The Undertaker

MAN: (entering a shop) Um, excuse me, is this the undertaker`s? UNDERTAKER: Yup, that`s right, what can I do for you, squire? M: Um, well, I wonder if you can help me. My mother has just died and I`m not quite sure what I should do. U: Ah, well, we can `elp you. We deal with stiffs. M: (aghast) Stiffs? U: Yea. Now there`s three things we can do with your mum. We can bury her, burn her, or dump her. M: Dump her? U: Dump her in the Thames. M: (still aghast) What? U: Oh, did you like her? M: Yes! U: Oh well, we won`t dump her, then. Well, what do you think: burn her, or bury her? M: Um, well, um, which would you recommend? U: Well they`re both nasty. If we burn her, she gets stuffed in the flames, crackle, crackle, crackle, which is a bit of a shock if she`s not quite dead. But quick. And then you get a box of ashes, which you can pretend are hers. M: (timidly) Oh. U: Or, if you don`t wanna fry her, you can bury her. And then she`ll get eaten up by maggots and weevils, nibble, nibble, nibble, which isn`t so hot if, as I said, she`s not quite dead. M: I see. Um. Well, I.. I.. I.. I`m not very sure. She`s definitely dead. U: Where is she? M: In the sack. U: Let`s `ave a look. (FX: rustle of bag opening) U: Umm, she looks quite young. M: Yes, she was. U: (over his shoulder) FRED! F: (offstage) Yea! U: I THINK WE`VE GOT AN EATER! F: (offstage) I`ll get the oven on! M: Um, er...excuse me, um, are you... are you suggesting we should eat my mother? (pause) U: Yeah. Not raw, not raw. We cook her. She`d be delicious with a few french fries, a bit of stuffing. Delicious! (smacks his lips) M: What! (he stammers) (pause) M: Actually, I do feel a bit peckish - No! NO, I can`t! U: Look, we`ll eat your mum. Then, if you feel a bit guilty about it afterwards, we can dig a grave and you can throw up into it. M: All right.FISH LICENSE Customer: Hello, I would like to buy a fish license, please. Shopkeeper: A what? C: A license for my pet fish, Eric. S: How did you know my name was Eric? C: No no no, my fish`s name is Eric, Eric the fish. He`s an halibut. S: What? C: He is...an...halibut. S: You`ve got a pet halibut? C: Yes. I chose him out of thousands. I didn`t like the others, they were all too flat. S: You must be a looney. C: I am not a looney! Why should I be attired with the epithet looney merely because I have a pet halibut? I`ve heard tell that Sir Gerald Nabardo has a pet prawn called Simon (you wouldn`t call him a looney); furthermore, Dawn Pailthorpe, the lady show-jumper, had a clam, called Stafford, after the late Chancellor, Allan Bullock has two pikes, both called Chris, and Marcel Proust had an haddock! So, if you`re calling the author of `A la recherche du temps perdu` a looney, I shall have to ask you to step outside! S: Alright, alright, alright. A license. C: Yes. S: For a fish. C: Yes. S: You are a looney. C: Look, it`s a bleeding pet, isn`t it? I`ve got a license for me pet dog Eric, and I`ve got a license for me pet cat Eric... S: You don`t need a license for your cat. C: I bleeding well do and I got one. He can`t be called Eric without it-- S: There`s no such thing as a bloody cat license. C: Yes there is! S: Isn`t! C: Is! S: Isn`t! C: I bleeding got one, look! What`s that then? S: This is a dog license with the word `dog` crossed out and `cat` written in in crayon. C: The man didn`t have the right form. S: What man? C: The man from the cat detector van. S: The looney detector van, you mean. C: Look, it`s people like you what cause unrest. S: What cat detector van? C: The cat detector van from the Ministry of Housinge. S: Housinge? C: It was spelt like that on the van (I`m very observant!). I never seen so many bleeding aerials. The man said that their equipment could pinpoint a purr at four hundred yards! And Eric, being such a happy cat, was a piece of cake. S: How much did you pay for this? C: Sixty quid, and eight for the fruit-bat. S: What fruit-bat? C: Eric the fruit-bat. S: Are all your