Home > Monty Python's Flying Circus

Monty Python Live at the Hollywood Bowl (1982)

♪ 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 oralize ♪

♪ 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 then I'll love you truly ♪

♪ Life can be fine if we both 69 ♪

♪ If we sit on our faces in all sorts of places and play ♪

♪ Till we're blown away ♪

Hello, good evening and welcome to the Ronald Reagan Memorial Bowl, here in the pretty little L.A. suburb of Hollywood, where we're about to witness all in wrestling, brought to you tonight, ladies and gentlemen, by the makers of Scum, the world's first ever combined hair oil, foot ointment, and salad dressing.

And the makers of Titan, the novelty nuclear missile!

You never know when it'll go off!

Surprise your friends, amuse your enemies, start the party with a bang!

Introducing, ladies and gentlemen, tonight, all the way from a mud-wrestling tour of the OPEC countries, in the red corner: Colin "Bomber" Harris! and, ladies and gentlemen, in the blue corner, all the way from a mud-wrestling tour of the OPEC countries, Colin "Bomber" Harris!

Well, now, ladies and gentlemen, this is the first time that Colin "Bomber" Harris has met himself.

A few formalities now, any moment now, we'll be ready for the start of Round One.

There goes the bell!

Colin moves to the middle of the ring there, he's looking for an opening, going for the handhold.

He's got it! Into the head-squeeze.

A head-squeeze there.

A favorite move of Colin's at this opening stage.

Flying there, and already Colin is working on that weak left knee of his!

A half nelson.

A half nelson and a Philadelphia Half-Lotus, and Colin bit himself on purpose there, and he has been given a public warning by the referee, and Colin did not like that one little bit!

Forearm. Double overhead nostril.

Back-kick, and into the Boston crayfish-- no, it's a crawfish, or is it a langoustine?

No, it's a langoustine! A lovely move there!

He's caught himself by surprise and that is it, the first fall to Colin "Bomber" Harris!

Swell! A lovely move there!

And Colin must be pretty pleased with himself having caught himself out with that one!

And a forearm chop. A strawberry whip, a vanilla whip, a chocolate whip...

There it is, Colin's most famous hold: the one-leg-over-shoulder Gerry Ford, and Colin's in real trouble!

He's just made it to the rope, just a little lucky there, I feel.

There it is, a double Eydie Gorme, should be able to twist out of this, and he does, but he's looking pretty groggy.

And I think he's caught himself there with two forearm smashes, and that is it!

Colin "Bomber" Harris has knocked himself out and so he is the winner and he goes on next week to meet himself in the final!

♪ Never be rude to an Arab ♪

♪ An Israeli or Saudi or Jew ♪

♪ Never be rude to an Irishman ♪

♪ No matter what you do ♪

♪ Never poke fun at a nigger ♪

♪ A Spic or a Wop or a Kraut ♪

♪ And never poke-- ♪

Michelangelo to see you, your Holiness.

Who?

Michelangelo, the famous renaissance artist whose best known works include the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, and the celebrated statue of David.

Very well.

In 1514, he returned to Florence and--

All right, that's enough, that's enough, they've got it now!

-Good evening, your Holiness. -Evening, Michelangelo.

I want to have a word with you about this painting of yours,

"The Last Supper."

-Oh, yeah? -I'm not happy about it.

Oh, dear. It took me hours.

Not happy at all.

Is it the Jell-O you don't like?

No.

Now they do add a bit of color, don't they?

Oh, I know, you don't like the kangaroo?

-What kangaroo? -No problem, I'll paint him out.

I never saw a kangaroo!

He's right in the back. I'll paint him out!

No sweat, I'll make him into a disciple.

-All right? -That's the problem.

-What is? -The disciples.

Are they too Jewish?

I made Judas the most Jewish.

No, it's just that there are 28 of them.

Oh, well, another one will never matter,

I'll make the kangaroo into another one.

No, that's not the point.

All right. Well, I'll lose the kangaroo.

Be honest, I wasn't perfectly happy with it.

That's not the point. There are 28 disciples!

-Too many? -Well, of course it's too many!

Yeah, I know that, but I wanted to give the impression of a real last supper, you know? Not just any old last supper.

Not like a last meal or a final snack.

But, you know, I wanted to give the impression of a real mother of a blow-out, you know?

There were only 12 disciples at the last supper.

Well, maybe some of the other ones came along after--

There were only 12 altogether.

Well, maybe some of their friends came by, you know?

Look! There were just 12 disciples and our Lord at the last supper. The Bible clearly says so.

-No friends? -No friends.

-Waiters? -No.

-Cabaret? -No!

You see, I like them, they help to flesh out the scene,

-I could lose a few-- -Look!

There were only 12 disciples--

I've got it! I've got it!

We'll call it "The Last But One Supper"!

What?

Well there must have been one, if there was a last one, there must have been a one before that, so this... is the "Penultimate Supper"!

The Bible doesn't say how many people were there, now, does it?

-No-- -Well there you are, then!

Look! The last supper is a significant event in the life of our Lord, the penultimate supper was not!

Even if they had a conjurer and a mariachi band.

Now, a last supper I commissioned from you, and a last supper I want!

With 12 disciples and one Christ!

-One?! -Yes, one!

Now will you please tell me what in God's name possessed you to paint this with three Christs in it?

-It works, mate! -Works?

Yeah! It looks great!

The fat one balances the two skinny ones.

There was only one Redeemer!

I know that, we all know that, what about a bit of artistic license?

Well one Messiah is what I want!

I'll tell you what you want, mate!

You want a bloody photographer! That's what you want.

-Not a bloody creative artist-- -I'll tell you what I want!

I want a last supper with one Christ, 12 disciples, no kangaroos, no trampoline acts, by Thursday lunch, or you don't get paid!

Bloody fascist!

Look! I'm the bloody pope, I am!

