Monty Python quotes...I noticed recently that they can take off in a thread, and think they deserve their own place. :)
Since I ended the last Monty Python "off-roading adventure" with a line involving the quote, "I fart in your general direction"... I'll start the thread with this line:
"I don't want to talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!"
"NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition! Our chief weapon is surprise...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."
"THE COMFY CHAIR?"
"The Comfy chair!"
I like traffic lights... I like traffic lights... I like traffic lights, but only when their green....
this sounds like a job for... Bicycle Repair Man...but how to change without revealing my secret identity?
Is it a Quantity Surveyor?
Is it a Church Warden?
No! It's BICYCLE REPAIR MAN!
Hint-hint, nudge-nudge, know what I mean? Know what I mean?
ARE YOU INSINUATING SOMETHING !!!
Em... that sounds good. Anyway just have a look... take your time. Oh, er by the way - got a bit of a dirty fork, could you ... er.. get me another one?
jen i could go forever with these
That's what this thread is for. :D
BUT I DON'T LIKE SPAM!
"THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!"
This is Mr E. R. Bradshaw, of Napier Court, Black Lion Road, SE5. He cannot be seen. Now I'm going to ask him to stand up. Mr Bradshaw will you stand up please?
Lucky we didn't say anything about the dirty knife.
One day Ricky the magic Pixie went to visit Daisy Bumble in her tumbledown cottage. He found her in the bedroom. Roughly he gabbed her heavy shoulders pulling her down on to the bed and ripping off her..
Is she a goer? Does she go? Hint-hint, nudge-nudge.. know what I mean? Know what I mean?
SAY NO MORE!
is she into games....
yes she likes cricket
I never wanted to be a barber anyway... I wanted to be a LUMBERJACK!
I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay.... I work all night and I sleep all day!
Yes! Whenever bicycles are broken, or menaced by International Communism, Bicycle Repair Man is ready!
Look, I came in here for an argument!
Oh... oh I'm sorry, but this is abuse.
and now for something completely different.
It's...
He's not the Messiah.... He's a very naughty boy
Presenter: One small-time operator who fell foul of Dinsdale Piranha was Vince Snetterton-Lewis.
Vince: "Well one day I was at home threatening the kids when I looks out through the hole in the wall and sees this tank pull up and out gets one of Dinsdale's boys, so he comes in nice and friendly and says Dinsdale wants to have a word with me, so he chains me to the back of the tank and takes me for a scrape round to Dinsdale's place and Dinsdale's there in the conversation pit with Doug and Charles Paisley, the baby crusher, and two film producers and a man they called 'Kierkegaard', who just sat there biting the heads of whippets and Dinsdale says 'I hear you've been a naughty boy Clement' and he splits me nostrils open and saws me leg off and pulls me liver out and I tell him my name's not Clement and then... he loses his temper and nails me head to the floor."
Interviewer: He nailed your head to the floor?
Vince: At first yeah
Presenter: Another man who had his head nailed to the floor was Stig O' Tracy.
Interviewer: I've been told Dinsdale Piranha nailed your head to the floor.
Stig: No. Never. He was a smashing bloke. He used to buy his mother flowers and that. He was like a brother to me.
Interviewer: But the police have film of Dinsdale actually nailing your head to the floor.
Stig: (pause) Oh yeah, he did that.
Interviewer: Why?
Stig: Well he had to, didn't he? I mean there was nothing else he could do, be fair. I had transgressed the unwritten law.
Interviewer: What had you done?
Stig: Er... well he didn't tell me that, but he gave me his word that it was the case, and that's good enough for me with old Dinsy. I mean, he didn't *want* to nail my head to the floor. I had to insist. He wanted to let me off. He'd do anything for you, Dinsdale would.
...I see. Well, of course, this is just the sort of blinkered philistine pig-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 now if you went down on your lousy stinking knees and begged me.
I'm sorry for the mammoth size, but It's worth it. One of my faves.
The Players:
John Cleese - Mousebender;
Michael Palin - Wensleydale;
The Scene:
An Edwardian-style shop which carries the signs:
'Ye Olde Cheese Emporium';
'Henry Wensleydale, Purveyor of Fine Cheese to the Gentry and the Poverty Stricken Too';
'Licensed for Public Dancing';
Two men dressed as city gents are Greek dancing in the corner to the music of a bouzouki.
Mousebender enters.
MOUSEBENDER:
Good Morning.
WENSLEYDALE:
Good morning, sir. Welcome to the National Cheese Emporium.
MOUSEBENDER:
Ah, thank you my good man.
WENSLEYDALE:
What can I do for you, sir?
MOUSEBENDER:
Well, I was, uh, sitting in the public library on Thurmond Street just now, skimming through Rogue Herries by Hugh Walpole, and I suddenly came over all peckish.
WENSLEYDALE:
Peckish, sir?
