
Villagers: NO! No, no, no, no, no, no...
One Villager: yes.
Villagers: yes. yes. yes.  A bit. yes. a bit. a bit.
Another Villager: (hopefully) She has got a wart...
B: What makes you think she is a witch?
Villager: Well, She turned me into a newt!!
 
(pause)
 
Bedevere: a newt?
 
(long pause)
 
Villager: I got better...
Villagers: BURN HER anyway! BURN! BURN! BURN HER!
B: Quiet, quiet, quiet, QUIETA  There are ways of *telling* whether she
   is a witch!
Villagers: Are there?  What?  Tell us, then!  Tell us!
B: Tell me.  What do you do with witches?
V: BUUUURN!!!!! BUUUUUURRRRNN!!!!!  You BURN them!!!!  BURN!!
B: And what do you burn apart from witches?
Villager: More Witches!
Other Villager: Wood.
B: So.  Why do witches burn?
 
(long silence)
(shuffling of feet by the villagers)
 
Villager: (tentatively) Because they're made of.....wood?
B: Goooood!
Other Villagers:  oh yeah... oh....
B: So.  How do we tell whether she is made of wood?
One Villager: Build a bridge out of 'er!
B: Aah.  But can you not also make bridges out of stone?
Villagers: oh yeah. oh.  umm...
B: Does wood sink in water?
One Villager: No! No, no, it floats!
Other Villager: Throw her into the pond!
Villagers: yaaaaaa!
 
(when order is restored)
 
B: What also floats in water?
Villager: Bread!
Another Villager: Apples!
Another Villager: Uh...very small rocks!
Another Villager: Cider!
Another Villager: Uh...great gravy!
Another Villager: Cherries!
Another Villager: Mud!
Another Villager: Churches! Churches!
Another Villager: Lead! Lead!
King Arthur: A Duck!
Villagers: (in amazement) ooooooh!
B: exACTly!
B: (to a villager) So, *logically*...
Villager: (very slowly, with pauses between each word)
          If...she...weighs the same as a duck......she's made of wood.
B: and therefore...
 
(pause)
 
Villager: A Witch!
All Villagers: A WITCH!
 
(they do consequently weigh her across from a duck on Bedevere's largest
 scale, and she does indeed weigh the same as the duck.)
 
Witch: (to camera) It's a fair cop.
 
Thereafter follows the knighting of Bedevere and the reading of the list of
other knights:
 
Sir Bedevere the Wise
Sir Lancelot the Brave
Sir Galahad the Pure
Sir Robin, the Not So Brave As Sir Launcelot,
    who had nearly fought the Dragon of Angor
    who had nearly stood up to the vicious Chicken of Bristol
    and who had personally wet himself at the Battle of Badon Hill.
and the aptly named
Sir Not Appearing In This Film.
 
****  Continued in CAMELOT PYTHON, Transcript #6 in the movie              ****
 
****  End of file WITCH PYTHON   3/25/86 MMD                               ****
****   I'M SO WORRIED                                                      ****
****   from Monty Python's Contractual Obligations Album                   ****
****   transcribed by R. "Gumby" Preston ( KL791C@GWUVM.BITNET )           ****
 
 
I'm so worried about what's hapenin' today, in the middle east, you know.
And I'm worried about the baggage retrieval system they've got at Heathrow.
I'm so worried about the fashions today, I don't think they're good for your
    feet.
And I'm so worried about the shows on TV that sometimes they want to repeat.
 
I'm so worried about what's happenin' today, you know.
And I'm worried about the baggage retrieval system they've got at Heathrow.
I'm so worried about my hair falling out and the state of the world today.
And I'm so worried about bein' so full of doubt about everything, anyway.
 
I'm so worried about modern technology.
I'm so worried about all the things that they dump in the sea.
I'm so worried about it, worried about it, worried, worried, worried.
 
I'm so worried about everything that can go wrong.
I'm so worried about whether people like this song.
I'm so worried about this very next verse, it isn't the best that I've got.
And I'm so worried about whether I should go on, or whether I should just stop.
 
(pause)
 
I'm worried about whether I ought to have stopped.
And I'm worried about, it's the sort of thing I ought to know.
And I'm worried about the baggage retrieval system they've got at Heathrow.
 
(longer pause)
 
I'm so worried about whether I should have stopped then.
I'm so worried that I'm driving everyone 'round the bend.
I'm worried about the baggage retrieval system they've got at Heathrow.
 
 
 
 
****  The Opening Scene of Life of Brian                                   **** 
****  Transcribed by Dwayne A. X. E. E. ( CS107124@YUSOL.BITNET )  4/26/84 **** 
****  Edited by Malcolm Dickinson '89 ( CLARINET@YALEVM.BITNET ) 10/20/86  **** 
                                                                                
                                                                                
(Three camels are silhouetted against the bright stars of the moonless sky,     
moving slowly along the horizon.  A star leads them towards Bethlehem.  The     
WISE MEN enter the gates of the sleeping town and make their way through the    
deserted streets.  A dog snarls at them.  They approach a stable, out of which  
streams a beam of light.  They dismount and enter to find a typical manger      
scene, with a baby in a rough crib of straw and patient animals standing        
around.  The mother nods by the side of the child.  Suddenly she wakes from her 
lightish doze, sees them, shrieks and falls backwards off her straw.  She's up  
again in a flash, looking guardedly at them.  She is a ratbag.)                 
                                                                                