May not know much about art, but I know what I like!

Never be rude to a Pollack--

Hello, and welcome to Munich, for the 27th Silly Olympiad,

an event held traditionally every 3.7 years,

which this year has brought together competitors

from over four million different countries.

And here we are

at the start of the first event of the afternoon:

the second semifinal of the 100 yards

for people with no sense of direction.

I'll just give you the competitors:

Lane one, Skolomovski of Poland, lane two, Zatapatique of France,

lane three, Gropovich of the United States.

Next to him, Drabble of Trinidad.

Next to him, Fernandez of Spain,

and in the outside lane, Bormann of Brazil.

Set!

Well, that was fun, wasn't it?

And now, over to the other end of the stadium.

And here we're just waiting for the start of the 1500 meters

for the deaf.

And they're under starter's orders.

Well, we'll be coming back the moment there's any action.

And now over to the swimming.

And you join us here at the Bundesabsurd pool

just in time to see the start of the 200 meters freestyle

for non-swimmers.

Watch for the tough Australian champion, Ron Barnett,

in the second lane.

Well, we'll be bringing you back here

the moment they start fishing the corpses out.

But now over to Hans Clegg for the start of the marathon

for incontinents.

Well, we've got an enormous entry for this event.

Forty-four competitors from 29 different countries,

all of them with the most superbly weak bladders.

Not a tight sphincter in sight.

Ready to embark, nevertheless, on the world's longest race,

and they're just aching to go!

On your marks! Get set!

And they're off! They're off!

Well, back at the 1500 meters

and the starter is putting up a magnificent show!

We've had volleys, rapid bursts, scattered random fire,

fusillades firing,

well, and still he can't get the buggers moving.

It's enough to make you chew your own foot off!

And now the high jump!

Katerina Ovelenski for the Soviet Union.

But what a jump! What a jump! That's got to be a record!

And here we are at the 3000 meter steeplechase

for people who think they're chickens!

There's Samuelsson of the United States,

and over there is Klaus of East Germany!

He's been a Rhode Island Red now for the last three Olympics.

There's the referee trying to get them going,

but he's frightened them.

There's the leader, Abe Seagull of Canada

who went off, got a very good start,

then settled down there on the water jump,

and has now gone broody.

Now we're back with the marathon for incontinents once again.

There's Polinski of Poland in the lead,

and now Brewer of Australia is taking over!

There's Laparche of France.

Brewer has overtaken him, but he's going to spend a penny.

There goes Brewer to spend a penny.

And there goes Konig of Austria.

And so now it's Alvarez of Cuba,

followed by the plucky Norwegian, Bors.

They're in and out like yo-yos, these boys.

And there's MacNaughton. MacNaughton the Scottish lad,

but he can't hold it.

It's Machievic, Machievic of Yugoslavia

has taken over; he can't hold it either.

Well, well, these must be some of the weakest bladders

ever to represent their countries!

And now, let's have a look back at what's going on down on stage!

Good evening, ladies and Bruces!

-Hello, Bruce. -G'day, Bruce.

-How are ya, Bruce? -What's all this lot, Bruce?

It's very nice to be here at the Hollywood Bowl this evening!

We're all philosophy professors from the University of Woolamaloo, Australia!

Australia, Australia, Australia! God love ya!

I teach Hegelian philosophy,

Bruce here teaches Aristotelian philosophy, and Bruce here is in charge of the sheep dip.

Bloody difficult work, I tell ya!

I'll tell you what, it's thirsty work watching this kind of humor, Bruce.

Why don't you stick out a few of these little free samples

-from your Esky and leave-- -What, give these...

Give these Americans our precious cans of--

See how awful they are, grasping and go-getting.

Okay, one over there.

You can feel morally superior and smug.

Right, there's one coming right over there.

Mind out, Charlies!

A big one, one big one, there we go!

All right! Now, the reason we do this, ladies and Bruces, is frankly over here we find your American beer is a little like making love in a canoe!

Making love in a canoe?

It's fucking close to water!

Piss!

Well now, we're going to try and raise the tone a little here by singing a nice intellectual song for those two or three of you in the audience...

Right!

...who understand these things. So, here we go!

♪ Immanuel Kant was a real pissant who was very rarely stable ♪

♪ Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar ♪

♪ Who could drink you under the table ♪

♪ David Hume could out-consume Schopenhauer and Hegel ♪

♪ And Wittgenstein was a beery swine ♪

♪ Who was just as sloshed as Schlegel ♪

♪ There's nothing Nietzsche couldn't teach ya ♪

♪ 'Bout the raising of the wrist ♪

♪ Socrates himself was permanently pissed ♪

Just a...

How do you like that? All right!

Let's hold it a second. I can see some of these Bruces are in a bit of a playful mood tonight.

-Right, Bruce? -Some of them, yeah.

Some of the ones that don't have straws up their nose.

Anyway, why don't we do something rather fun?

Why don't we get some of these guys to sing along with us, OK?

And some of the Shielas, too.

Tell them the words then, please.

OK, I've got the words somewhere.

Right. Ready!

Immanuel Kant was a real pissant who was very rarely stable

Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy...

They're a typical Hollywood audience!

All the kids are on drugs, and all the adults are on roller skates!

Why not?

Very philosophical, Bruce, I like it.

Have we got any... have we got anything bigger to put the words up for these rather short-sighted people?

This is Bruce from the Biology Department.

All right. Okay, here we go.

Good morning. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, but I'm afraid my walk has become rather sillier recently, so it takes me longer to get to the office.

Now, what was it again?

Well sir, I-I-I-I have got a silly walk and I'd like to obtain government backing to help me develop it.

I see. Well, may I see this silly walk of yours?

Yes, certainly.

Yes, I see, tha-tha-that's it, is it?

Well, yes, that's it.

Yes, yes, yes. It's not particularly silly, is it?

