Monty Python's Matching Tie and Handkerchief

Dead Bishop on the Landing                                 1
Ralph Melish                                               2
Rightthinking People                                       3
Elephantoplasty (Who cares)                                4
Word Association Football                                  4
Cheese Shop                                                5
Great Actors                                               7
Background to History                                      8
Oscar Wilde's Party                                        8


Dead Bishop on the Landing

Mother: (turning off radio) liberal rubbish! Klaus!
Klaus: Yeah?
Mother: Whaddaya want with yer jugged fish?
Klaus: 'Alibut.
Mother: The jugged fish IS 'alibut!
Klaus: Well, what fish 'ave you got that isn't jugged?
Mother: Rabbit.
Klaus: What, rabbit fish?
Mother: Uuh, yes...it's got fins...
Klaus: Is it dead?
Mother: Well, it was coughin' up blood last night.
Klaus: All right, I'll have the dead unjugged rabbit fish.

Voice over: One dead unjugged rabbit fish later:

Klaus:  (putting down his knife and fork) Well, that was really
'orrible.
Mother: Aaw, you're always complainin'!
Klaus: Wha's for afters?
Mother: Rat cake, rat sorbet, rat pudding, or strawberry tart.
Klaus: (eyes lighting up) Strawberry tart?
Mother: Well, it's got *some* rat in it.
Klaus: 'Ow much?
Mother: Three. A lot, really.
Klaus: 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:

Klaus: (putting down fork and knife) Appalling.
Mother: Naw, naw, naw!
Son: (coming in the door) 'Ello Mum. 'Ello Dad.
Klaus: 'Ello son.
Son: There's a dead bishop on the landing, dad!
Klaus: Really?
Mother: Where's it from?
Son: Waddya mean?
Mother: What's its diocese?
Son: Well, it looked a bit Bath and Wells-ish to me...
Klaus:  (getting up and going out the door) I'll go and have  a
look.
Mother: I don't know...kids bringin' 'em in here...
Son: It's not me!
Mother:  I've got three of 'em down by the bin, and the dustmen
won't touch 'em!
Klaus: (coming back in) Leicester.
Mother: 'Ow d'you know?
Klaus: Tattooed on the back o' the neck. I'll call the police.
Mother: Shouldn't you call the church?
Son: Call the church police!
Klaus: 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!
Mother: Are you the church police?
All the police officers: (in unison) Ho, Yes!
Mother:  There's  another dead bishop  on  the  landing,  Vicar
Sargeant!
Detective: Uh, Detective Parson, madam. I see... suffrican,  or
diocisian?
Mother: 'Ow should I know?
Detective: It's tatooed on the back o' their neck. (spying  the
tart) 'Ere, is that... *rat tart*?
Mother: yes.
(pause)
Detective:  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.
Klaus:  I'd  like  you  to  take the  three  by  the  bin  into
consideration.
Detective: 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       ****



Ralph Melish

*** from Matching Tie & Handkerchief LP
*** transcribed from tape 11/16/87 Daniel Rich


Narator: June the 4th, 1973. It was much like any other
summer's day
 in Petersburg, and Ralph Melish, a file clerk at an insurance
 company, was on his way to work as usual when....(Dramatic
music)
 nothing happened.
 Scarcly able to believe his eyes, Ralph Melish 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
sock.
 For Ralph Melish, 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 uninvolved, surely have led to no other place than
 the central criminal court of the old baliff.
 (Sound of gavel banging)
 But it was not to be. Ralph Melish reached his office in
 Dallezll Street, Petersburg, at 9:05 am. Exactly the same time
 as he usually got in.

Secretary: Morning Mr. Melish.

Melish: Morning Enid.

N: 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 teltale bloodstains on Mr. Melish's clothing. Nor did
 she notice anything strange in Mr. Melish's behavior that
whole
 morning! Nor the next morning. Nor at any time before or since
 the entire period she worked with that firm.

M: Have the new paper clips arived Enid?

S: Yes, they're over there Mr. Melish.

N: But for the lack of any untoward circumstances for this
young
 secretary to notice, and the total non-involvement of Mr.
Melish
 in anything illegal. The full weight of the law would have
 ensured that Ralph Aldis Mellish would have ended up like all
who
 challenge the fundemental laws of our society: in an iron
coffin
 with spikes on the inside.

Wife: Turn that thing off. You'll be late for the bus. It's
nearly
 half past nine.

