Interviewer: Ron, now let's just get this quite clear - you're intending to jump across the English Channel?
Ron Obvious: Oh yes, that is correct, yes.
Interviewer: And, er, just how far is that?
Ron Obvious: Oh, well it's 26 miles from here to Calais.
Interviewer: And that's to the beach of Calais?
Ron Obvious: Well, no, no, provided I get a good lift off and maybe a gust of breeze over the French coast, I shall be jumping into the centre of Calais itself. [Shows brief clip of some Frenchmen in Calais standing under a sign that says "Fin de Cross Channel Jump"]
Interviewer: Ron are you using any special techniques to jump this great distance?
Ron Obvious: Oh no, no. I shall be using an ordinary two-footed jump, er, straight up in the air and across the Channel.
Interviewer: I see. Er, Ron, what is the furthest distance that you've jumped, er, so far?
Ron Obvious: Er, oh, eleven foot six inches at Motspur Park on July 22nd. Er, but I have done nearly twelve feet unofficially.

Interviewer: Get your own arts programme, you fairy!
The Funniest Joke in the World

Ken: I'll tell you what's wrong with you: your head's addled with novels and poems! You come home reeking of Chateau La Tour! And look what you've done to mother! She's worn out from meeting film stars, attending premieres, and giving gala luncheons!
Dad: THERE'S NAUGHT WRONG WITH GALA LUNCHES, LAD! I've had more gala luncheons than you've had hot dinners! [grabs arm and screams]
Mum: Oh no!
Ken: What is it?
Mum: Oh, it's his writer's cramp!
Ken: You never told me about this...
Mum: No, we didn't like to, Kenny.
Dad: I'm all right! I'm all right, woman. Just get him out of here.
Mum: Oh Ken! You'd better go ...
Ken: All right. I'm going.
Dad: After all we've done for him...
Ken: One day you'll realize there's more to life than culture... There's dirt, and smoke, and good honest sweat!
Dad: Get out! Get out! Get OUT! You ... LABOURER!

Kenny Lust: Ken Buddha. A smile, two bangs, and a religion.

Kenny Lust: Now, every so often here in the Refreshment Room it is my honor, my privilege, to welcome some the truly great international artists. And tonight we have one such artist. Ladies and gentlemen, someone who've I've always personally admired. More deeply, more strongly, more abjectly than anyone before. A man, no, more than a man, a god! A great god whose personality is so totally and utterly wonderful, that my feeble words of welcome sound wretchedly and pathetically inadequate. Someone whose boots I would gladly lick clean, until holes wore through my tounge! A man who is so totally and utterly wonderful, that I would rather be sealed in a pit of my filth than dare tread on the same stage with him. Ladies and gentlemen, the incomparably superior human being, Harry Fink! [crowd applauds]
Stage-hand: He can't come!
Kenny Lust: Never mind. He's not all that's cracked up to be.

Man: [letter read aloud] Dear Sir, I wish to complain on the strongest possible terms about the song which had just broadcast about the lumberjack who wears women's clothes. Many of my best friends are lumberjacks and only a few of them are transvestites. Yours faithfully, Brigadier Sir Charles Arthur Strong (Ms.). P.S. I have never kissed the editor of the Radio Times.
The Visitors

Mr. Anchovy: I've been a chartered accountant for 20 years. I want a new job. Something exciting that will let me live!
Counselor: Well, chartered accoutancy is a rather exciting job, isn't it?
Mr. Anchovy: Exciting?! No, it's not! It's dull! Dull, dull, my God it's dull! It's so dull and tedious and stuffy and boring and desperately dull!
Counselor: Well, er, yes Mr. Anchovy, but you see your report here says that you are an extremely dull person. You see, our experts describe you as an appallingly dull fellow, unimaginative, timid, lacking in initiative, spineless, easily dominated, no sense of humour, tedious company and irrepressibly drab and awful. And whereas in most professions these would be considerable drawbacks, in chartered accountancy, they're a positive boon.
The First Man to Jump The Channel

Mr. Bimmler: Pleased to meet you, squire. I also am not of Minehead but I in Peterborough Lincolnshire's house was given birth to. But am staying in Peterborough Lincolnshire house all time during vor, due to nasty running sores , and vos unable to go in the streets and play football or go to Nuremburg. ah. Am retired vindow cleaner and pacifist, who's not doing war crimes. Oh... and am glad England vin Vorld Cup. Bobby Charlton. Martin Peters. And eating lots of chips and fish and hole in the toads and Dundee cakes on Piccadilly Line, don't you know old chap, And I vos head of Gestapo for 10 years. [Mr. Hilter elbows him in the ribs] Five years! [Hilter elbows him again, harder] No! No! Nein! Vos not head of Gestapo at ALL! I make joke!