I mean, the left leg isn't silly at all and the right leg merely does a forward aerial O'Brien half turn every alternate step.

Yes, but I feel with a federal grant,

I could make it a lot more silly.

Mr. Stagback, the very real problem is one of finance.

You see, there's defense, education, housing, health, social security, silly walks.

They're all supposed to get the same.

But last year, the government spent less on Silly Walks than they did on industrial reorganization.

We're supposed to get 348 million pounds a year to cover our entire Silly Walks program.

-Coffee? -Yes, please.

Hello, Mrs. Twolumps... Could we have two cups of coffee, please?

Yes, Mr. Teabag.

Mad as a hatter.

You see, the Israelis already have a man who can take his own left leg off and swallow it with every alternate step. Whereas the Japanese, cunning, electronically obsessed little...

Yes, thank you, Mrs. Twolumps.

You're... you're really interested in silly walks,

-aren't you? -Rather!

Right, well, take a look at this!

Oh, I've had a bitch of a morning in the high court!

Oh, I could stamp my little feet, the way those counsellors carry on.

Oh, don't I know it, love.

Oh, dear, objection here, objection there.

And that nice policeman giving his evidence so well!

Beautiful speaking voice.

And what a body!

Well, after a bit all I could do was bang me gavel.

-You what, love? -I banged me gavel!

-Oh, get away! -I did!

I did my "silence in court" bit.

If looks could have killed, that prosecuting counsel would have been in for 30 years.

How did your summing-up go?

Actually...

I did my butch voice, you know,

"what the jury must understand", and they loved it!

I could see that little curly-headed foreman of the jury

-eyeing me! -Really?

Oh, yeah. Cheeky devil!

I finished up with-- I got really strict:

"The actions of these vicious men are a violent stain upon the community, and the full penalty of the law is scarcely sufficient to deal with their ghastly crimes!"

And I waggled me wig!

-You waggled you what? -I waggled me wig!

Really?

That was the only thing I waggled.

Ever so slightly, stunning effect.

Anyway, I gave him three years. He only took ten minutes.

Well, as I said to Melvin Belly the other day, you know:

"You can put it in the hand of your attorneys, but it'll never stand up in court!"

Oh, I know what you mean.

Good evening. Tonight on World Forum we are deeply privileged to have with us Karl Marx, the founder of modern socialism and author of the Communist Manifesto;

Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov, better known to the world as Lenin, leader of the Russian Revolution, writer, statesman, and father of modern socialism;

Che Guevara, the Bolivian guerilla leader; and Mao Tse-tung, chairman of the Chinese Communist Party since 1949.

And the first question is for you, Karl Marx.

"The Hammers."

"The Hammers" is the nickname of what English football team?

"The Hammers."

No? Well, bad luck, Karl. It is, in fact, West Ham United.

Now, Che Guevara. Che.

Coventry City last won the English Football Cup in what year?

No? I can throw the question open.

Anybody else?

Coventry City last won the English Football Cup in what year?

No, well, I'm not surprised you didn't get that.

It is in fact a trick question.

Coventry City have never won the English Football Cup.

So now with the scores all even, it's on to Round two, and Lenin, your starter for ten dollars...

Jerry Lee Lewis has had over 17 major solid gold hits in the U.S. of A.

What's the name of the biggest?

Jerry Lee Lewis' solid gold biggie?

No?

-Yes, Mao Tse-tung? -"Great Balls of Fire"?

Yes, it was indeed!

Very well challenged.

Well, now we come on to our third round.

Our contestant tonight is Karl Marx and our special prize is this beautiful lounge suite!

Karl has elected to answer questions on workers' control of factories, so here we go with question number one. You, nervous, Karl?

Just a little.

Well never mind, Karl, have a go!

The development of the industrial proletariat is conditioned by what other development?

The development of the industrial bourgeoisie.

Good! Yes, it is indeed! Well done, Karl!

You're on your way to a lounge suite!

Now Karl, number two.

The struggle of class against class is a what struggle?

-A political struggle. -Good! Yes, it is indeed.

Well done, Karl! One final question, and that beautiful non-materialistic lounge suite will be yours!

Ready, Karl? You're a brave man. Your final question:

Who won the English Football Cup in 1949?

The workers control the means of production?

The struggle of the urban proletariat?

No, it was Wolverhampton Wanderers who beat Leicester 3-1.

Oh, shit!

Get out of here!

Well, no one leaves this show empty-handed, so we're gonna cut off his hands.

Well, now, it's talent-spotting time, ladies and gentlemen, and please see if you can spot any talent in our next competitors.

Will you please give a very big hand and a warm welcome to Carl Weetabix and Rita!

♪ I'm the urban spaceman, baby, I've got speed ♪

♪ I've got everything I need ♪

♪ I'm the urban spaceman, baby, I can fly ♪

♪ I'm a supersonic guy ♪

♪ I don't need pleasure, I don't feel pain ♪

♪ If you were to knock me down, I'd just get up again ♪

♪ I'm the urban spaceman, baby, I'm making out ♪

♪ I'm all about ♪

♪ I wake up every morning with a smile upon my face ♪

♪ My natural exuberance spills out all over the place ♪

♪ I'm the urban spaceman, I'm intelligent and clean ♪

♪ Know what I mean? ♪

♪ I'm the urban spaceman, as a lover, second to none ♪

♪ It's a lot of fun ♪

♪ I never let my friends down, I could have made a boob ♪

♪ I'm a glossy magazine, an advert on the tube ♪

♪ I'm the urban spaceman, baby, here comes the twist ♪

♪ I don't exist ♪

-Mr. Hilton? -Yes.

You are sole proprietor and owner of the Whizzo Chocolate Company?

I am.

Constable Parrot and I are from the Hygiene Squad...

Oh, yes.