Husband: It was indeed nearly half past nine.

W: Now off you go!

H: Off I went on a perfectly ordinary day....(fade out)

W: Oh, I'm so worried about him doctor.

Doctor: Yes. Yes, I know what you mean. I'm afraid he's
suffering
 from what we doctor's call whooping cough. That is, the
failure
 of the autonomic nervous section of the brain to deal with the
 nerve impulses that enable you and I to retain some facts and
 eliminate others.

W: Another dog?

D: Not for me thank you.

W: I'll have one last one.

D: (Spoken over barking and yelping) The human brain is like an
 enormous fish. It's flat and slimy, and has through which it
can
 see. (Gunshot, barking stops).

W: There we are.

D: Should one of these gills fail to open (sound of frying in
the
 background) the messages transmitted by the lungs don't reach
the
 brain. It's as simple as that.

W: Well, I'm a simple soul, I don't understand all that. All I
know
 is he's not the same man as I married.

D: Am I the man you married Mrs. Egis?

W: No, no. Get away. You'll get struck off

D: Come on, come on.

W: I can't. I'm eating dog.

D: Come on, just a quick examination.

W: No, get off, I'm married.

H: But, Dr. Quatt was a man of quite remarkable medical
insight, skill
 and determination. And within a few minutes, he had completely
 removed my wife's knickers.

W: Get out you! (door slams) oo, oo, doctor. Oh doctor Quatt.

D: Now, now. Put your tongue in my mouth.

W: No!

D: Oh, come on, come on. I've got your knickers.

(Music up and fade....)



Rightthinking People
(Gustaf Sj÷blom Juni 1995)

GC:  I think all righthtinking people in this country are  sick
and tired of being told that ordinary, decent people are fed up
in this country with being sick and tired.
All: Yes, yes...
GC:  I'm  certainly not! And I'm sick and tired of  being  told
that I am.
?: Mrs. Havoc-Jones.
Mrs.  Havoc-Jones:  Well,  I meet  a  lot  of  people  and  I'm
convinced  that the vast majority of wrongthinking  people  are
right.
?:  There seems like a consensus there. Could we have the  next
question, please?
Woman:  I  would like to ask the team what changes  they  would
make if they were Hitler?
GC: Well, speaking personally, I would annex the Sudetenland.
?: Norman?
Norman:  I  think  I'd pay some Dutchmen to set  fire  to  Lord
Snowdon.



Elephantoplasty (Who cares)
(Gustaf Sj÷blom Juni 1995)

JC:  Tonight on "Who Cares" we examine the frontiers of surgery
and  with us is the international financier Reginald Crisp  and
his  most  successful patient to date, the elephant Mr.  George
Humphries.
George Humphries: [Honk]
JC:   Mr.  Crisp,  the  surgery  on  Mr.  Humphries  is   truly
remarkable, but why an elephant?
GC: Well, that was just a stroke of luck, really. An elephant's
trunk  became available after a road acciden, and Mr. Humphries
happened to be walking past the hospital at the time.
JC:  And  what was Mr. Humphries reaction to the transplant  of
the elephant's organs?
GC:  Surprise  at first, then later chock and  deep  anger  and
resentment.  But his family were marvellous, they ghelped  pull
him through.
JC: How long was he in hospital?
GC:  Well, he spen the first three weeks in our intensive  care
unit, then eight weeks in the zoo.
JC:  I  see...is Mr. Humphries now able to lead a fairly normal
life?
GC:  No.  Oh, no, no. No. No, he still has to wash  himself  in
rather  a  special  way, he can only eat  buns,  and  he's  not
allowed  on  public transport. But I feel these are very  minor
problems...
JC: Uh-hu.
GC:  ...when  you consider the very sophisticated surgery  that
Mr. Humphries has undergone. I mean each of those feet he's got
now   weighs   more  than  his  whole  body  did   before   the
elephantoplasty, and the tusks are...
JC: Uh, some years ago you were the centre of controversy, both
from your own medical colleagues and from the church, when  you
grafted a pederast onto an Anglican bishop.
GC:  Well, that's the ignorance of the press, if I may say  so.
We've done thousands of similar operations, it's just that this
time  there  was  a bishop involved. I wish I could  have  more
bishops...
JC: Is lack of donors a problem?
GC:  There  just  aren't enough accidents. It's  unethical  and
timeconsuming to go out and cause them, so we have to  rely  on
whatever   comes  to  hand:  chairs,  tables,  floor   cleaning
equipment,  drying-up racks, pieces of pottery,  and  these  do
pose almost insurmountable surgical problems. What I'm sitting,
in  fact, is one of our more successful attempts. This is  Mrs.
Dudley. She had little hope of survival; she'd lost interest in
life,  but  along comes this very attractive mahogny fram,  and
now she's a jolly comfortable Chesterfield.
JC: Uh-hu, I see.
Cars outside: [Crash]
GC: Oh, excuse me! (runs away)



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.