pets called Eric? C: There`s nothing so odd about that: Kemal Ataturk had an entire menagerie called Abdul! S: No he didn`t! C: Did! S: Didn`t! C: Did, did, did, did, did and did! S: Oh, all right. C: Spoken like a gentleman, sir. Now, are you going to give me a fish license? S: I promise you that there is no such thing: you don`t need one. C: In that case, give me a bee license. S: A license for your pet bee? C: Yes. S: Called Eric? Eric the Bee? C: No. S: No? C: No, Eric the Half-Bee. He had an accident. S: You`re off your chump. C: Look, if you intend by that utilization of an obscure colloquiallism to imply that my sanity is not up to scratch, or indeed to deny the semi-existence of my little chum Eric the Half-Bee, I shall have to ask you to listen to this! Take it away, Eric the orchestra leader!....... A one... two.... A one.. two.. three..four... [piano intro] Half a bee, philosophically, must, ipso facto, half not be. But half the bee has got to be, vis a vis its entity - do you see? But can a bee be said to be or not to be an entire bee when half the bee is not a bee due to some ancient injury? Singing... La dee dee, 1 2 3, Eric the half a bee. A B C D E F G, Eric the half a bee. Is this retched demi-bee, half asleep upon my knee, some freak from a menagerie? No! It`s Eric the half a bee. Fiddle dee dum, Fiddle dee dee, Eric the half bee. Ho ho ho, Tee hee hee, Eric the half a bee. I love this hive employee-ee-ee [with buzzing in background] bisected accidentally one summer afternoon by me I love him carnally. He loves him carnally... [together] ...semi-carnallyThe Architects Scene: A large posh office. Two clients, well-dressed city gents, sit facing a large table at which stands Mr. Tid, the account manager of the architectural firm. (original cast: Mr Tid, Graham Chapman; Mr Wiggin, John Cleese; City Gent One, Michael Palin; Client 2:, Terry Jones; Mr Wymer, Eric Idle) Mr. Tid (Graham Chapman): Well, gentlemen, we have two architectural designs for this new residential block of yours and I thought it best if the architects themselves explained the particular advantages of their designs. There is a knock at the door. Mr. Tid: Ah! That`s probably the first architect now. Come in. Mr. Wiggin enters. Mr. Wiggin (John Cleese): Good morning, gentlemen. Clients: Good morning. Mr. Wiggin: This is a 12-storey block combining classical neo-Georgian feature s 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.... Client 1: Excuse me. Mr. Wiggin: Yes? Client 1: Did you say `knives`? Mr. Wiggin: Rotating knives, yes. Client 2: Do I take it that you are proposing to slaughter our tenants? Mr. Wiggin: ...Does that not fit in with your plans? Client 1: Not really. We asked for a simple block of flats. Mr. Wiggin: Oh. I hadn`t fully divined your attitude towards the tenants. You see I mainly design slaughter houses. Clients: Ah. Mr. Wiggin: Pity. Clients: Yes. Mr. Wiggin: (indicating points of the model) 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. (confidentially) My life has been leading up to this. Client 2: Yes, and well done, but we wanted an apartment block. Mr. Wiggin: May I ask you to reconsider. Clients: Well.... Mr. Wiggin: You wouldn`t regret this. Think of the tourist trade. Client 1: I`m sorry. We want a block of flats, not an abattoir. Mr. Wiggin: ...I see. Well, of course, this is just the sort of blinkered philistine ignorance I`ve come to expect from you non-creative garbage. You sit there on your loathsome spotty behinds squeezing blackheads, not caring a tinker`s cuss for the struggling artist. 