Monty Python's Flying Circus quotes

I'm afraid our regular psychiatrist hasn't come round this morning, and I've got an ego block, which is turn making my wife over-assertive and getting us both into a state of depressive neurosis.

I see, sir. Who's your regular?

Jersey Cream Psychiatrists.

Oh, yes, I know them. Right, well, what's your job, then?

I'm a doctor.

Didn't I see you just now under a Scotsman?

Yes, but I am a doctor. Actually, I'm a gynecologist, but that was my lunch hour.

[holding up an ink blot] What does this remind you of?

Two pints of cream?

Right. I should definitely say you're suffering from a severe personality disorder, sir, sublimating itself in a lactic obsession that could get worse, depending on how much money you've got.

Yes, I see. And a pot of yoghurt, please.

This is a 12-story block combining classical neo-Georgian features with the efficiency of modern techniques. The tenants arrive here and are carried along the corridor on a conveyor belt in extreme comfort, past murals depicting Mediterranean scenes, towards the rotating knives. The last twenty feet of the corridor are heavily soundproofed. The blood pours down these chutes and the mangled flesh slurps into these...

Excuse me.

Yes?

Did you say 'knives'?

Rotating knives, yes.

Do I take it that you are proposing to slaughter our tenants?

...Does that not fit in with your plans?

Not really. We asked for a simple block of flats.

Oh. I hadn't fully divined your attitude towards the tenants. You see I mainly design slaughter houses.

Ah.

Pity.

Yes.

Mind you, this is a real beaut. None of your blood caked on the walls and flesh flying out of the windows incommoding the passers-by with this one. My life has been leading up to this.

Yes, and well done, but we wanted an apartment block.

May I ask you to reconsider? You wouldn't regret this - think of the tourist trade.

I'm sorry. We want a block of flats, not an abattoir.

I see. Well, of course, this is just the sort blinkered philistine pig-ignorance I've come to expect from you non-creative garbage. [getting angry] You sit there on your loathsome spotty behinds squeezing blackheads, not caring a tinker's cuss for the struggling artist. [now shouting] You excrement! You whining hypocritical toadies with your colour TV sets and your Tony Jacklin golf clubs and your bleeding Masonic secret handshakes! You wouldn't let me join, would you, you blackballing bastards! Well I wouldn't become a Freemason now if you went down on your lousy, stinking knees and begged me!

And now a letter, a hotel registration book, and a series of photographs which could add up to divorce, premature retirement, and possible criminal proceedings for a company director in Bromsgrove. He's a Freemason, and prospective Tory MP, that's Mr S. of Bromsgrove. £3,000 to stop us from revealing your name, the name of the three other people involved, the youth organisation to which they belong, and the shop where you bought the equipment.

Oh, uh, there you are. And you've got the note. Jolly good. Well, um, that's all the items that we have for you this week. And, uh, what a jolly lot of items, too, eh? Um... Well, the same team will be back with you again next week with another menu full of items. Um, I don't know if I shall be introducing the show next week. As I understand, my bits in this show have not been received quite as well as they might. But, uh, never mind. The damage is done. No use crying over spilled milk. I've had my chance. And I've mucked it. Anyway, there we are. I'm not really awfully good with words, you see. I'm more of a visual performer. I have a very funny... If I may say so myself... A very funny, funny walk. I wish I'd been in that show. I'd have done rather well. But anyway, there we are. Show's over, and, uh... We'll all be... They'll all be back with you in the end next week. [He tries not to cry] Sorry. I do beg your pardon, I don't like these... blatant displays of emotion. I wish it would say "The End". [End title card comes up]

Ah, here comes the boss fella now!

[enters with Michael, an Englishman] Ah! G'day, Bruce, hello, Bruce, how are you, Bruce? Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce a chap from Pommyland who'll be joining us this year here in the Philosophy Department of the University of Woolloomooloo.

G'day!

Michael Baldwin, this is Bruce; Michael Baldwin, this is Bruce; Michael Baldwin, this is Bruce.

Is your name not Bruce, then?

No, it's Michael.

That's going to cause a little confusion.

Mind if we call you "Bruce" to keep it clear?

Well, gentlemen, I think we'd better start the meeting. Before we start, though, I'll ask the padre for a prayer.

[puts on a priest's collar as others bow their heads] Oh Lord, we beseech thee, have mercy on our faculty, Amen.

Amen! Crack the tubes! Right. [Neopositivist Bruce opens beer cans] Er, Bruce, I now call upon you to welcome Mr. Baldwin to the Philosophy Department.

I'd like to welcome the pommy bastard to God's own earth, and I'd like to remind him that we don't like stuck-up sticky-beaks here.

Hear, hear! Well spoken, Bruce!

Now, Bruce teaches classical philosophy, Bruce teaches Hegelian philosophy, and Bruce here teaches logical positivism, and is also in charge of the sheep dip.

What does new Bruce teach?

New Bruce will be teaching political science - Machiavelli, Bentham, Locke, Hobbes, Sutcliffe, Bradman, Lindwall, Miller, Hassett, and Benaud.

Those are cricketers, Bruce.

Oh, spit.

Howls! Howls of derisive laughter, Bruce!