                               

Cheese Shop
                               
                   *** 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?
Customer:  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.
Owner: Peckish, sir?
Customer: Esurient.
Owner: Eh?
Customer: 'Ee, Ah wor 'ungry-loike!
Owner: Ah, hungry!
Customer:  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!
Owner: Come again?
Customer: I want to buy some cheese.
Owner:  Oh,  I thought you were complaining about  the  bazouki
player!
Customer:  Oh,  heaven forbid: I am one  who  delights  in  all
manifestations of the Terpsichorean muse!
Owner: Sorry?
Customer: 'Ooo, Ah lahk a nice tuune, 'yer forced too!
Owner: So he can go on playing, can he?
Customer: Most certainly! Now then, some cheese please, my good
man.
Owner: (lustily) Certainly, sir. What would you like?
Customer: Well, eh, how about a little red Leicester.
Owner: I'm, a-fraid we're fresh out of red Leicester, sir.
Customer: Oh, never mind, how are you on Tilsit?
Owner:  I'm afraid we never have that at the end of  the  week,
sir, we get it fresh on Monday.
Customer: Tish tish. No matter. Well, stout yeoman, four ounces
of Caerphilly, if you please.
Owner:  Ah!  It's  beeeen on order, sir,  for  two  weeks.  Was
expecting it this morning.
Customer: 'T's Not my lucky day, is it? Aah, Bel Paese?
Owner: Sorry, sir.
Customer: Red Windsor?
Owner: Normally, sir, yes. Today the van broke down.
Customer: Ah. Stilton?
Owner: Sorry.
Customer: Ementhal? Gruyere?
Owner: No.
Customer: Any Norweigan Jarlsburg, per chance.
Owner: No.
Customer: Lipta?
Owner: No.
Customer: Lancashire?
Owner: No.
Customer: White Stilton?
Owner: No.
Customer: Danish Brew?
Owner: No.
Customer: Double Goucester?
Owner:  No.
Customer: Cheshire?
Owner: No.
Customer: Dorset Bluveny?
Owner: No.
Customer: Brie, Roquefort, Pol le Veq, Port Salut, Savoy  Aire,
Saint Paulin, Carrier de lest, Bres Bleu, Bruson?
Owner: No.
Customer: Camenbert, perhaps?
Owner: Ah! We have Camenbert, yessir.
Customer: (suprised) You do! Excellent.
Owner: Yessir. It's..ah,.....it's a bit runny...
Customer: Oh, I like it runny.
Owner: Well,.. It's very runny, actually, sir.
Customer:  No  matter. Fetch hither the  fromage  de  la  Belle
France! Mmmwah!
Owner: I...think it's a bit runnier than you'll like it, sir.
Customer:  I don't care how fucking runny it is. Hand  it  over
with all speed.
Owner: Oooooooooohhh........! 
Customer: What now?
Owner: The cat's eaten it.
Customer:  Has he.
Owner: She, sir.
(pause)
Customer: Gouda?
Owner: No.
Customer: Edam?
Owner: No.
Customer: Case Ness?
Owner: No.
Customer: Smoked Austrian?
Owner: No.
Customer: Japanese Sage Darby?
Owner: No, sir.
Customer: You...do *have* some cheese, don't you?
Owner:  (brightly)  Of course, sir. It's a  cheese  shop,  sir.
We've got--
Customer: No no... don't tell me. I'm keen to guess.
Owner: Fair enough.
Customer: Uuuuuh, Wensleydale.
Owner: Yes?
Customer: Ah, well, I'll have some of that!
Owner:  Oh!  I  thought you were talking  to  me,  sir.  Mister
Wensleydale, that's my name.
(pause)
Customer: Greek Feta?
Owner: Uh, not as such.
Customer: Uuh, Gorgonzola?
Owner: no
Customer: Parmesan,
Owner: no
Customer: Mozarella,
Owner: no
Customer: Paper Cramer,
Owner: no
Customer: Danish Bimbo,
Owner: no
Customer: Czech sheep's milk,
Owner: no
Customer: Venezuelan Beaver Cheese?
Owner: Not *today*, sir, no.
(pause)
Customer: Aah, how about Cheddar?
Owner: Well, we don't get much call for it around here, sir.
Customer:  Not much ca--It's the single most popular cheese  in
the world!
Owner: Not 'round here, sir.
Customer:   and what IS the most  popular  cheese
'round hyah?
Owner: 'Illchester, sir.
Customer: IS it.
Owner: Oh, yes, it's staggeringly popular in this manusquire.
Customer: Is it.
Owner: It's our number one best seller, sir!
Customer: I see. Uuh...'Illchester, eh?
Owner: Right, sir.
Customer:  All  right.  Okay. 'Have you  got  any?'  he  asked,
expecting the answer 'no'.
Owner: I'll have a look, sir... nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnno.
Customer: It's not much of a cheese shop, is it?
Owner: Finest in the district!
Customer:   (annoyed)   Explain  the  logic   underlying   that
conclusion, please.
Owner: Well, it's so clean, sir!
Customer: It's certainly uncontaminated by cheese....
Owner: (brightly) You haven't asked me about Limburger, sir.
Customer: Would it be worth it?
Owner: Could be....
Customer: Have you --SHUT THAT BLOODY BAZOUKI OFF!
Owner: Told you sir....
Customer: (slowly) Have you got any Limburger?
Owner: No.
Customer: Figures. Predictable, really I suppose. It was an act
of  purest  optimism to have posed the question  in  the  first
place. Tell me:
Owner: Yessir?
Customer:  (deliberately) Have you in fact got any cheese  here
at all.
Owner: Yes,sir.
Customer: Really?
(pause)
Owner: No. Not really, sir.
Customer: You haven't.
Owner:  Nosir.  Not  a scrap. I was deliberately  wasting  your
time,sir.
Customer: Well I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to shoot you.
Owner: Right-0, sir.