Mandy: Who are you?                                                             
Wise Man 1: We are three wise men.                                              
Wise Man 2: We are astrologers.  We have come from the East.                    
Mandy:  Is this some kind of joke?                                              
WM1: We wish to praise the infant.                                              
WM2: We must pay homage to him.                                                 
Mandy: Homage!!  You're all drunk you are.  It's disgusting.  Out, out.         
WM3: No, no.                                                                    
Mandy:  Coming bursting in here first thing in the morning with some tale about 
        Oriental fortune tellers...  get out.                                   
WM1: No.  No we must see him.                                                   
Mandy: Go and praise someone else's brat, go on.                                
WM2: We were led by a star.                                                     
Mandy: Led by a bottle, more like.  Get out!                                    
WM2: We must see him.  We have brought presents.                                
Mandy: Out!                                                                     
WM1: Gold, frankincense, myrrh.                                                 
                                                                                
(Mandy changes direction, smooth as silk.)                                      
                                                                                
Mandy:  Well, why didn't you say?  He's over here ...  Sorry this place is a    
        bit of a mess.  What is myrrh, anyway?                                  
WM3: It is a valuable balm.                                                     
Mandy: A balm, what are you giving him a balm for?  It might bite him.          
WM3: What?                                                                      
Mandy: It's a dangerous animal.  Quick, throw it in the trough.                 
WM3: No it isn't.                                                               
Mandy: Yes it is.                                                               
WM3: No, no, it is an ointment.                                                 
Mandy: An ointment?                                                             
WM3: Look.                                                                      
Mandy:  (sampling the ointment with a grubby finger).  Oh. There is an animal   
called a balm or did I dream it?  You astrologers, eh?  Well, what's he then?   
WM2: H'm?                                                                       
Mandy: What star sign is he?                                                    
WM2: Capricorn.                                                                 
Mandy: Capricorn eh, what are they like?                                        
WM2: He is the son of God, our Messiah.                                         
WM1: King of the Jews.                                                          
Mandy: And that's Capricorn, is it?                                             
WM3: No, no, that's just him.                                                   
Mandy: Oh, I was going to say, otherwise there'd be a lot of them.              
                                                                                
(The WISE MEN are on their knees.)                                              
                                                                                
WM2: By what name are you calling him?                                          
                                                                                
(Dramatic Holy music... )                                                       
                                                                                
Mandy: ... Brian.                                                               
Three Wise Men: We worship you, Oh, Brian, who are Lord over us all.  Praise    
                unto you, Brian and to the Lord our Father.  Amen.              
Mandy: Do you do a lot of this, then?                                           
WM1: What?                                                                      
Mandy: This praising.                                                           
WM1: No, no, no.                                                                
Mandy: Oh!  Well, if you're dropping by again do pop in.                        
(They take the hint and rise.)                                                  
       And thanks a lot for the gold and frankincense but ...  don't worry too  
       much about the myrrh next time.  Thank you ...  Goodbye.                 
(To Brian)                                                                      
       Well weren't they nice ... out of their bloody minds, but still...       
                                                                                
(In the background we see the WISE MEN pause outside the door as a              
 gentle glow suffuses them.  They look at each other, confer and then           
 stride back in and grab the presents off MANDY and turn to go again,           
 pushing MANDY over.                                                            
                                                                                
       Here, here, that's mine, you just gave me that.  Ow!                     
                                                                                
****  Please send your comments, praise, complaints or                     **** 
****  copyright infringement lawsuits to ...                               **** 
****  Dwayne A. X. E. E. ( CS107124@YUSOL.BITNET )                         **** 
****     The Word Association sketch                                       ****
****     Transcribed from a Python Album by                                ****
****     Dave Bregman ( FAC1037@UOFT01.BITNET )                            ****
****     and edited by Bret Shefter ( SHEBREB@YALEVM.BITNET )              ****
 
 
                        Word Association Football
 
    Tonight's the night I shall be talking about of flu the subject of word
association football.  This is a technique out a living much used in the
practice makes perfect of psychoanalysister and brother and one that has
occupied piper the majority rule of my attention squad by the right number one
two three four the last five years to the memory.  It is quite remarkable baker
charlie how much the miller's son this so-called while you were out word
association immigrants' problems influences the manner from heaven in which we
sleekit cowering timrous beasties all-American Speke, the famous explorer.  And
the really well that is surprising partner in crime is that a lot and his wife
of the lions' feeding time we may be c d e effectively quite unaware of the
fact or fiction section of the Watford Public Library that we are even doing it
is a far, far better thing that I do now then, now then, what's going onward
christian Barnard the famous hearty part of the lettuce now praise famous
mental homes for loonies like me.  So on the button, my contention causing all
the headaches, is that unless we take into account of Monte Cristo in our
thinking George the Fifth this phenomenon the other hand we shall not be able
satisFact or Fiction section of the Watford Public Library againily to
understand to attention when I'm talking to you and stop laughing, about human
nature, man's psychological make-up some story the wife'll believe and hence
the very meaning of life itselfish bastard, I'll kick him in the balls upon the
road.
