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

Man: Excuse me, are you suggesting eating my mother?
Undertaker: Well, yeah. Not raw, cooked!
Man: What?
Undertaker: Roasted, few french fries, broccoli, horsheradish sauce. [licks lips]
Man: Well... I do feel a bit peckish.
Undertaker: Great!
Man: Can we have some parsnips?
Undertaker: [calls out behind the desk] Get some parsnips!
Man: I really don't think I should...
Undertaker: Look, we'll eat her, and if you're feeling a bit guilty about it afterwards, we'll dig a grave and you can throw up in it!
Series 3

Man: Good morning, I'd care to purchase a chicken, please.
Vendor: Don't come here with that posh talk, you nasty, stuck-up twit!
Man: I beg your pardon?
Vendor: A chicken, sir? Certainly. Here we are.
Man: Thank you. And how much does that come to per pound, my good fellow?
Vendor: Per pound, you slimy trollop? What kind of a ponce are you?
Man: I'm sorry?
Vendor: Four and six a pound, sir. Nice and ready for roasting.
Man: I see. And I'd care to purchase some stuffing in addition, please.
Vendor: Use your own, you great poofy poll-nagger!
Man: What?
Vendor: Certainly, sir, some stuffing.
Man: Oh, thank you.
Vendor: Oh, "thank you", says the great queen, like a la-di-da pooftah!
Man: I beg your pardon?
Vendor: That's alright, sir, call again!
Man: Excuse me...
Vendor: What is it now, you great pillock?!
Man: I can't help but notice that you insult me, and then you're polite to me, alternately.
Vendor: Oh, I'm terribly sorry to hear that, sir!
Man: Oh, that's all right. It doesn't really matter.
Vendor: Tough titty if it did, you nasty, spotted prancer!

Merchant Banker: Ah, Mr. Victim, I'm glad to say we've got the go-ahead to lend you the money you required. We will, of course, need for security the deed to your house, the deed to your aunt's house, of your wife's parents' house, and of your granny's bungalow. And we will in addition need a controlling interest in the stock of your new company, unrestricted access to your private bank accounts, the deposit of your three children in our vaults as hostages, and a full legal indemnity in case of any embezzlement carried out against you by members of our staff during the normal course of their duties. No, I'm afraid we couldn't accept your dog instead of your youngest child, but we would like to suggest a brand new scheme of ours in which 51 percent of your wife and your dog pass to us in the event of your suffering a serious accident.

Mother: What have you got now?
Chris: I bought an ant, mother.
Mother: What d'you want one of them for! I'm not going to clean it out. You said you'd clean the tiger out, but do you? No, I suppose you've lost interest in it now. Now it'll be ant ant ant for a couple of days, then all of a sudden, 'oh, mum, I've bought a sloth' or some other odd-toed ungulate like a tapir.
Chris: It's really different this time, mum. I'm really going to look after this ant.
Mother: That's what you said about the sperm whale... now your papa's having to use it as a garage.
Chris: Well, you didn't feed it properly.
Mother: Where are we going to get 44 tons of plankton from every morning? Your dad was dead vexed about that. They thought he was mad in the deli.
Chris: Well at least he's got a free garage.
Mother: That's no good to him... his Hillman smells all fishy. [growl from the tiger] Oh blimey, that's the tiger. He'll want his mandies.
Chris: Are you giving that tiger drugs?
Mother: 'Course I'm giving it drugs!
Chris: It's illegal.
Mother: You try telling that to the tiger.
Chris: I think it's dangerous.
Mother: Listen, before he started fixing, he used to get through four Jehovah's witnesses a day. And he used to eat all of them, except the pamphlets.
Chris: Well, he's not dim.

Mr Gabriello: Wasn't he great, my boy?
Eric: He was great, Mr Gabriello.
Mr Gabriello: The way he kept fighting after his head came off!
Eric: He was better when the head came off, Mr Gabriello. He was really dodging the guy.
Mr Gabriello: Yeah, I reckon that if he could've lasted till the end of that first minute, he would've had the Killer worried.
Eric: Sure, Mr Gabriello.
Mr Gabriello: Oh he was great. Did you see his left arm?
Eric: No.
Mr. Gabriello: OK, we'll look around the hall after everybody's gone.

Mr Neutron: I want you to be my helpmate. As Tarzan had his Jane, as Napoleon had his Josephine, as Frankie Laine had whoever he had. I want you to help me in my plan to dominate the world!
Mrs Scum: Oh, Mr N! That I should be so lucky!
Mr Neutron: You're not Jewish, are you?

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. Last: You've got a pet halibut?
Mr. Praline: Yes. I chose him out of a thousand. I didn't like the others; they were all too flat.
Mr. Last: You're a loony!
Mr. Praline: I AM NOT A LOONY! Why should I be tarred with the epithet "loony" merely because I have a pet halibut? I've heard tell that Sir Gerald Nabarro has a pet prawn called Simon, and you wouldn't call Sir Gerald a loony, would you? Furthermore, Dawn Pelforth, the lady show jumper, had a clam called Sir Stefford after the late Chancellor, Allen Bullock has two pikes, both called Norman, and the late, great Marcel Proust had a haddock! If you're calling the author of À la recherche du temps perdu a loony, I shall have to ask you to step outside!

Mr. Pither: You are Rear Admiral Sir Dudley Compton?
Chinaman: No. He die. He have heart attack and fell out of window onto exploding bomb, and was killed in shooting accident.

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

Mr. Vibrating: I'm very sorry, but I'm not allowed to argue unless you've paid.
Man: Aha! If I didn't pay, then why are you arguing? Got you!
Mr. Vibrating: No you haven't.
Man: Yes I have. If you're still arguing, I must have paid.
Mr. Vibrating: Not necessarily. I could be arguing in my spare time.
Man: Oh, I've had enough of this!
Mr. Vibrating: No, you haven't.
Man: Oh, shut up!