...and we'd like to have a word with you about your box of chocolates entitled

"The Whizzo Quality Assortment."

Good, yes.

If I may begin at the beginning.

First, there is the Cherry Fondue.

Now this is extremely nasty, but we can't prosecute you for that!

Agreed.

Next we have number four, "Crunchy Frog."

Yes.

Am I right in thinking there's a real frog in here?

Yes, a little one.

-Is it cooked? -No.

What, a raw frog?

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 full-cream treble milk chocolate envelope, and lovingly frosted with glucose!

That's as may be, but it's still a frog!

What else would it be?

Well, don't you even take the bones out?

If we took the bones out, it wouldn't be crunchy, would it?

Constable Parrot ate one of those!

Would you excuse me for a moment, sir?

Yes.

Well, it says "Crunchy Frog" quite clearly.

Well, never mind that.

We have to protect the public. People aren't going to think there's a real frog in chocolate.

The superintendent thought it was an Almond Whirl.

They're bound to think it's some kind of mock frog.

Mock frog?!

We use no artificial preservatives or additives of any kind!

Nevertheless, I advise you to in future to replace the words "Crunchy Frog" with the legend "Crunchy, raw, unboned, real, dead frog" if you want to avoid prosecution.

What about our sales?

I don't give a damn about your sales.

We have to protect the public!

Now, what was this one? Number five.

It was number five, wasn't it?

Number five: "Ram's Bladder Cup!"

Now what kind of confection is this?

We use choicest juicy chunks of fresh Cornish ram's bladder, emptied, steamed, flavored with sesame seeds, whipped into a fondue, and garnished with larks' vomit!

-Larks' vomit? -Correct.

It doesn't say anything down here about larks' vomit!

Yes, it does.

On the bottom of the box, after monosodium glutamate.

I hardly think this is good enough!

It would be more appropriate if the box bore a big red label.

"Warning: Larks' Vomit!"

Our sales would plummet!

Well, why don't you move into more conventional areas of confectionery, like praline or lime cream, a very popular flavor I'm led to understand, or Strawberry Delight?

I mean, what's this one?

"Cockroach Cluster"?

And this, "Anthrax Ripple"?

And what's this one, "Spring Surprise"?

Ah, that's our specialty!

Covered in darkest, velvety smooth chocolate, when you pop it into your mouth, stainless steel bolts spring out and punch straight through both cheeks!

If people pop a nice choccy in 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.

-It's a fair cop. -And don't talk to the audience!

Albatross!

Albatross!

You're not supposed to be smoking that!

Albatross! Don't take them!

What flavor is it? What flavor is it?

Seagullsickle!

Pelican-bonbon!

Albatross!

Could I have... Could I have two ice creams, please?

I haven't got any ice creams, I just got this albatross!

-Albatross! -What flavor is it?

Well, it's an albatross, isn't it?

It's not any bloody flavor!

Albatross!

There's gotta be some flavor, I mean everything's got a--

All right, all right! It's bloody albatross flavor!

Bleedin' seabird, bleedin' flavor! Albatross!

Do you get wafers with it?

Of course you don't get fucking wafers with it, you cunt!

It's a fucking albatross, I mean...

Stop that! Stop that! It's filthy!

Hold on! Right now, we need you!

The one in the black, we need you for another skit on stage.

And you, get off! You're not even a proper woman!

Don't you oppress me, mate!

What are you trying to do? Avoid registration or something?

Bleedin' sexist!

Come along, we need you for a skit!

No one enjoys a good laugh more than I do.

Except perhaps for my wife and some of her friends.

Oh, yes, and Captain Johnson. Come to think of it, most people enjoy a good laugh more than I do, but that's beside the point. Right!

Let's get on with this skit!

Where's the other person for this skit?

Right, you want to sit in that chair?

And cue the skit!

-Evening, squire! -Good evening.

Is your... is your wife a goer?

Eh? Know what I mean? Know what I mean?

Nudge, nudge! Know what I mean? Say no more!

I... I beg your pardon?

Your... your wife. Does she go, eh?

Does she go, eh? Eh?

Well, she sometimes has to go, yes, of course.

I bet she does! I bet she does!

Say no more! Say no more!

Know what I mean? Nudge, nudge!

I'm afraid I don't quite follow you.

Oh, "follow me, follow me"? That's good, that's very good!

A nod's as good as a wink to a blind bat!

Are you selling something?

"Selling, selling," very good indeed!

You're wicked, you are, eh? Wicked, eh?

Wicked! Say no more!

So your wife's interested in... in sport? Eh?

She likes sport, yes.

I bet she does! I bet she does!

As a matter of fact, she's very fond of cricket.

She likes "games", eh? Likes "games"?

Knew she would, she's been around a bit, eh?

She's been around?

Well, she has travelled, yes. She's from Glendale.

Say no more!

Glendale, squire? Say no more!

Say no more! Say no more! Say no more!

Is your... is your Glendale wife interested in photography? Eh?

Photography?

"Photographs, eh?" he asked him knowingly!

Photography?

Snap, snap, grin, grin, wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more!

Sort of, holiday snaps, you mean?

They could be, they could be taken on holiday, you know!

Swimming costumes, candid... you know, "candid" photography?

No, we don't have a camera!

Still...

Look, are you insinuating something?

Oh, no, no, no...

Yes!

Well?

Well, I mean, you're a man of the world, squire, you know... you've been around, you know?

What do you mean?

Well, I mean, like, you've... you know, you, like... you've done it, you know... you've slept... with a lady?

Yes.

What's it like?

Good afternoon, and welcome to a packed Olympic stadium,

Munchen, for the second leg of this exciting final.

And here come the Germans now,

led by their skipper "Nobby" Hegel.

They must surely start favorites this afternoon.

They've certainly attracted the most attention from the press

with their team problems.

