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****  The Rhubarb Tart song                                                ****
****  Transcribed 2/3/87 by                                                ****
****  Jonathan Partington ( [e-mail] )         ****


     THE RHUBARB TART SONG
     =====================

I want another slice of rhubarb tart.
I want another lovely slice.
I'm not disparaging the blueberry pie
But rhubarb tart is oh so very nice.
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb tart!
A whatbarb tart? A rhubarb tart!
I want another slice of rhubarb tart!

The principles of modern philosophy
Were postulated by Descartes.
Discarding everything he wasn't certain of
He said 'I think therefore I am a rhubarb tart.'
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb tart!
A Rene who? Rene Descartes!
Poor nut he thought he was a rhubarb tart!

Read all the existentialist philosophers,
Like Schopenhauer and Jean-Paul Sartre.
Even Martin Heidegger agrees on one thing:
Eternal happiness is rhubarb tart.
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb tart!
A Jean-Paul who? A Jean-Paul Sartre!
Eternal happiness is rhubarb tart.

A rhubarb tart has fascinated all the poets.
Especially the immortal bard.
He caused Richard the Third to call on Bosworth Field:
'My kingdom for a slice of rhubarb tart!'
A rhubarb what? A rhubarb bard!
Immortal what? Immortal tart!
As rhymes go that is really pretty bard!

                        -- John Cleese

To:               CLARINET@YALEVMX

--

**** Brave and Bold Sir Robin -- his song                                  ****
**** Transcribed, expressly for the python collection at BBoard@Yalevm     ****
**** from the memory of Malcolm <[e-mail]> Dickinson 4/6/86  ****
**** Corrections by Bret <[e-mail]> Shefter 2/6/87            ****

**** Transcript #9 from the film.                                          ****
**** Continued from transcript #8, FRENCH PYTHON                           ****
**** or from transcript #8A, STORY PYTHON.                                 ****


                 **    The Tale  of Sir Robin.    **

So, each of the knights went their separate ways.
Sir Robin rode north, through the dark forest of Ewing, accompanied by his
favorite minstrels.


Minstrel: song:

Bravely bold Sir Robin
Brought forth from Camelot.
He was not afraid to die,
Oh, brave Sir Robin!
He was not at all afraid to be killed in nasty ways.
Brave, brave, brave Sir Robin.

He was not in the least bit scared to be mashed into a pulp.
Or to have his eyes gouged out, and his elbows broken!
To have his kneecaps split, and his body burned away
And his limbs all hacked and mangled, brave Sir Robin.

His head smashed in and his heart cut out,
And his liver removed and his bowls unplugged,
And his nostrils raked and his bottom burnt off,
And his peni--

Robin:  That's...That's, uh...  That's enough music for now, lads.  It looks
like there's dirty work afoot.

As mysterious music comes up, Robin and his minstrels pass Dennis, from the
PEASANT sketch, and his wife.

Dennis: Anarcho-syndicism is a way of *preserving* freedom!
His Wife: Oh, Dennis, *forget* about freedom!  We 'aven't got enough mud!

They also pass three signs that read:
              _________________      _______________________
              (____ CAMELOT 43 )    ( CERTAIN DEATH 1 ______)
                  ( CAMELOT 43 )    ( CERTAIN DEATH 1 )
                  ( CAMELOT 43 )    ( CERTAIN DEATH 1 )
                  (____________)    (_________________)

A little further on, he passes on the far side of a tree, on which, on the
near side, three knights are impaled on a single lance.

Suddenly, just as Sir Robin is at his most nervous:
-------- at this point, the movie and album go their separate ways: -----------

--------------------------------in the movie-----------------------------------
Three headed knight: HALT!!!  WHO ART THOU???
Minstrel:            He is brave Sir Robin, brave Sir Robin,
                     Who--
Robin:               Shut up!!! (to the knight)  Um, n-n-nobody, really, I-I-I-
                     J-Just, um, j-just  passing through.
Three headed knight: WHAT DO YOU WANT???
Minstrel:            To fight, and--
Robin:               SHUT UP!!!  Um, ooh, n-nothing, nothing, really, I-I-I,
                     j-just, just to, um, just to...  p-p-pass through, good
                     sir knight?
Three headed knight: I'M AFRAID NOT!!!
Robin:               Ah. (pause) Well, actually, I...I am a knight of the
                     round table....
Three-headed knight: You're a knight of the Round Table???
Robin:               I am.

