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Thread: It's...The Monty Python Thread!

  1. #46
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    The Lumberjack Song
    I never wanted to do this job in the first place!
    I... I wanted to be...
    A LUMBERJACK!
    (piano vamp)
    Leaping from tree to tree! As they float down the mighty rivers of British Columbia! With my best girl by my side!
    The Larch!
    The Pine!
    The Giant Redwood tree!
    The Sequoia!
    The Little Whopping Rule Tree!
    We'd sing! Sing! Sing!

    Oh, I'm a lumberjack, and I'm okay,
    I sleep all night and I work all day.
    CHORUS: He's a lumberjack, and he's okay,
    He sleeps all night and he works all day.
    I cut down trees, I eat my lunch,
    I go to the lava-try.
    On Wednesdays I go shoppin'
    And have buttered scones for tea.
    Mounties: He cuts down trees, he eats his lunch,
    He goes to the lava-try.
    On Wednesdays 'e goes shoppin'
    And has buttered scones for tea.
    CHORUS
    I cut down trees, I skip and jump,
    I like to press wild flowers.
    I put on women's clothing,
    And hang around in bars.
    Mounties: He cuts down trees, he skips and jumps,
    He likes to press wild flowers.
    He puts on women's clothing
    And hangs around.... In bars???????
    CHORUS
    I chop down trees, I wear high heels,
    Suspendies and a bra.
    I wish I'd been a girlie
    Just like my dear papa.
    Mounties: He cuts down trees, he wears high heels
    Suspendies?? and a .... a Bra????
    (spoken, raggedly) What's this? Wants to be a *girlie*? Oh, My!
    And I thought you were so rugged! Poofter!
    CHORUS
    All: He's a lumberjack, and he's okaaaaaaayyy..... (BONG)


    Sound Cue: The Liberty Bell March, by John Phillip Sousa.

    -or-


    Dear Sir,
    I wish to complain on the strongest possible terms about the previous entry in this file about the lumberjack who wears women's clothes. Some ofmy best friends are lumberjacks, and only a FEW of them are transvestites.

    Yours faithfully,

    Brigadier Sir Charles Arthur Strong, Mrs.
    P.S. I have never kissed the editor of the radio times.

  2. #47
    bruceb Guest

    Default Uh oh ....

    I feel a chorous of Lydia the Tatooed Lady coming on ..

    Oh Lydia, Oh Lydia the encyclo-pid-ia, Lydia the Ta-tooed La-dy!

  3. #48
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    Well, that's the end of the film. Now, here's the meaning of life. Thank you, Brigitte. M-hmm. Well, it's nothing very special.

    Uh, try and be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every now and then, get some walking in, and try and live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations, and, finally, here are some completely gratuitous pictures of penises to annoy the censors and to hopefully spark some sort of controversy, which, it seems, is the only way, these days, to get the jaded, video-sated public off their !!!!ing arses and back in the sodding cinema. Family entertainment bollocks. What they want is filth: people doing things to each other with chainsaws during tupperware parties, babysitters being stabbed with knitting needles by gay presidential candidates, vigilante groups strangling chickens, armed bands of theatre critics exterminating mutant goats-- Where's the fun in pictures? Oh, well, there we are. Here's the theme music. Goodnight.


    VOICE OF MAN IN PINK: [singing]
    Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving
    And revolving at nine hundred miles an hour,
    That's orbiting at nineteen miles a second, so it's reckoned,
    A sun that is the source of all our power.
    The sun and you and me and all the stars that we can see
    Are moving at a million miles a day
    In an outer spiral arm, at forty thousand miles an hour,
    Of the galaxy we call the 'Milky Way'.
    Our galaxy itself contains a hundred billion stars.
    It's a hundred thousand light years side to side.
    It bulges in the middle, sixteen thousand light years thick,
    But out by us, it's just three thousand light years wide.
    We're thirty thousand light years from galactic central point.
    We go 'round every two hundred million years,
    And our galaxy is only one of millions of billions
    In this amazing and expanding universe.
    The universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding
    In all of the directions it can whizz
    As fast as it can go, at the speed of light, you know,
    Twelve million miles a minute, and that's the fastest speed there is.
    So remember, when you're feeling very small and insecure,
    How amazingly unlikely is your birth,
    And pray that there's intelligent life somewhere up in space,
    'Cause there's bugger all down here on Earth.
    Aaron J. Cuffee


    As democracy is perfected, the office of president represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron.
    - H.L. Mencken

  4. #49
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    Bruce, your are showing your I.Q here. what is it like to be in single figures?