And let's now see their line-up:

The Germans playing 4-2-4, Leibniz in goal,

back four Kant, Hegel, Schopenhauer, and Schelling,

front-runners Schlegel, Wittgenstein,

Nietzsche and Heidegger,

and the midfield duo of Beckenbauer and Jaspers.

Beckenbauer obviously a bit of a surprise there.

And here come the Greeks,

led out by their veteran center half Herakleitos.

Let's look at their team:

As you'd expect, it's a much more defensive line-up.

Plato's in goal, Socrates a front-runner there,

and Aristotle as sweeper.

Aristotle, very much the man in form.

One surprise is the inclusion of Archimedes.

Well, here comes the referee:

K'ung fu-tsze (Confucius) and his two linesmen,

St Augustine and St Thomas Aquinas.

And as the two skippers come together to shake hands,

we're ready for the start of this very exciting final.

The referee, Mr. Confucius, checks his sand, and...

They're off!

Nietzsche and Hegel there,

Karl Jaspers number seven on the outside,

Wittgenstein there with him.

There's Beckenbauer, Schelling's in there,

Heidegger covering. Schopenhauer.

And now it's the Greeks. Epikuros, Plotinus number six,

Aristotle, Empedokles of Acraga, and Demokrites with him.

There's Archimedes, Socrates, there he is, Socrates.

Socrates there going through...

There's the ball, there's the ball!

We'll be bringing you back to this exciting contest

the moment anything interesting happens.

Very passable, this, eh? Very passable.

Nothing like a good glass of Château de Chasselet,

-eh, Josiah? -You're right there, Obadiah.

Who would have thought, 30 years ago, we'd all be sitting here drinking Château de Chasselet?

Them days we were glad to have the price of a cup of tea.

Aye! A cup of cold tea!

Without milk or sugar!

Or tea!

In a cracked cup and all.

Oh, we never used to have a cup!

We used to have to drink out of a rolled-up newspaper!

The best we could manage was to suck on a piece of damp cloth.

But you know, we were happy in those days, although we were poor.

Because we were poor!

My old dad used to say to me:

"Money doesn't bring you happiness, son!"

He was right!

I was happier then and I had nothing!

We used to live in this tiny old tumble-down house with great big holes in the roof.

House! You were lucky to live in a house!

We used to live in one room, all 26 of us, no furniture, half the floor was missing, we were all huddled together in one corner for fear of falling.

You were lucky to have a room!

We used to have to live in the corridor!

Oh, we used to dream of living in a corridor!

Would have been a palace to us!

We used to live in an old water tank on a rubbish tip.

We got woke up every morning by having a load of rotting fish dumped all over us!

House? Huh!

Well, when I say "house", it was just a hole in the ground covered by a sheet of tarpaulin, but it was a house to us!

We were evicted from our hole in the ground.

We had to go and live in a lake!

You were lucky to have a lake!

There were 150 of us living in a shoebox in the middle of the road!

A cardboard box?

-Aye! -You were lucky!

We lived for three months in a rolled-up newspaper in a septic tank!

We used to have to get up every morning, at six o'clock and clean the newspaper, go to work down the mill, fourteen hours a day, week in, week out, for sixpence a week, and when we got home, our dad would thrash us to sleep with his belt!

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, work 20 hours a day at mill for tuppence a month, come home, and dad would beat us around the head and neck with a broken bottle, if we were lucky!

Well, of course we had it tough!

We used to have to get up out of the shoebox in the middle of the night, and lick the road clean with our tongues!

We had to eat half a handful of freezing cold gravel, work 24 hours a day at mill for fourpence every six years, and when we got home, our dad would slice us in two with a breadknife!

Right.

I had to get up in the morning, at ten o'clock at night, half an hour before I went to bed, eat a lump of cold poison, work 29 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!

And you try and tell the young people of today that, and they won't believe you!

No, no they won't!

Well, there may be no score,

but there's certainly no lack of excitement here.

As you can see,

Nietzsche has just been booked for arguing with the referee.

He accused Confucius of having no free will,

and Confucius, he say, "Name go in book."

And this is Nietzsche's third booking in four games.

And, who's that? It's Karl Marx. Karl Marx is warming up.

It looks as though there's going to be

a substitution on the German side.

Obviously manager, Martin Luther,

has decided on all-out attack, as indeed he must,

with only two minutes of the match to go.

But the big question is: Who is he going to replace?

Who is going to come off? It could be Jaspers,

Hegel or Schopenhauer.

But it's Wittgenstein! Wittgenstein, who saw his aunty

only last week! And here's Marx!

Let's see if he can put some life into this German attack.

Evidently not. What a shame.

Well, now, with just over a minute left,

a replay on Tuesday looks absolutely vital.

There's Archimedes, and I think he's had an idea!

Eureka!

Archimedes out to Socrates, Socrates back to Archimedes,

Archimedes out to Herakleitos, he beats Hegel,

Herakleitos, a little flick, here he comes on the far post,

Socrates is there! Socrates heads it in!

Socrates has scored!

The Greeks are going mad!

The Greeks are going mad, Socrates scores,

what a beautiful pass from Archimedes!

The Germans are disputing it.

Hegel is arguing that the reality

is merely an a priori adjunct of non-naturalistic ethics;

Kant, via the categorical imperative,

is holding that, ontologically

it exists only in the imagination,

and Marx is claiming it was offside.

But Confucius has answered them with the final whistle!

It's all over!

Germany, having trounced England's famous midfield trio

of Bentham, Locke and Hobbes in the semi-final,

have been beaten by the odd goal,

and let's see it again.

There it is, Socrates--

Socrates heads in and Leibniz doesn't have a chance.

And just look at those delighted Greeks.

There they are, "Chopper" Sophocles,

Empedokles of Acragus, what a game he had.

And Epikuros is there, and Socrates, the captain,

who scored what was probably the most important goal

of his career.

Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?