Three-headed knight:
Left:    In that case I shall have to kill you.
Middle:  Shall I?
Right:   Oh, I don't think so.
Middle:  Well what do I think?
Left:    I think, kill it!
Right:   Oh, Let's be nice to him.
Left:    Oh, shut up!
Middle:  Perhaps...
Left:    And you!  Quick, get the sword out, I want to cut 'is head off!
Right:   Oh, cut your own head off.
Middle:  Yes, do us all a favor!
Left:    What?!!
Right:   Yappin' on, all the time...
Middle:  You're lucky; you're not next to him!
Left:    What d'you mean??
Middle:  You SNORE!
Left:    Ooh, I don't!  Anyway, you've got bad breath!
Middle:  Well it's only 'cause you don't brush my teeth!
Right:   Oh, stop bitching and let's go and have tea!
Left:    All right, all right, all right.  We'll kill him first, and then have
         tea and biscuits.
Middle:  Yes.
Right:   Oh, Not biscuits.
Left:    All right, all right, not biscuits, but let's KILL HIM ANYWAY.
All:     RIGHT.
(pause: the three look around.  No one is there.)

---------------------------------on the album----------------------------------
Voice over:  YES!!  It was the dreaded Three Headed Knight, the fiercest
             creature for *yards* around!
             For second....  after second..., Robin held his own, but the
             onslaught proved too much for the brave knight.  Scarcely was
             his armor damp, when Robin suddenly, dramatically, changed his
             tactics!
---------------------record and film in agreement again------------------------

Left: 'E's backed off!
Right: So 'e has, 'e's scarfed!


Minstrel:                               Robin:

Brave Sir Robin ran away.               No!
Bravely ran away away....               I didn't!
When Danger reared its ugly head,
He bravely turned his tail and fled     No!!
Yes brave Sir Robin turned about        I didn't!
And gallantly chickened out..

Bravely taking to his feet              I never did!
He beat a very brave retreat            All lies!
Brave as ??-??, brave Sir Robin!        I never!

Voice over from the album:  Meanwhile, King Arthur and Sir Bedevere, not more
                            than a swallow's flight away, had discovered
                            something.

**** continued in transcript #10, NI PYTHON.                               ****

**** end of file ROBIN PYTHON 4/6/86 M.M.D.                                ****

--

****   ROCK NOTES                                                          ****
****   from Monty Python's Contractual Obligations Album                   ****
****   transcribed May, 1986 and uploaded to CMS January 1987              ****
****   by R. "Gumby" Preston ( [e-mail] )                       ****

Newscaster:

Rex Stardust, lead electric triangle with Toad the Wet Sprocket has had to
have an elbow removed following their recent successful worldwide tour of
Finland. Flamboyant ambidextrous Rex apparently fell off the back of a
motorcycle. "Fell off the back of a motorcyclist, most likely," quipped ace
drummer Jumbo McCluney upon hearing of the accident. Plans are already
afoot for a major tour of Iceland.

Divorced after only eight minutes, popular television singing star, Charisma,
changed her mind on the way out of the registry office, when she realized
she had married one of the Donkeys by mistake. The evening before in LA's
glittering nightspot, the Abitoir, she had proposed to drummer Reg Abbot
of Blind Drunk, after a whirlwind romance and a knee-trembler. But when
the hangover lifted, it was Keith Sly of the Donkeys who was on her arm
in the registry office.  Keith, who was too ill to notice, remained
unsteady during the short ceremony and when asked to exchange vows, began
to recite names and addresses of people who also used the stuff. Charisma
spotted the error as Keith was being carried into the wedding ambulance
and became emotionally upset. However, the mistake was soon cleared
up, and she stayed long enough to consummate their divorce.