Mr. Equator: [introducing himself to Victor] Good evening. I'm Equator; Mr. Equator. Like 'round the middle of the Earth, only with an L.
Audrey: [laughs hysterically]
Mr. Equator: And this is my wife, Audrey. She smells a bit, but she has a heart of gold.
Victor: There must be some kind of mistake, because this isn't-
Mr. Equator: [of Iris] Who's she? Who's the bird?
Victor: I-
Mr. Equator: You've got a nice pair there, haven't you, love? [fondles Iris by the breasts and kisses her, causing her to spazz out] Shut up, you silly bitch. It's only a bit of fun.

Mr. Figgis: Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin, Liszt, Brahms, Panties ...I'm sorry ... Schumann, Schubert, Mendelssohn and Bach. Names that will live for ever. But there is one composer whose name is never included with the greats, why is it the world never remembered the name of Johann Gambolputty de von Ausfern-schplenden-schlitter-crasscrenbon-fried-digger-dangle-dongle-dungle-burstein-Von-knacker-thrasher-apple-banger-horowitz-ticolensic-grander-knotty-spelltinkle-grandlich-grumblemeyer-spelterwasser-kurstlich-himbleeisen-bahnwagen-gutenabend-bitte-ein-nürnburger-bratwurstle-gerspurten-mit-zwei-macheluber-hundsfut-gumberaber-shoenendanker-kalbsfleisch-mittler-aucher von Hautkopft of Ulm?

Mr. Praline: It's not pining, it's passed on! This parrot is no more! It has ceased to be! It's expired and gone to meet its maker! This is a late parrot! It's a stiff! Bereft of life, it rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed it to the perch, it would be pushing up the daisies! It's metabolic processes are now history! He's off the twig! He's kicked the bucket, he's shuffled off the mortal coil, rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. This is an ex-parrot!
20th Century Vole

Narrator: In 1945, peace broke out. It was the end of the Joke. Joke warfare was banned at a special session of the Geneva Convention, and in 1950 the last remaining copy of the joke was laid to rest here in the Berkshire countryside, never to be told again.

Pepperpot #1: I can't tell the difference between Whizzo butter and this dead crab.
Interviewer: Yes, we find that 9 out of 10 British housewives can't tell the difference between Whizzo Butter and a dead crab.
Various Pepperpots: It's true�� We can't�� No.
Pepperpot #2: Here. Here! You're on television, aren't you?
Interviewer: [humbly] Yes, yes��
Pepperpot #2: He does the thing with one of those silly women who can't tell Whizzo Butter [points with handbag at the butter] from a dead crab [points with handbag at the dead crab].
Various Pepperpots: Yeah, yeah.
Pepperpot #3: You try that around here, young man, and we'll slit your face.
Pepperpot #4: [quietly] Yeah, with a razor.
It's the Arts

Police officer: A blancmange, eh?
Woman: That's right. I was just playing a game of doubles with Sandra, Jocasta, Alec and David, when...
Police Officer: Hold on. That's five. Five people! How'd you play doubles with five people? Sounds a bit funny if you ask me, playing doubles with five people!
Woman: Well, we often play like that. Jocasta plays on the side, receiving service. It helps to speed the game up and make it a lot faster, and Jocasta isn't left out.
Police Officer: Look, are you asking me to believe that the five of you was playing doubles, while on the very next court there was a blancmange playing by itself?
Woman: That's right.
Police Officer: Well, answer me this, then: Why didn't Jocasta play the blancmange at singles, while you and Sandra and Alec and David played a proper game of doubles with four people?
Woman: Because Jocasta always plays with us! She's a friend of ours!
Police Officer: Call that friendship? Messing up a perfectly good game of doubles?
Woman: It's not messing it up, officer! We like to play with five!
Police Officer: Look, it's your affair if you want to play with five people, but don't go calling it doubles! At Wimbledon, if Fred Stolle and Tony Roche played Charlie Passarell and Cliff Drysdale and Peaches Bartkowicz, they woudn't go calling it doubles!
Woman: Well, what about the blancmange?
Police Officer: That could play Ann Haydon-Jones and her husband, Pip!

Policeman: I must warn you, sir, that outside I have police dog Josephine, who is not only armed and trained to sniff out certain substances but is also a junkie.