Yes, I'd like to have an argument, please.

Certainly, sir. Have you been here before?

No, this is my first time.

I see. Well, do you want to have just one argument or were you thinking of taking a course?

Well, what is the cost?

Yes, it's one pound for a five-minute argument, but only eight pounds for a course of ten.

Well, I think I'll just try the one and see how it goes from there.

Fine. Ah, yes, try Mr. Barnard, Room 12.

Thank you very much.

-What do you want? -Well, I was told outside--

Don't give me that, you snotty-faced heap of parrot droppings!

What?!

Shut your festering gob, you tit!

Your type make me puke, you vacuous, toffee-nosed, malodorous pervert!

Listen, I came here for an argument!

Oh, oh, I'm sorry, but this is Abuse!

Oh, oh, I see! Terribly sorry.

No, you want Room 12A, next door.

Oh, I see. Thank you very much.

Not at all.

Stupid git.

Is this the right room for an argument?

I've told you once.

No, you haven't.

-Yes, I have. -When?

-Just now. -No, you didn't.

-Yes, I did. -You didn't!

-I did. -No, you didn't!

-I'm telling you I did! -You most certainly did not!

One moment, is this the five-minute argument or the full half hour?

Oh, oh, I see. Just the five minutes.

Just the five minutes... Right, thank you.

-Anyway, I did. -Oh, no, you didn't.

Now let's get one thing absolutely clear.

-I most definitely told you. -No, you didn't.

-Yes, I did. -No, you didn't.

-Yes, I did. -No, you didn't.

-Yes, I did. Yes, I did... -No you didn't. No you didn't...

Oh, look, this isn't an argument!

Yes, it is! No, it isn't!

-It's just contradiction! -No, it isn't!

-It is! -It is not!

-You just contradicted me! -I did not!

-You did! -No, no, no!

-You did just then! -Nonsense!

Oh, this is futile!

-No, it isn't. -Yes, it is.

I came here for a good argument.

No, you didn't. You came here for an argument.

Yes, but argument isn't just contradiction!

Well, can be.

No, an argument is a connected series of statements intended to establish a proposition.

-No, it isn't! -Yes, it is!

It isn't just contradiction!

Look, if I argue with you,

I must take up a contrary position.

Yes, but that isn't just saying, "No, it isn't!"

-Yes, it is! -No, it isn't!

-Yes, it is! Yes, it is... -No, it isn't! No, it isn't...

Argument is an intellectual process.

Contradiction is just an automatic gain-saying of anything the other person says!

-It is not! -It is!

-Not at all! -Now look--

Thank you! Good morning!

What?

That's it! Good morning!

I was just getting interested!

I'm sorry, the five minutes is up!

That was never five minutes, just now!

-I'm afraid it was. -Oh, no, it wasn't.

I'm sorry, I'm... I'm not allowed to argue anymore.

-What? -If you want me to go on arguing you'll have to pay for another five minutes.

But that was never five minutes, just now!

Oh, come on! Oh, this is ridiculous!

If you want me to go on arguing, you'll have to pay for another five minutes!

Oh, all right. Here you are.

Thank you.

Well?

Well what?

That was never five minutes, just now!

I told you, if you want me to go on arguing, you'll have to pay for another five minutes.

Yes, yes, well, I've just paid!

No, you didn't!

-I did! -You did not!

-I did! -You never...

Look, I don't want to argue about this.

Well, I'm very sorry, but you didn't pay!

Aha! But if I didn't pay, why are you arguing?

Aha! Got you!

-No, you haven't. -Yes, I have.

If you're arguing, I must have paid.

Not necessarily. I could be arguing in my spare time.

-Oh, I've had enough of this! -No, you haven't!

Yes, I have!

-No, you haven't... -Yes, I have...

♪ I've got two legs from my hips to the ground ♪

♪ And when I lift them they walk around ♪

♪ And when I lift them they climb the stairs ♪

♪ And when I shave them they ain't got hairs ♪

♪ How sweet to be an idiot ♪

♪ As harmless as a cloud ♪

♪ Too small to hide the sun ♪

♪ Almost poking fun ♪

♪ At the warm but insecure untidy crowd ♪

♪ How sweet to be an idiot ♪

♪ And dip my brain in joy ♪

♪ Children laughing at my back ♪

♪ With no fear of attack ♪

♪ As much retaliation as a toy ♪

♪ How sweet to be an idiot ♪

♪ How sweet ♪

♪ I tiptoe down the street ♪

♪ Smile at everyone I meet ♪

♪ But suddenly a scream ♪

♪ Smashes through my dream ♪

♪ Fee-fi-fo-fum ♪

♪ I smell blood of an asylum ♪

♪ Hey you You're such a pedant ♪

♪ You've got as much brain ♪ as a dead ant ♪

♪ As much imagination as a caravan site ♪

♪ But I still love you ♪

♪ Still love you ♪

♪ How sweet to be an idiot ♪

♪ How sweet ♪

♪ How sweet ♪

♪ How sweet ♪

-Good morning. -Oh, good morning.

Have you come to arrange a holiday or would you like a blow job?

I'm sorry?

Oh, you've come to arrange a holiday?

-Yes. -Oh, sorry, sorry.

Now, where were you thinking of going?

To India.

One of our adventure holidays.

Yes, that's right.

Well, you'd better see Mr. Bounder about that.

Mr. Bounder, this gentleman is interested in the "India Overland". And nothing else.

Hello, I'm Bounder of Adventure.

Oh, hello. My name is Smoketoomuch.

What?

My name is Smoketoomuch. Mr. Smoketoomuch.

Well, you'd better cut down a little then.

I'm sorry?

You'd better cut down a little then.

Oh, I see! Smoke too much so I'd better cut down a little then!

Yes.

I expect you get people making jokes about your name all the time, eh?

No, actually, it never struck me before. Smoketoomuch...