Dead Monkeys are to split up again, according to their manager, Lefty
Goldblatt.  They've been in the business now ten years, nine as other
groups.  Originally the Dead Salmon, they became for a while, Trout.
Then Fried Trout, then Poached Trout In A White Wine Sauce, and finally,
Herring.  Splitting up for nearly a month, the re-formed as Red Herring,
which became Dead Herring for a while, and then Dead Loss, which reflected
the current state of the group.  Splitting up again to get their heads
together, they reformed a fortnight later as Heads Together, a tight little
name which lasted them through a difficult period when their drummer was
suspected of suffering from death.  It turned out to be only a rumor and
they became Dead Together, then Dead Gear, which lead to Dead Donkeys,
Lead Donkeys, and the inevitable split up.  After nearly ten days, they
reformed again as Sole Manier, then Dead Sole, Rock Cod, Turbot, Haddock,
White Baith, the Places, Fish, Bream, Mackerel, Salmon, Poached Salmon,
Poached Salmon In A White Wine Sauce, Salmon-monia, and Helen Shapiro.
This last name, their favorite, had to be dropped following an injunction
and they split up again.  When they reformed after a recordbreaking two
days, they ditched the fishy references and became Dead Monkeys, a name
which they stuck with for the rest of their careers. Now, a fortnight
later, they've finally split up.
(telephone ringing)
Hello.
"Hello"
Yes?
"What do you think of Dead Duck?"
What do I think of Dead Duck?
"or Lobster?"
Lobster?...

--

****  The Ovine Aviation sketch                                            ****
****  From the first Monty Python's Flying Circus episode ever!!!          ****
****  Transcribed 4/12/86 by (guess who?)                                  ****
****  Bret "Yup, again" Shefter ( [e-mail] )                  ****
****  Text first received from Leon Marr, whose userid is so secret that   ****
****  even his mother knows it!                                            ****


                            Ovine Aviation

(A tourist approaches a shepherd.  The sounds of sheep and the outdoors
are heard.)

Tourist: Good afternoon.
Shephrd: Eh, 'tis that.
Tourist: You here on holiday?
Shephrd: Nope, I live 'ere.
Tourist: Oh, good for you.  Uh...those ARE sheep aren't they?
Shephrd: Yeh.
Tourist: Hmm, thought they were.  Only, what are they doing up in the trees?
Shephrd: A fair question, and one that in recent weeks 'as been much on my
         mind.  It's my considered opinion that they're nestin'.
Tourist: Nesting?
Shephrd: Aye.
Tourist: Like birds?
Shephrd: Exactly.  It's my belief that these sheep are laborin' under the
         misappre'ension that they're birds.  Observe their be'avior.  Take for
         a start the sheeps' tendency to 'op about the field on their 'ind
         legs.  Now witness their attempts to fly from tree to tree.  Notice
         that they do not so much fly as...plummet.

<Baaa baaa...flap flap flap...whoosh...Thud.>

Tourist: Yes, but why do they think they're birds?
Shephrd: Another fair question.  One thing is for sure, the sheep is not a
         creature of the air.  They have enormous difficulty in the
         comparatively simple act of perchin'.
<Baaa baaa...flap flap flap...whoosh...thud.>
         Trouble is, sheep are very dim.  Once they get an idea in their
         'eads, there's no shiftin' it.
Tourist: But where did they get the idea?
Shephrd: From Harold.  He's that most dangerous of creatures, a clever sheep.
         'E's realized that a sheep's life consists of standin' around for a
         few months and then bein' eaten.  And that's a depressing prospect for
         an ambitious sheep.
Tourist: Well why don't just remove Harold?
Shephrd: Because of the enormous commercial possibilities if 'e succeeds.