Ha-ha! In addition, as he's going to be teaching politics, I've told him he's welcome to teach any of the great socialist thinkers, provided he makes it clear that they were wrong.

[stand up suddenly] Australia! Australia! Australia! Australia! We love you! Amen!

That was Episode Two of "The Death of Mary Queen of Scots", adapted for the radio by Bernard Hollowood and Brian London. And now, Radio Four will explode. [interval music plays until the radio suddenly combusts]

We'll have to watch the telly then.

Yes.

Well, what's on the television then?

Looks like a penguin.

No, no, no, no! I didn't mean 'what's on the television set?' I meant 'what program?'

Oh.

Funny that penguin being there, innit? What's it doing there?

Standing.

I can see that!

If it lays an egg, it'll fall down the back of the television set.

We'll have to watch that. Unless it's a male.

Ooh, I hadn't thought of that.

Yes. Looks fairly butch.

Perhaps it comes from next door.

Penguins don't come from next door; they come from the Antarctic!

BURMA!

Why'd you say 'Burma'?

I panicked.

Perhaps it's from the zoo.

Which zoo?

How should I know which zoo? I'm not Dr. Bloody Bronowski!

How does Dr. Bronowski know which zoo it came from?

He knows everything.

Ooh, I wouldn't like that. It'd take the mystery out of life. Anyway, if it came from the zoo, it'd have 'Property of the Zoo' stamped on it.

No it wouldn't. They don't stamp animals 'Property of the Zoo'! You couldn't stamp a huge lion!

They stamp them when they're small.

What happens when they moult?

Lions don't moult!

No, but penguins do. There! I've run rings around you, logically.

Oh, intercourse the penguin!

This is an example of the sort of abuse we get all the time from ignorant people. I inherited this religion from my father, an ex-used-car salesman and part-time window-box. And I am very proud to be in charge of the first religion with free gifts. You get this luxury tea-trolley with every new enrollment. In addition to this you can win a three-piece lounge suite, this luxury caravan, a weekend for two with Peter Bonetti and tonight's star prize, the entire Norwich City Council.

You asked for the coffee machine, so let's see what you've won. You chose Hymn no. 437. [removes a card labelled '437' off the hymn board and reads what's on its back] Oh, Mrs. Collins, you had eyes on the coffee machine. Well you have won tonight's star prize, the entire Norwich City Council!

I've got one already.

[reading his phrase book] I will not buy this record, it is scratched.

[confused] Sorry?

I will not buy this record, it is scratched.

No, no, no. This is tobacconist's.

Ah! I will not buy this tobacconist's, it is scratched.

No, no, no...tobacco...er, cigarettes?

Yes, cigarettes. My hovercraft is full of eels.

[more confused] What?

[miming matches] My hovercraft is full of eels.

Matches, matches? [showing some]

Yah, yah. [taking cigarettes and matches and pulls out loose change; he consults his book] Er, do you want...do you want to come back to my place, bouncy bouncy?

I don't think you're using that right.

You great pouf.

That'll be six and six, please.

If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me? I am no longer infected.

[miming that he wants to see the book; he takes the book] It costs six and six... [mumbling as he searches] Costs six and six...Here we are...Yandelvayasna grldenwi stravenka.

What's going on here?

[to the policeman] You have wonderful thighs.

[shocked and confused] What?!

[points to the Hungarian] He hit me!

Drop your panties, Sir William! I cannot wait til' lunchtime!

Right! [drags the Hungarian away]

Ah! My nipples explode with delight!

GOOD EVENING! FIRST TAKE A BUNCH OF FLOWERS! [grabs flowers from the table] PRETTY BEGONIAS, IRISES, FREESIAS AND CRY-MANTHESUMS! THEN! ARRANGE THEM! NICELY! IN A VASE! [thrusts the flowers head downwards into the vase and stuffs them in wildly; he bangs them with a mallet in an attempt to get them all in] OH GET IN! GET IN!

Minister, in your plan, "A Better Britain For Us", you promised to build 88 thousand million billion houses a year in the greater London area alone. In fact, you've built only three in the last 15 years.

One day, I was sitting at home, threatening the kids, when this tank drives up. One of Dinsdale's boys gets out all nice and friendly like, and says Dinsdale wants to have a talk with me. So, he chains me to the back of the tank, and takes me for a scrape round to Dinsdale's place. Dinsdale's there in the conversation pit with Doug, Charles Paisley the Baby Crusher, a couple of film producers and a fellow called Kierkegaard who just sits there, biting the heads off whippets. And Dinsdale says 'I hear you've been a naughty boy, Clement', and he splits my nostrils open, saws my leg off and pulls my liver out. And I says, 'My name's not Clement', and then he loses his temper and nails my head to the floor.

Was there anything unusual about Dinsdale?

Certainly not! He was perfectly normal in every way! Except... inasmuch as he thought he was being followed by a giant hedgehog named Spiny Norman.

Doug and Dinsdale Piranha were born on probation in this house Kipling Road,Suffolk the eldest sons in a family of sixteen.Their father,Arthur Piranha a scrap metal dealer and local T.V. Quizmaster was known by the Police and a devout Catholic

Mr. Wentworth just told me to come in here and say that there was trouble at the mill, that's all--I didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition!

Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!