    Immanuel Kant was a real piss-ant who was very rarely stable.
    Heideggar, Heideggar was a boozy beggar who could think you under the table.
    David Hume could out-consume Wilhelm Freidrich Hegel.
    And Whittgenstein was a beery swine who was just as sloshed as Schlegel.
    There's nothing Nieizsche couldn't teach 'ya 'bout the raising of the wrist.
    Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed.
    John Stewart Mill, of his own free will, after half a pint of shanty was particularly ill.
    Plato, they say, could stick it away, half a crate of whiskey every day!
    Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle,
    And Hobbes was fond of his Dram.
    And Rene Descartes was a drunken fart:
    "I drink, therefore I am."
    Yes, Socrates himself is particularly missed;
    A lovely little thinker, but a bugger when he's pissed.

  5. #50
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    Default The "We Were Poor" Sketch

    The "We Were Poor" Sketch

    From "Monty Python Live at City Center" and
    "Monty Python Live at the Hollywood Bowl"


    Four well-dressed men sitting together at a vacation resort. "Farewell to Thee" being played in the background on Hawaiian guitar.

    Michael Palin: Ahh.. Very passable, this, very passable.

    Graham Chapman: Nothing like a good glass of Chateau de Chassilier wine, ay Gessiah?

    Terry Gilliam: You're right there Obediah.

    Eric Idle: Who'd a thought thirty years ago we'd all be sittin' here drinking Chateau de Chassilier wine?

    MP: Aye. In them days, we'd a' been glad to have the price of a cup o' tea.

    GC: A cup ' COLD tea.

    EI: Without milk or sugar.

    TG: OR tea!

    MP: In a filthy, cracked cup.

    EI: We never used to have a cup. We used to have to drink out of a rolled up newspaper.

    GC: The best WE could manage was to suck on a piece of damp cloth.

    TG: But you know, we were happy in those days, though we were poor.

    MP: Aye. BECAUSE we were poor. My old Dad used to say to me, "Money doesn't buy you happiness."

    EI: 'E was right. I was happier then and I had NOTHIN'. We used to live in this tiiiny old house, with greaaaaat big holes in the roof.

    GC: House? You were lucky to have a HOUSE! We used to live in one room, all hundred and twenty-six of us, no furniture. Half the floor was missing; we were all huddled together in one corner for fear of FALLING!

    TG: You were lucky to have a ROOM! *We* used to have to live in a corridor!

    MP: Ohhhh we used to DREAM of livin' in a corridor! Woulda' been a palace to us. We used to live in an old water tank on a rubbish tip. We got woken up every morning by having a load of rotting fish dumped all over us! House!? Hmph.

    EI: Well when I say "house" it was only a hole in the ground covered by a piece of tarpolin, but it was a house to US.

    GC: We were evicted from *our* hole in the ground; we had to go and live in a lake!

    TG: You were lucky to have a LAKE! There were a hundred and sixty of us living in a small shoebox in the middle of the road.

    MP: Cardboard box?

    TG: Aye.

    MP: You were lucky. We lived for three months in a brown paper bag in a septic tank. We used to have to get up at six o'clock in the morning, clean the bag, eat a crust of stale bread, go to work down mill for fourteen hours a day week in-week out. When we got home, out Dad would thrash us to sleep with his belt!

    GC: Luxury. We used to have to get out of the lake at three o'clock in the morning, clean the lake, eat a handful of hot gravel, go to work at the mill every day for tuppence a month, come home, and Dad would beat us around the head and neck with a broken bottle, if we were LUCKY!

    TG: Well we had it tough. We used to have to get up out of the shoebox at twelve o'clock at night, and LICK the road clean with our tongues. We had half a handful of freezing cold gravel, worked twenty-four hours a day at the mill for fourpence every six years, and when we got home, our Dad would slice us in two with a bread knife.