--

**** "Sit on my Face"                                                      ****
**** from "Monty Python Live at the Hollywood Bowl"                        ****
**** Transcribed by Dave Bregman ( [e-mail] )                 ****

                          Sit on My Face


Sit on my face, and tell me that you love me.
I'll sit on your face and tell you I love you, too.
I love to hear you moralize,
When I'm between your thighs;
You blow me away!

Sit on my face and let my lips embrace you.
I'll sit on your face and let my love be truly.
Life can be fine if we both sixty-nine,
And we'll sit on our faces in all sorts of places and play,
'Till we're blown away!

--

****  The Spam Sketch                                                      ****
****  From the second series of "Monty Python's Flying Circus"             ****
****  Transcribed 9/17/87 from "Monty Python's Previous Record" by         ****
****  Jonathan Partington ( [e-mail] )                           ****


(Spam = Spiced Pork And Ham, a sort of cheap luncheon meat)

Scene:  A cafe.  One table is occupied by a group of Vikings with horned
        helmets on.  A man and his wife enter.

Man (Eric Idle): You sit here, dear.
Wife (Graham Chapman in drag): All right.
Man (to Waitress): Morning!
Waitress (Terry Jones, in drag as a bit of a rat-bag): Morning!
Man:      Well, what've you got?
Waitress: Well, there's egg and bacon; egg sausage and bacon; egg and spam;
          egg bacon and spam; egg bacon sausage and spam; spam bacon sausage
          and spam; spam egg spam spam bacon and spam; spam sausage spam spam
          bacon spam tomato and spam;
Vikings (starting to chant): Spam spam spam spam...
Waitress: ...spam spam spam egg and spam; spam spam spam spam spam spam baked
          beans spam spam spam...
Vikings (singing):  Spam!  Lovely spam!  Lovely spam!
Waitress:  ...or Lobster Thermidor a Crevette with a mornay sauce served in a
          Provencale manner with shallots and aubergines garnished with
          truffle pate, brandy and with a fried egg on top and spam.
Wife:     Have you got anything without spam?
Waitress: Well, there's spam egg sausage and spam, that's not got much spam in
          it.
Wife:     I don't want ANY spam!
Man:      Why can't she have egg bacon spam and sausage?
Wife:     THAT'S got spam in it!
Man:      Hasn't got as much spam in it as spam egg sausage and spam, has it?
Vikings:  Spam spam spam spam (crescendo through next few lines)
Wife:     Could you do the egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam then?
Waitress: Urgghh!
Wife:     What do you mean 'Urgghh'? I don't like spam!
Vikings:  Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!)
Waitress: Shut up!
Vikings:  Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!
Waitress: Shut up!  (Vikings stop) Bloody Vikings!  You can't have egg bacon
          spam and sausage without the spam.
Wife (shrieks): I don't like spam!
Man:      Sshh, dear, don't cause a fuss.  I'll have your spam.  I love it.
          I'm having spam spam spam spam spam spam spam beaked beans spam spam
          spam and spam!
Vikings (singing):  Spam spam spam spam.  Lovely spam!  Wonderful spam!
Waitress: Shut up!! Baked beans are off.
Man:      Well could I have her spam instead of the baked beans then?
Waitress: You mean spam spam spam spam spam spam...  (but it is too late and
          the Vikings drown her words)
Vikings (singing elaborately):  Spam spam spam spam.  Lovely spam!  Wonderful
          spam!  Spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam.  Lovely spam!
          Lovely spam!  Lovely spam!  Lovely spam!  Lovely spam!  Spam spam
          spam spam!


****  end of file SPAM PYTHON  9/18/87 ****
From:       [e-mail]
To:         Clarinet@YALEVM

--

****  The Spanish Inquisition Sketch                                       ****
****  From "Monty Python's Flying Circus" and "And Now for Something       ****
****  Completely Different"                                                ****
****  Transcribed by Jonathan Partington                                   ****
****  ( [e-mail] )  4/12/87                    ****
****  Edited by Malcolm Dickinson ( [e-mail] )  9/18/87      ****


Graham Chapman:  Trouble at mill.
Carol Cleveland: Oh no - what kind of trouble?
Chapman:   One on't cross beams gone owt askew on treddle.
Cleveland: Pardon?
Chapman:   One on't cross beams gone owt askew on treddle.
Cleveland: I don't understand what you're saying.
Chapman:   (slightly irritatedly and with exaggeratedly clear accent)
           One of the cross beams has gone out askew on the treddle.
Cleveland: Well what on earth does that mean?
Chapman:   *I* don't know - 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.