Anyway, you're interested in one of our holidays, are you?

Yes, that's right.

I saw your advert in the blassified ads.

-The what? -In The Times Blassified Ads.

The Times Classified Ads?

Yes, that's right.

I'm afraid I have a speech impediment.

I can't pronounce the letter B.

-C? -Yes, that's right, B.

It's all due to a trauma I suffered when I was a sbhoolboy.

I was attacked by a Siamese bat.

A Siamese cat.

No, a Siamese bat. They're more dangerous.

Well, listen... can you say the letter K?

Oh, yes. Khaki, kettle, Kipling, Khomeini, Kellogg's Born Flakes.

Well, why don't you say the letter K instead of the letter C?

Well, you mean, pronounce "blassified" with a K?

Yes, absolutely!

-Klassified! -Good!

Oh, it's very good! I never thought of that before.

What a silly bunt.

Now then, about the holiday...

Yes, well, I've been on package tours many times before, so your advert really baught my eye.

Good, good, jolly good, well what we offer is this...

You're quite right, what's the point of going abroad, if you're just going to be treated like a sheep?

Carted around in buses, surrounded by sweaty, mindless oaves from Kettering and Boventry.

-Absolutely. -Their bloth baps and their bardigans and their transistor radios, bomplaining about the tea:

"They don't make it properly, do they?"

And stopping at endless Majorcan bodegas selling fish and chips and Watney's Red Barrel and calamaris and two veg.

And sitting in their cotton sun frocks, squirting Timothy Whites sun cream all over their puffy, raw, swollen, purulent flesh,

'cos they overdid it on the first day.

Yes, I know just what you mean! Now, what we offer is--

And being herded into endless Hotel Miramars and Bellevueses,

Bontinentals with their international luxury

-modern roomettes... -Oh, yes.

...and swimming pools full of draught Red Barrel and fat German businessmen, pretending to be acrobats and forming pyramids and frightening the children and barging into the queues.

And if you're not at your table spot on seven, you miss your bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom Soup, the first item in the menu of International Cuisine.

Absolutely. Now--

Every Thursday night there's bloody cabaret in the bar featuring some tiny, emaciated dago with nine-inch hips and some fat, bloated tart with her hair Brylcreemed down and big ass, presenting Flamenco for Foreigners.

Will you be quiet, please?

And adenoidal typists from Birmingham

-with flabby white legs... -Will you be quiet?

...and diarrhea, trying to pick up hairy, bandy-legged, wop waiters

-called Manuel. -Be quiet!

And once a week there's an excursion to local Roman remains, where you can buy Cherryade

-and melted ice cream... -Will you be quiet?

...and bleedin' Watney's Red Barrel.

-Shut up! -And one night they take you to a typical restaurant with local...

-Shut up! -...atmosphere and color,

-and you sit next to a... -Shut up!

...party of people from Rhyl who keep singing:

I love the Costa Brava!

Shut up!

I love the Costa Brava!

And you get cornered by some drunken greengrocer from Luton with an Instamatic camera and last Tuesday's Daily Express...

Please be quiet! This is the last time...

...and he drones on and on and on about how Ian Smith should be running the country and how many languages Margaret Powell can speak, and then she throws up all over the cuba libres.

And spending four days on the tarmac at Luton Airport on a five-day package tour with nothing to eat but dry British Airways-type sandwiches.

Shut up! Please shut up!

You can't even get a glass of Watney's Red Barrel because you're still in England and the bloody bar closes every time you're thirsty.

And the kids are crying and vomiting and breaking the plastic ashtrays.

They keep telling you it'll only be another hour, but you know damn well your plane is still in Iceland, and has to come back and take a party of...

-Shut up! -...take a party of Swedes to Yugoslavia, before it can load you up at 3 a.m. in the morning.

And then you sit on the tarmac for four hours because of unforeseen difficulties, i.e. the permanent strike of air traffic control over Paris.

When you finally get to Malaga airport, everybody's queueing for the bloody toilet, and queuing for the bloody armed customs officers, and queuing for the bloody bus that isn't there, waiting to take you to the hotel that hasn't yet been built.

When you finally get to the half-built Algerian ruin called the Hotel del Sol, by paying half your holiday money to a licensed bandit in a taxi, there's no water in the pool, there's no water in the bog, there's no water in the tap, there's only a bleeding lizard in the bidet, and half the rooms are double-booked, and you can't sleep anyway,

'cause of the permanent 24-hour drilling of the foundations of the hotel next door.

Meanwhile, the Spanish National Tourist Board promises you the raging cholera epidemic is merely a mild outbreak of Spanish Tummy, rather like the previous outbreak in 1616 even the bloody rats are dying from it!

As early as the late 14th century, or indeed as late as the early 14th century, the earliest forms of jape were divisible in--

Meanwhile, the bloody Guardia are busy arresting 16-year-olds for kissing in the streets.

And finally, on the last day in the airport lounge, everybody's buying little awful horrid donkeys with their names on, and bullfight posters with their own names on, like Antonio--

Mr. Brian Pules of Norwich.

And then finally, when you get to bloody Luton, you're kept around for another four hours, while they find a plane that can take you back to Manchester.

And when you finally get to Manchester, there's only another bloody bus you have to wait 16 hours for...

As early as the late 14th century or indeed as late as the early 14th century, the earliest forms of jape were divisible into the two categories into which I now intend to divide them.

The earliest manifestation of the basic, simple precipitation jest incurred, as will be seen from the demonstration, a disproportionate amount of internal risibility on the part of the operator.

Secondary precipitation occurs when both protagonist and dupe are located indoors.

It is true, however, that this has involved the development of a special piece of machinery.

But it is still no more than a simple variation of primary precipitation.

The opening up of the African continent revealed a vast new source of wealth for humorous exploitation.

We are to see demonstrated how this was adapted to the basic precipitation jape.