MOUSEBENDER:
Esurient.
WENSLEYDALE:
Eh?
MOUSEBENDER:
(In a broad Yorkshire accent) Eee I were all hungry, like.
WENSLEYDALE:
Ah, hungry.
MOUSEBENDER:
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.
WENSLEYDALE:
Come again?
MOUSEBENDER:
I want to buy some cheese.
WENSLEYDALE:
Oh, I thought you were complaining about the bouzouki player.
MOUSEBENDER:
Oh, heaven forbid. I am one who delights in all manifestations of the Terpsichorean muse.
WENSLEYDALE:
Sorry?
MOUSEBENDER:
(In a broad Yorkshire accent) Ooo, I like a nice tune - you're forced to.
WENSLEYDALE:
So he can go on playing, can he?
MOUSEBENDER:
Most certainly. Now then, some cheese please, my good man.
WENSLEYDALE:
Certainly, sir. What would you like?
MOUSEBENDER:
Well, eh, how about a little Red Leicester?
WENSLEYDALE:
I'm afraid we're fresh out of Red Leicester, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
Oh never mind, how are you on Tilsit?
WENSLEYDALE:
I'm afraid we never have that at the end of the week, sir. We get it fresh on Monday.
MOUSEBENDER:
Tish tish. No matter. Well, stout yeoman, four ounces of Caerphilly, if you please.
WENSLEYDALE:
Ah. It's been on order, sir, for two weeks. I was expecting it this morning.
MOUSEBENDER:
It's not my lucky day, is it? Er, Bel Paese?
WENSLEYDALE:
Sorry, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
Red Windsor?
WENSLEYDALE:
Normally, sir, yes. Today the van broke down.
MOUSEBENDER:
Ah. Stilton?
WENSLEYDALE:
Sorry.
MOUSEBENDER:
Emmental? Gruyère?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Any Norwegian Jarlsberger, per chance?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Liptauer?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Lancashire?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
White Stilton?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Danish Blue?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Double Gloucester?
WENSLEYDALE:
..... No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Cheshire?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Dorset Blue Vinney?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Brie, Roquefort, Pont-l'Évêque, Port Salut, Savoyard, Saint-Paulin, Carre-de-L'Est, Bresse-Bleu, Boursin?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Camembert, perhaps?
WENSLEYDALE:
Ah! We have Camembert, yes sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
You do! Excellent.
WENSLEYDALE:
Yes, sir. It's, ah ..... it's a bit runny.
MOUSEBENDER:
Oh, I like it runny.
WENSLEYDALE:
Well, it's very runny, actually, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
No matter. Fetch hither le fromage de la Belle France! M-mmm!
WENSLEYDALE:
I think it's a bit runnier than you'll like it, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
I don't care how fraking runny it is. Hand it over with all speed.
WENSLEYDALE:
Oh .....
MOUSEBENDER:
What now?
WENSLEYDALE:
The cat's eaten it.
MOUSEBENDER:
Has he?
WENSLEYDALE:
She, sir.
(pause)
MOUSEBENDER:
Gouda?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Edam?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Caithness?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Smoked Austrian?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Japanese Sage Darby?
WENSLEYDALE:
No, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
You do have some cheese, do you?
WENSLEYDALE:
Of course, sir. It's a cheese shop, sir. We've got .....
MOUSEBENDER:
No, no, don't tell me. I'm keen to guess.
WENSLEYDALE:
Fair enough.
MOUSEBENDER:
Er, Wensleydale?
WENSLEYDALE:
Yes?
MOUSEBENDER:
Ah, well, I'll have some of that.
WENSLEYDALE:
Oh, I thought you were talking to me, sir. Mr Wensleydale, that's my name.
(pause)
MOUSEBENDER:
Greek Feta?
WENSLEYDALE:
Ah, not as such.
MOUSEBENDER:
Er, Gorgonzola?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Parmesan?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Mozzarella?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Pippo Crème?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Danish Fimboe?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Czech sheep's milk?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
Venezuelan Beaver Cheese?.
WENSLEYDALE:
Not today, sir, no.
(pause)
MOUSEBENDER:
Ah, how about Cheddar?
WENSLEYDALE:
Well, we don't get much call for it around here, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
Not much ca- It's the single most popular cheese in the world!
WENSLEYDALE:
Not round here, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
And what is the most popular cheese round here?
WENSLEYDALE:
Ilchester, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
Is it.
WENSLEYDALE:
Oh yes, sir. It's staggeringly popular in this manor, squire.
MOUSEBENDER:
Is it.
WENSLEYDALE:
It's our number-one best seller, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
I see. Ah, Ilchester, eh?
WENSLEYDALE:
Right, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
All right. Okay. Have you got any, he asked expecting the answer no?
WENSLEYDALE:
I'll have a look, sir ..... nnnnnnooooooooo.