(JARRING CHORD)
(The door flies open and Cardinal Ximinez of Spain (Palin) enters, flanked by
two junior cardinals.  Cardinal Biggles (Jones) has goggles pushed over his
forehead.  Cardinal Fang (Gilliam) is just Cardinal Fang)

Ximinez: NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition!  Our chief weapon is
         suprise...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.  (Exit and exeunt)

Chapman: I didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition.

(JARRING CHORD)
(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!  (To
         Cardinal Biggles) I can't say it - you'll have to say it.
Biggles: What?
Ximinez: You'll have to say the bit about 'Our chief weapons are ...'
Biggles: (rather horrified): I couldn't do that...
(Ximinez bundles the cardinals outside again)

Chapman: I didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition.

(JARRING CHORD)
(The cardinals enter)
Biggles: Er.... Nobody...um....
Ximinez: Expects...
Biggles: Expects... Nobody expects the...um...the Spanish...um...
Ximinez: Inquisition.
Biggles: I know, I know!  Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.  In fact,
         those who do expect -
Ximinez: Our chief weapons are...
Biggles: Our chief weapons are...um...er...
Ximinez: Surprise...
Biggles: Surprise and --
Ximinez: Okay, stop.  Stop.  Stop there - stop there.  Stop.  Phew! Ah!
         ...our chief weapons are surprise...blah blah blah.  Cardinal,
         read the charges.
Fang:    You are hereby charged that you did on diverse dates commit heresy
         against the Holy Church.  'My old man said follow the--'
Biggles:   That's enough. (To Cleveland) Now, how do you plead?
Cleveland: We're innocent.
Ximinez:   Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!

(Superimposed caption: 'DIABOLICAL LAUGHTER')

Biggles: We'll soon change your mind about that!

(Superimposed caption: 'DIABOLICAL ACTING')

Ximinez: Fear, surprise, and a most ruthless--  (controls himself with a
         supreme effort) Ooooh!  Now, Cardinal -- the rack!

(Biggles produces a plastic-coated dish-drying rack.  Ximinez looks at it and
clenches his teeth in an effort not to lose control.  He hums heavily to cover
his anger)

Ximinez: You....Right!  Tie her down.

(Fang and Biggles make a pathetic attempt to tie her on to the drying rack)

Ximinez:   Right! How do you plead?
Cleveland: Innocent.
Ximinez:   Ha!  Right!  Cardinal, give the rack (oh dear) give the rack a turn.

(Biggles stands their awkwardly and shrugs his shoulders)

Biggles: I....
Ximinez: (gritting his teeth) I *know*, I know you can't.  I didn't want to say
         anything.  I just wanted to try and ignore your crass mistake.
Biggles: I...
Ximinez: It makes it all seem so stupid.
Biggles: Shall I...?
Ximinez: No, just pretend for God's sake.  Ha! Ha! Ha!

(Biggles turns an imaginary handle on the side of the dish-rack)

(Cut to them torturing a dear old lady, Marjorie Wilde).

Ximinez: Now, old woman -- you are accused of heresy on three counts -- heresy
         by thought, heresy by word, heresy by deed, and heresy by action --
         *four* counts.  Do you confess?
Wilde:   I don't understand what I'm accused of.
Ximinez: Ha!  Then we'll make you understand!  Biggles!  Fetch...THE CUSHIONS!

