All language subtitles for Monty.Python.Live.at.the.Hollywood.Bowl.1982.1080p.AMZN.WEBRip.DDP2.0.x264-NOGRP.eng

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 pull 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 König 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 Woolamaloa, 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 Nietszche
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,

München, 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...