MOUSEBENDER:
It's not much of a cheese shop, is it?
WENSLEYDALE:
Finest in the district, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
Explain the logic underlying that conclusion, please.
WENSLEYDALE:
Well, it's so clean, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
It's certainly uncontaminated by cheese.
WENSLEYDALE:
You haven't asked me about Limberger, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
Is it worth it?
WENSLEYDALE:
Could be.
MOUSEBENDER:
Have you- SHUT THAT BLOODY BOUZOUKI UP!
WENSLEYDALE:
(To dancers) Told you so.
MOUSEBENDER:
Have you got any Limburger?
WENSLEYDALE:
No.
MOUSEBENDER:
That figures. Predictable really, I suppose. It was an act of purest optimism to have posed the question in the first place. Tell me:
WENSLEYDALE:
Yes, sir?
MOUSEBENDER:
Have you in fact got any cheese here at all?
WENSLEYDALE:
Yes, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
Really?
(pause)
WENSLEYDALE:
No. Not really, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
You haven't.
WENSLEYDALE:
No, sir, not a scrap. I was deliberately wasting your time, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
Well, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to shoot you.
WENSLEYDALE:
Right-O, sir.
MOUSEBENDER:
(Shoots him) What a senseless waste of human life.
"Hello, I'd like a license for my pet fish Eric."
"How did you know my name was Eric?"
Luxury!
What do you burn apart from witches?
Not raw, not raw. We cook her. She'd be delicious with a few french fries, a bit of broccoli and stuffing. Delicious!
RUN AWAY !!! RUN AWAY !!!
Old Woman: Who are you, then?
King Arthur: I'm your king!
Old Woman: Well, I didn't vote for you!
Arthur: "You don't vote for a king."
Beautifull plumage !!!
Help, help! I'm being repressed!
If we took the BONES out, it wouldn't be CRUNCHY - would it ?
Man: ... I mean, your honor. I mean, your grace!
Woman: I'm not your Grace, I'm your Elsie.
Man: What a terrible joke!
Woman (crying): But it's my only line!
"I can take them all on single handed. There's only 150 of them!"
"No, it's too perilous."
We were evicted from our hole in the ground; we had to go and live in a lake!
Are you suggesting that coconuts migrate?
......"Are there any women here?"
Thou shalt count to three. No more, no less. Three is the number of the count, and the number of the count shall be three. Thou shalt not count to "two," nor "four" unless proceeding to the number three. FIVE IS RIGHT OUT!
Good! good? What do you know about it? What do you know about getting up at five o'clock in t'morning to fly to Paris... back at the Old Vic for drinks at twelve, sweating the day through press interviews, television interviews and getting back here at ten to wrestle with the problem of a homosexual nymphomaniac drug-addict involved in the ritual murder of a well known Scottish footballer. That's a full working day, lad, and don't you forget it!
Would that be an African swallow or a European swallow?
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 say `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!
Father: One day lad, all of this will be yours...
Herbert: What, the curtains?
All the other kings said i was daft to build a castle in a swamp, but i did it anyway just to show them!. . . 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.
Hurry Sir Lancelot!!!
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 practice every day...well, not absolutely every day, but most days in the week. I expect I must practice, 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...
What, behind the rabbit?
You can call me....Tim.
Message for you sir.
Dennis Moore, Dennis Moore is not in this bit.
Get me a bucket.
Well tell me Mr Death, is there an afterlife?
All Brontusaurus's are thin at one end.....Much much bigger in the middle....and thin again at the other end
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--
[whock]
Ah! Oh.
GRIM REAPER:
Be quiet! Englishmen, you're all so fraking pompous, and none of you have got any balls.
"My brain hurts..... my brain hurts"
I couldn't resist. There's no way to describe this..
Ow...my stomach hurts
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.
Wiggin walks to the table on which his model stand.
Mr Wiggin
Good morning, gentlemen. This is a twelwe-storey block combining classical neo-Georgian features with the efficiency of modern techniques. The tenants arrive in the entrance hall here, and are carried along the corridor on a conveyor belt in extreme comfort and 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...
First City Gent
Excuse me....
Mr Wiggin
Hm?
First City Gent
Did you say knives?
Mr Wiggin
Rotating knives, yes.
Second City Gent
Are you proposing to slaughter our tenants?
Mr Wiggin
Does that not fit in with your plans?
First City Gent
No, it does not. We asked for a simple block of flats.
Perhaps if we built a large wooden badger?....
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!
So the leg will just grow back then will it?
King of Swamp Castle: Who are you?
Prince Herbert: I'm your son!
King of Swamp Castle: No, not you!
And now for something completely different....
You don't frighten us, English pig-dogs! Go and boil your bottom, sons of a silly person. I blow my nose at you, so-called Arthur King, you and all your silly English k-nnniggets!
..it's.......................................................
Stop it, this is getting silly!