monty python
POSTED BY: Guywhowantsafireflyofhisown
UPDATED: Friday, June 30, 2006 15:16
VIEWED: 20847
PAGE 8 of 11
Toastmaster: Gentlemen, pray silence for the President of the Royal Society for Putting Things on Top of Other Things.
Sir William: Thank you, gentlemen. The year has been a good one for the society. This year, our members have put more things on top of other things than ever before. But I should warn you, this is no time for complacency. No, there are still many things, and I cannot emphasize this too strongly, *not on top of other things.* I myself, on my way here, saw a thing that was not on top of another thing in any way.
[cries of "shame!']
Sir William: Shame indeed. But we must not allow ourselves to become too despondent. For we must never forget that if there was not one thing that was not on top of another thing, our society would be nothing more than a meaningless body of men that had gathered together for no good purpose. But we flourish. This year our Australasian members and the various organisations affiliated to our Australasian branches put no fewer than twenty-two things on top of other things.
[applause]
Sir William: Well done all of you. But there is one cloud on the horizon. In this last year our Staffordshire branch has not succeeded in putting one thing on top of another.
[more cries of "shame!]
Sir William: Therefore I call upon our Staffordshire delegate to explain this weird behaviour.
Cutler: [timidly] Er, Cutler, Staffordshire. Um... well... Mr Chairman, it's just that most of the members in Staffordshire feel... the whole thing's a bit... silly.
[cries of outrage]
Sir William: Silly? SILLY?
[pauses and thinks]
Sir William: Silly! I suppose it is, a bit. What have we been doing wasting our lives with all this nonsense? Right, meeting adjourned for ever.
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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 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!"
But you try and tell the young people today that and they won't believe ya!
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This quote seems particularly appropriate for here:
BBC Voiceover: And now, a plea for sanity by the Reverend Arthur Belling.
Rev. Arthur Belling: [Cut to studio. A vicar sitting facing camera. He has an axe in his head] You know, there are many people in the country today who, through no fault of their own, are sane. Some of them were born sane. Some of them became sane later in their lives. It is up to people like you and me who are out of our tiny little minds to try and help these people overcome their sanity. You can start in small ways with ping-pong ball eyes and a funny voice and then you can paint half of your body red and the other half green and then you can jump up and down in a bowl of treacle going 'squawk, squawk, squawk... ' And then you can go 'Neurhhh! Neurhh!' and then you can roll around on the floor going 'pting pting pting'...
[he rolls around on the floor]
___________________
Hissssssssss!
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You must spank us, every one!
Naughty, naughty Zoot!
And now, for something completely different...
Blackbird fly into the light of the dark, black night.
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She turned me into a newt.
A newt?
I...I.. got better.
Simon: What if he(Mal) tells you to kill me?
Zoe: (without hesitation) I kill you.
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Second Bruce: New-Bruce, are you a Poofter?
Fourth Bruce: Are you a Poofter?
Michael: No!
Fourth Bruce: No. Right, I just want to remind you of the faculty rules: Rule One!
Everybruce: No Poofters!
Fourth Bruce: Rule Two, no member of the faculty is to maltreat the Abbos in any way at all -- if there's anybody watching. Rule Three?
Everybruce: No Poofters!!
Fourth Bruce: Rule Four, now this term, I don't want to catch anybody not drinking. Rule Five,
Everybruce: No Poofters!
Fourth Bruce: Rule Six, there is NO ... Rule Six. Rule Seven,
Everybruce: No Poofters!!
Fourth Bruce: Right, that concludes the readin' of the rules, Bruce.
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I have a sudden craving for a giant blanc mange and tennis, I don't know why.
Hmmmmmm...
In Wales?
Blackbird fly into the light of the dark, black night.
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Right men, confuse the cat!
--------------------------------------------------
Who do you suppose is in there?
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Ximinez: 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 Inquisition exits]
Chapman: I didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition.
[The cardinals burst in]
Ximinez: NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition! Amongst our weaponry are such diverse elements as: fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency, an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope, and nice red uniforms - Oh damn!
Damn you Fox! Damn you to Hades!!
98% of teens have smoked pot, if you are one of the 2% that haven't, copy this into your signature
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(Cut to a critic. Superimposed caption: 'GAVIN MILLARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR')
Art Critic: 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 mechanized world. 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 guard's 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? It's 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 his 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.
http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/llama.php
-try it out, I dare you
98% of teens have smoked pot, if you are one of the 2% that haven't, copy this into your signature
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