The customer takes out a gun and shoots the owner.

Customer: What a *senseless* waste of human life.

**** end of file CHEESHOP PYTHON ****



Great Actors

Now it's time for Great Actors, introduced as usual by Alan
Semen.

Alan: Sir Edwin, which has been for you the most demanding of
the great
 Shakesperean tragic heroes that you've played?
Sir Edwin: Well, of course this is always a difficult one, but
I think the
 answer must be Hamlet.
A: Which you played at Stratford in 1963.
E: That's right, yes, I found the role a very taxing one. I
mean, er, Hamlet
 has eight thousand two hundred and sixty-two words, you see.
A: Really.
E: Oh yes. Othello's a bugger too, mind you--especially the
cleaning up
 afterwards, but he has nine hundred and forty-one words less
than Hamlet.
 On the other hand, the coon's got more pauses, sixty-two quite
long ones, as
 I recall. But then they're not so tricky, you see--you don't
have to do so
 much during them.
A: You don't.
E: No. No, not really. Andd they give you time to think what
sort of face
 you're going to pull during the next speech so that it fits
the words you're
 saying as far as possible.
A: How many words did you have to say as King Lear at the
Aldwitch in '52?
E: Ah, well, I don't want you to get the impression it's just a
question of the
 number of words... um... I mean, getting them in the right
order is just as
 important. Old Peter Hall used to say to me, "They're all
there already--
 now we've got to get them in the right order." And, er, for
example, you
 can also say one word louder than another--er, "To *be* or not
to be," or
 "To be *or* not to be," or "To be or not to *be*"--you see?
And so on.
A: Inflection.
E: And of course inflection. In fact, Lear has only seven
thousand and fifty-
 four words, but the real difficulty with Lear is that you've
got to play
 him all--you know, shaky legs and pratfalls and the dentures
falling out,
 'cause he's ancient as hell, and then there's that
heartrending scene when
 he goes right off his nut--you know, "bliddle dee dee diddle
deebibble dee
 dee dibble beep beep beep," and all that, which takes it out
of you, what
 with having the crown to keep on. So Lear is tiring, although
not difficult
 to act, because you've only got to do despair and a bit of
anger, and
 they're the easiest.
A: Are they? What are the hardest?
E: Oh... um, fear.
A: Fear?
E: Mmm, yes, never been able to get that--can't do the mouth. I
look all
 cross--it's a very fine line.
A: What else?
E: Apart from fear? Er, jealousy can be tricky... but for me,
the most
 difficult is being in love--you know, that openmouthed, vacant
look that
 Vanessa Redgrave's got off to a tee. Can't do that at all. And
also I'm
 frightfully awkward when I try that happy prancing, you know.
Which is a
 shame, really, because otherwise Romeo's quite good for me--
only three
 thousand and eight and quite a lote of climbing and kissing.
A: Sir Edwin--get stuffed.
E: I've enjoyed it.