    EI: Right. I had to get up in the morning at ten o'clock at night, half an hour before I went to bed, (pause for laughter), eat a lump of cold poison, work twenty-nine hours a day down mill, and pay mill owner for permission to come to work, and when we got home, our Dad would kill us, and dance about on our graves singing "Hallelujah."

    MP: But you try and tell the young people today that... and they won't believe ya'.

    ALL: Nope, nope.

  6. #51
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    Bruce and myself are from the Philosophical Department at the University of Wulamaloo. I'm in charge Logical Posivitism and Bruce is in charge of the sheep dip.
    Hugh Wallace

    A humble wiseman once said, "Those who learn by the inch and talk by the yard should be kicked by the foot."

  7. #52
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    Originally posted by kage110
    Bruce and myself are from the Philosophical Department at the University of Wulamaloo. I'm in charge Logical Posivitism and Bruce is in charge of the sheep dip.

  8. #53
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    Cutting and pasting should be banned! Go on all you slackers, recite your Monty Python from memory!!!! (Especially you, Will.)
    Hugh Wallace

    A humble wiseman once said, "Those who learn by the inch and talk by the yard should be kicked by the foot."

  9. #54
    bruceb Guest

    Default Chico says ....

    Whatsa matta for you! Hey Boss, you gotta job? I gotta just the man for you! We charge twice what you want to pay cause we already took all your money, right Snuffy?

    Thatsa my Brother. He don't say much, but he love to chase the women, while I love to catch them. You tell'em snuffy.

    HONK!!

  10. #55
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    Already have done. The penguin on top of your television set exploded.

  11. #56
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    "Wait... watch it.. keep close and watch out for those killer cars"

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    Post Gavin Millarrrrrrrrrr [John Cleese] writes:

    Neville Shunt's latest West End Success, "It all Happened on the 11.20 from Hainault to Redhill via Horsham and Reigate, calling at Carshalton Beeches, Malmesbury, Tooting Bec and Croydon West," is currently appearing at the Limp Theatre, Piccadilly. What Shunt is doing in this, as in his earlier nine plays, is to express the human condition in terms of British Rail.

    Some people have made the mistake of seeing Shunt's work as a load of rubbish about railway timetables, but clever people like me who talk loudly in restaurants see this as a deliberate ambiguity, a plea for understanding in a mechanised mansion. The points are frozen, the beast is dead. What is the difference? What indeed is the point? The point is frozen, the beast is late out of Paddington. The point is taken. If La Fontaine's elk would spurn Tom Jones the engine must be our head, the dining car our oesophagus, the guards van our left lung, the cattle truck our shins, the first class compartment the piece of skin at the nape of the neck and the level crossing an electric elk called Simon. The clarity is devastating. But where is the ambiguity? Over there in a box. Shunt is saying the 8.15 from Gillingham when in reality he means the 8.13 from Gillingham. The train is the same, only the time is altered. Ecce homo, ergo elk. La Fontaine knew its sister and knew her bloody well. The point is taken, the beast is moulting, the fluff gets up your nose. The illusion is complete; it is reality, the reality is illusion and the ambiguity is the only truth. But is the truth, as Hitchcock observes, in the box? No, there isn't room, the ambiguity has put on weight. The point is taken, the elk is dead, the beast stops at Swindon, Chabrol stops at nothing, I'm having treatment and La Fontaine can get knotted.
    Ville Penttilä

    Internet is a vast liberal plot to destroy humanity and make the entire Earth blow up like a gigantic cake crammed full of homosexuals and foreigners

  13. #58
    bruceb Guest

    Default time for some medication ...

    But doctor those are horse pills?

    Well the horse had no trouble swallowing them and he didn't say half a much as you? Would like some suppositorys instead?

    Hello ... I must be going ..... I think I see a cow waiting to give milk ... Oh! Mrs. Teasdale! We were just talking about you!

  14. #59
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    Talking

    "Dinsdale!"

    -- Spiny Norman
    Cady Goldfield

  15. #60
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    Originally posted by Cady Goldfield
    "Dinsdale!"

    -- Spiny Norman
    Glad to have you aboard Cady!

    Here's the whole Dinsdale origin story Here
    Rev. Matt Boxall AKA Dr. Stupid

    *Puts on wizard hat and robe*

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