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 if you went down on your stinking knees and begged me. Client 2: We`re sorry you feel that way but we did want a block of flats, nice though the abattoir is. Mr. Wiggin: Oh sod the abattoir, that`s not important. (He dashes forward and kneels in front of them.) But if any of you could put in a word for me I`d love to be a mason. Masonry opens doors. I`d be very quiet, I was a bit on edge just now but if I were a mason I`d sit at the back and not get in anyone`s way. Client 1: (politely) Thank you. Mr. Wiggin: ...I`ve got a second-hand apron. Client 2: Thank you. (Mr. Wiggin hurries to the door but stops...) Mr. Wiggin: I nearly got in at Hendon. Client 1: Thank you. Mr. Wiggin exits. Mr Tid rises. Mr. Tid: I`m sorry about that. Now the second architect is Mr. Wymer of Wymer and Dibble. (Mr. Wymer enters, carrying his model with great care. He places it on the table.) Mr. Wymer: Good morning gentlemen. This is a scale model of the block, 28 stories high, with 280 apartments. It has three main lifts and two service lifts. Access would be from Dibbingley Road. (The model falls over. Mr Wymer quickly places it upright again.) The structure is built on a central pillar system with... (The model falls over again. Mr Wymer tries to make it stand up, but it won`t, so he has to hold it upright.) ...with cantilevered floors in pre-stressed steel and concrete. The dividing walls on each floor section are fixed by recessed magnalium-flanged grooves. (The bottom ten floors of the model give way and it partly collapses.) By avoiding wood and timber derivatives and all other inflammables we have almost totally removed the risk of.... (The model is smoking. The odd flame can be seen. Wymer looks at the city gents.) Frankly, I think the central pillar may need strengthening. Client 2: Is that going to put the cost up? Mr. Wymer: I`m afraid so. Client 2: I don`t know we need to worry too much about strengthening that. After all, these are not meant to be luxury flats. Client 1: Absolutely. If we make sure the tenants are of light build and relatively sedentary and if the weather`s on our side, I think we have a winner here. Mr. Wymer: Thank you. (The model explodes.) Client 2: I quite agree. Mr. Wymer: Well, thank you both very much. (They all shake hands, giving the secret Mason`s handshake.)The Cheese Shop Sketch (a customer walks in the door.) Customer: Good Morning. Owner: Good morning, Sir. Welcome to the National Cheese Emporium! Customer: Ah, thank you, my good man. Owner: What can I do for you, Sir? C: Well, I was, uh, sitting in the public library on Thurmon Street just now, skimming through "Rogue Herrys" by Hugh Walpole, and I suddenly came over all peckish. O: Peckish, sir? C: Esuriant. O: Eh? C: `Ee, Ah wor `ungry-loike! O: Ah, hungry! C: In a nutshell. And I thought to myself, "a little fermented curd will do the trick," so, I curtailed my Walpoling activites, sallied forth, and infiltrated your place of purveyance to negotiate the vending of some cheesy comestibles! O: Come again? C: I want to buy some cheese. O: Oh, I thought you were complaining about the bazouki player! C: Oh, heaven forbid: I am one who delights in all manifestations of the Terpsichorean muse! O: Sorry? C: `Ooo, Ah lahk a nice tuune, `yer forced too! O: So he can go on playing, can he? C: Most certainly! Now then, some cheese please, my good man. O: (lustily) Certainly, sir. What would you like? C: Well, eh, how about a little red Leicester. O: I`m, a-fraid we`re fresh out of red Leicester, sir. C: Oh, never mind, how are you on Tilsit? O: I`m afraid we never have that at the end of the week, sir, we get it fresh on Monday. C: Tish tish. No matter. Well, stout yeoman, four ounces of Caerphilly, if you please. O: Ah! It`s beeeen on order, sir, for two weeks. Was expecting it this morning. C: `T`s Not my lucky day, is it? Aah, Bel Paese? O: Sorry, sir. C: Red Windsor? O: Normally, sir, yes. Today the van broke down. C: Ah. Stilton? O: Sorry. C: Ementhal? Gruyere? O: No. C: Any Norweigan Jarlsburg, per chance. O: No. C: Lipta? O: No. C: Lancashire? O: No. C: White Stilton? O: No. C: Danish Brew? O: No. C: Double Goucester? O: No. C: Cheshire? O: No. C: Dorset Bluveny? O: No. C: Brie, Roquefort, Pol le Veq, Port Salut, Savoy Aire, Saint Paulin, Carrier de lest, Bres Bleu, Bruson? O: No. C: Camenbert, perhaps? O: Ah! We have Camenbert, yessir. C: (suprised) You do! Excellent. O: Yessir. It`s..ah,.....it`s a bit runny... C: Oh, I like it runny. O: Well,.. It`s very runny, actually, sir. C: No matter. Fetch hither the fromage de la Belle France! Mmmwah! O: I...think it`s a bit runnier than you`ll like it, sir. C: I don`t care how fucking runny it is. Hand it over with all speed. O: Oooooooooohhh........! C: What now? O: The cat`s eaten it. C: Has he. O: She, sir. (pause) C: Gouda? O: No. C: Edam? O: No. C: Case Ness? O: No. C: Smoked Austrian? O: No. C: Japanese Sage Darby? O: No, sir. C: You...do *have* some cheese, don`t you? O: (brightly) Of course, sir. It`s a cheese shop, sir. We`ve got-- C: No no... don`t tell me. I`m keen to guess. O: Fair enough. C: Uuuuuh, Wensleydale. O: Yes? C: Ah, well, I`ll have some of that! O: Oh! I thought you were talking to me, sir. Mister Wensleydale, that`s my name. (pause) C: Greek Feta? O: Uh, not as such. C: Uuh, Gorgonzola? O: no C: Parmesan, O: no C: Mozarella, O: no C: Paper Cramer, O: no C: Danish Bimbo, O: no C: Czech sheep`s milk, O: no C: Venezuelan Beaver Cheese? O: Not *today*, sir, no. (pause) C: Aah, how about Cheddar? O: Well, we don`t get much call for it around here, sir. C: Not much ca--It`s the single most popular cheese in the world! O: Not `round here, sir. C: and what IS the most popular cheese `round hyah? O: `Illchester, sir. C: IS it. O: Oh, yes, it`s staggeringly popular in this manor, squire. C: Is it. O: It`s our number one best seller, sir! C: I see. Uuh...`Illchester, eh? O: Right, sir. C: All right. Okay. `Have you got any?` he asked, expecting the answer `no`. O: I`ll have a look, sir... nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnno. C: It`s not much of a cheese shop, is it? O: Finest in the district! C: (annoyed) Explain the logic underlying that conclusion, please. O: Well, it`s so clean, sir! C: It`s certainly uncontaminated by cheese.... O: (brightly) You haven`t asked me about Limburger, sir. C: Would it be worth it? O: Could be.... C: Have you --SHUT THAT BLOODY BAZOUKI OFF! O: Told you sir.... C: (slowly) Have you got any Limburger? O: No. C: Figures. Predictable, really I suppose. It was an act of purest optimism to have posed the question in the first place. Tell me: O: Yessir? C: (deliberately) Have you in fact got any cheese here at all. O: Yes,sir. C: Really? (pause) O: No. Not really, sir. C: You haven`t. O: Nosir. Not a scrap. I was deliberately wasting your time,sir. C: Well I`m sorry, but I`m going to have to shoot you. O: Right-0, sir. The customer takes out a gun and shoots the owner. C: What a *senseless* waste of human life.The man who speaks in anagrams Palin: Hello, good evening and welcome to another edition of Blood Devastation Death War and Horror, and later on we`ll be meeting a man who *does* gardening. But first on the show we`ve got a man who speaks entirely in anagrams. Idle: Taht si crreoct. Palin: Do you enjoy it? Idle: I stom certainly od. Revy chum so. Palin: And what`s your name? Idle: Hamrag - Hamrag Yatlerot Palin: Well, Graham, nice to have you on the show. Now, where do you come from? Idle: Bumcreland. Palin: Cumberland? Idle: Stah`t it sepricely. Palin: And I believe you`re working on an anagram version of Shakespeare? Idle: Sey, sey - taht si crreoct, er - ta the mnemot I`m wroking on "The Mating of the Wersh". Palin: "The Mating of the Wersh"? By William Shakespeare? Idle: Nay, by Malliwi Rapesheake. Palin: And what else? Idle: "Two Netlemeng of Verona", "Twelfth Thing", "The Chamrent of Venice".... Palin: Have you done "Hamlet"? Idle: "Thamle". `Be ot or bot ne ot, tath is the nestquoi.` Palin: And what is your next project? Idle: "Ring Kichard the Thrid". Palin: I`m sorry? Idle: `A shroe! A shroe! My dingkom for a shroe!` Palin: Ah, Ring Kichard, yes... but surely that`s not an anagram, that`s a spoonerism. Idle: If you`re going to split hairs, I`m going to piss off. (Exit)