Background to History
(Gustaf Sj÷blom Juni 1995)

EI: The Background to History, Part Four.
GC: Good evening. One of the main elements in any assessment of
the  medieval open files farming system is the availability  of
oxen  for the winter plowing. Professor Tofts of the University
of Manchester puts it like this:

Professor Tofts:
The flowers in the winter...

GC: But of course, there is considerable evidence of open field
villages as far back as the 10th century. Professor Moorehead:

Professor Moorehead:
(sings)

GC:  This  is  not  to say of course that  the  system  was  as
sophisticated as it later came to be. I asked the Professor  of
Medieval Studies at Cambridge why this was.

Professor:  Why...may  not  have  been  a  ...a  stature   tree
obligation  but, uh...I mean...uh, a guy who's a freman  would,
uh,  was  obliged in the medieval system, to, uh,  to  do  boom
work,  yeah, that's right, yeah, as an example from the village
roles, uh, in 1313...
GC: And I believeyou were going to do it for us now?
Professor: That's right, yes.

Professor:
... the village roles ...(sings)

EI:  That  was  a  talk  on the open field  farming  system  by
Professor Angus Jones. Some of the main points covered in  this
talk  are  now available on a long playing record "The  Ronette
Sing Medieval Agrarian History".



Oscar Wilde's Party
(Gustaf Sj÷blom Juni 1995)

Cast:
TJ: Prince of Wales
GC: Oscar Wilde
MP: George Bernard Shaw
JC: James McNeill Whistler

Woman:  London, 1892. 16 Tie Street, Chelsea, the residence  of
Mr. Oscar Wilde.
EI:  Mr. George Bernard Shaw! His Royal Highness The Prince  of
Wales.
TJ:  Oh,  my  congratulations, Wilde.  Your  play  is  a  great
success. The whole of London is talking about ya!
GC:  Your  Higness, there is only one thing in the world  worse
than being talked about and that is not being talked about.
All: [Hysterical Laughter]
TJ: Oh, very witty, Wilde, very, very, witty!
JC:  There  is  only one thing in the world  worse  than  being
witty, and that is not being witty.
All: [More Hysterical Laughter]
GC: I wish I had said that, sire.
JC: You will, Oscar, you will.
GC: Your Highness, d'you know James McNeill Whistler?
TJ: Yes, we played squash together.
GC: There is only one thing worse than playing squash together,
and  that  is playing it by yourself. [Long Silence] I  wish  I
hadn't said that.
JC: Well, you did Oscar, you did.
All: [Light Laughter]
TJ:  Well, you must forgive me, Wilde, but I must get  back  up
the palace.
GC: Your Majesty, you're lika a big dram doughnut with cream on
the top.
TJ: I beg your pardon!?
GC: Uh, it was one of Whistler's.
JC: I didn't say that!
GC: You did, James, you did.
TJ: Well, Mr. Whistler?
JC:  I-I  meant  Your Majesty, that, ahm, like a doughnut  your
arruval  gives us pleasure and your departure merely  makes  us
hungry for more.
All: [Laughter]
JC: Right, Your Majesty is like stream of bats' piss!
All: Whuh!?
TJ: What!?
JC: It was one of Wilde's.
GC: It certainly was not! It was Shaw's!
TJ: Well, Mr. Shaw?
MP:  I-I-I  merely meant Your Majesty that you  shoned  like  a
shaft of gold when all around is dirt.
All: Oooooh...
TJ: Oh, oh, very witty!
MP: Right! Your Majesty is like a dose of clap!
Woman: Oh, what!?
TJ: What!?
MP: ---
TJ: I beg your pardon!?
MP: It was one of Wilde's!
TJ: Ah, well, Mr. Wilde?
MP: Come on now, let's hear all about it!
GC: [Fart]
TJ: That's an excellent one! Very witty, Wilde!
James McNeill Whistler 1834-1903 U.S. painter. Whistler was
famous as a wit and as the author of The Gentle Art of Making
Enemies (1890).



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