We now come on to a considera--

We now come on to a consideration of the more sophisticated transitive mode of japing, in which, as you will observe, the operator or inceptor remains totally unaware of the humorous implications of his action.

First, we are to see the "simple sideswipe" or "whop."

Hey, Vance!

Next, the "sideswipe and return."

Hey, Vance!

And now, the "double sideswipe and return."

Hey, Vance!

Popular as this jest has always been, however, it cannot compare with the ribald connotations associated with the dispatch of an edible missile.

First...

First the simple straightforward "offensive deposit."

Second...

Second, the simple "sideways offensive deposit."

Next, the simple "surprise deposit."

And now, the "foul pie."

Could we have new pies, please?

Finally...

Finally we move on to the interesting, but little-known variant, nominally designated the "three-course complex."

But... but finally, we must not forget the enjoyment, the satisfaction, and the edification to be derived from the simple, straightforward

"sideways completely unexpected deposit."

Once upon a time, there was a little house in a dark forest.

In this house lived a humble woodcutter and his wife

and their pretty daughter, Little Red Riding Hood.

And in the middle of this deep, dark forest,

there lived a vicious wolf!

One day, Little Red Riding Hood set off to take some things

to her old grandmother who lived deep in the forest.

The vicious wolf saw Little Red Riding Hood

and thought: "She looks very good to eat!"

"Where are you going, my pretty one?"

"Oh, kind sir, to my grandmother's."

"Ha, ha, ha, ha!" smirked the wicked wolf

and dashed off through the forest to grandmother's house.

"Knock, knock, knock," went the wicked wolf.

The door opened wide,

but it wasn't Grandmother who opened it.

It was Buzz Aldrin, America's number two spaceman!

For this was not Granny's little house at all,

but the headquarters of NASA,

the American space research agency.

The wicked wolf was shot by security guards.

So all was quiet in the forest again.

The humble woodcutter and his wife

sold the their story to Der Spiegel

for 40,000 Deutsche Marks.

NASA agreed to limit the number of nuclear tests

in Granny's little house

to two on Thursdays and one on Saturdays after tea.

Liberal rubbish!

What do you want with your jugged fish, Klaus?

Pardon, my wide-thighed plum?

What do you want with your jugged fish, you cloth-eared git?

Halibut!

The jugged fish is halibut!

All right. Well, what fish do you have that is not jugged?

Rabbit.

What, rabbit fish?

Well, it's all covered in fur.

Well, is it dead?

Well, it was coughing up blood last night.

All right, I'll have the dead, unjugged rabbit fish.

Appalling!

Oh, you're always complaining.

What's for afterwards?

Well, there's rat pie, rat pudding, rat sorbet or... strawberry tart.

Strawberry tart?

Well, it's got some rat in it.

How much?

Six. Rather a lot really.

I'll have a slice without so much rat in it.

Appalling!

"Moan, moan, moan!"

-Hello, mum! Hello, dad! -Hello, son!

There's a dead bishop on the landing!

Where... where's he from?

-What do you mean? -What's his diocese?

Well, he looked a bit Canterburyish to me.

I'll go and have a look.

I dunno who keeps bringing them in here.

Well, it's not me.

I put three out by the trashcans last week and the garbage men won't touch 'em.

It's the Bishop of Leicester!

How do you know?

Tattooed on the back of his neck!

I think I'd better call the police!

-Shouldn't you call the church? -Call the Church Police!

That's a good idea! The Church Police!

'Allo, 'allo, 'allo!

What's all this then? Amen!

-Are you the Church Police? -Oh, yes!

There's another dead bishop on the landing, Vicar-Sergeant!

Detective Parson, madam! What is he? R.C. or C. of E.?

How should I know?

Tattooed on the back of their neck!

Here, is that rat tart?

Yes.

Disgusting! Right, men!

The hunt is on. Let us kneel in prayer.

Oh, Lord...

Oh, Lord, we beseech thee, tell us who croaked the Bishop of Leicester.

The one in the braces, he done it.

It's a fair cop, but society is to blame.

Right, we'll arrest them instead!

Come on, you!

Are you in society? Are you in society?

♪ All things bright and beautiful-- ♪

Right, we'd like to conclude this arrest with a hymn.

♪ All things bright and beautiful ♪

♪ All creatures great and small ♪

♪ All things wise and wonderful... ♪

I never wanted to be in such a shambolic sketch.

I always wanted... to be a lumberjack!

Leaping from tree to tree... as they float down the mighty rivers of British Columbia!

The larch! The redwood! The mighty sequoia!

With my best girl by my side!

The giant deadwood! The spruce!

The little Californian root tree!

We'd sing, sing, sing!

♪ I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK ♪

♪ I sleep all night and I work all day ♪

♪ He's a lumberjack and he's OK ♪

♪ He sleeps all night and he works all day ♪

♪ I cut down trees I eat my lunch ♪

♪ I go to the lavatory ♪

♪ On Wednesdays I go shopping ♪

♪ and have buttered scones for tea ♪

♪ He cuts down trees he eats his lunch ♪

♪ He goes to the lavatory ♪

♪ On Wednesdays he goes shopping ♪

♪ And has buttered scones for tea ♪

♪ I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK ♪

♪ I sleep all night and I work all day ♪

♪ 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 ♪

♪ 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? ♪

♪ I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK ♪

♪ I sleep all night and I work all day ♪

♪ I cut down trees I wear high heels ♪

♪ Suspenders and a bra ♪

♪ I wish I'd been a girlie ♪

♪ Just like my dear papa ♪

♪ He cuts down trees he wears high heels ♪

♪ Suspenders and a bra? ♪

What kind of goddam pervert are you, you lousy commie?

Fairy faggot!

♪ I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK ♪

♪ I sleep all night and I work all day ♪

♪ I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK... ♪