(JARRING CHORD)
(Biggles holds out two ordinary modern household cushions)

Biggles: Here they are, lord.
Ximinez: Now, old lady -- you have one last chance.  Confess the heinous sin
         of heresy, reject the works of the ungodly -- *two* last chances.  And
         you shall be free -- *three* last chances.  You have three last
         chances, the nature of which I have divulged in my previous utterance.
Wilde:   I don't know what you're talking about.
Ximinez: Right!  If that's the way you want it -- Cardinal!  Poke her with the
         soft cushions!

(Biggles carries out this rather pathetic torture)

Ximinez: Confess! Confess! Confess!
Biggles: It doesn't seem to be hurting her, lord.
Ximinez: Have you got all the stuffing up one end?
Biggles: Yes, lord.
Ximinez  (angrily hurling away the cushions):  Hm!  She is made of harder
         stuff!  Cardinal Fang!  Fetch...THE COMFY CHAIR!

(JARRING CHORD)
(Zoom into Fang's horrified face)

Fang (terrified): The...Comfy Chair?

(Biggles pushes in a comfy chair -- a really plush one)

Ximinez: So you think you are strong because you can survive the soft
         cushions.  Well, we shall see.  Biggles!  Put her in the Comfy Chair!

(They roughly push her into the Comfy Chair)

Ximinez (with a cruel leer): Now -- you will stay in the Comfy Chair until
                             lunch time, with only a cup of coffee at eleven.
                             (aside, to Biggles) Is that really all it is?
Biggles: Yes, lord.
Ximinez: I see.  I suppose we make it worse by shouting a lot, do we?
         Confess, woman.  Confess!  Confess!  Confess!  Confess!
Biggles: I confess!
Ximinez: Not you!

**** end of file SPANISH PYTHON 9/18/87 ****
From:       [e-mail]
To:         Clarinet@YALEVM

--

****     EVERY SPERM IS SACRED (Michael Palin & Terry Jones)               ****
****     by Michael Palin and Terry Jones                                  ****
****     from Monty Python's "The Meaning of Life"                         ****
****     Transcribed by Dave Bregman ( [e-mail] )             ****


There are Jews in the world, there are Buddhists,
there are Hindus and Mormons and then
there are those that follow Mohammed  -but-
I've never been one of them.
I am a Roman Catholic
and have been since before I was born,
and the one thing they say about Catholics is
they'll take you as soon as you're warm.
You don't have to be a six-footer.
You don't have to have a great brain.
You don't have to have any clothes on, you're
a Catholic the moment dad came
...Because...
Every sperm is sacred,
every sperm is great,
If a sperm is wasted,
God gets quite irate.  (2x)
Let the heathens spill theirs,
on the dusty ground.
God shall make them pay for
each sperm that can't be found.
Every sperm is wanted,
every sperm is good.
Every sperm is needed,
in your neighborhood.
Hindu, Taoist, Mormon,
spill theirs just anywhere
but God loves those who treat their
semen with more care.
(misc choruses)
Every sperm is useful,
every sperm is fine.
God needs everybodies,
mine, and mine, and mine.
Let the pagans spill theirs
on mountain hill and plain.
God shall strike them down for
each sperm that's spilled in vain.
(misc. choruses and finale)

--

****   The Stoning scene from "Monty Python's Life of Brian"              ****
****   Transcribed 4/29/86 by Dwayne A. X. E. E. ( CS107124@YUSOL )        ****

(The Stoning Place.  A Jewish OFFICIAL stands there, with some helpers,
 confronting the potential stonee, MATTHIAS.  A large crowd watches.  90% are
 women in beards.  Around the perimeter are a few Roman troops.)

Official:  Matthias, son of Deuteronomy of Gath ...
Matthias:  (to Official's Helper): Do I say "Yes"?
Official's Helper: Yes.
Matthias:  Yes.
Official:  You have been found guilty by the elders of the town of uttering the
           name of our Lord and so as a blasphemer you are to be stoned to
           death.
Matthias:  Look, I'd had a lovely supper and all I said to my wife was, "That
           piece
Official:  Blasphemy!  He's said it again.
Women:     Yes, he did.
Official:  Did you hear him?
Women:     Yes we did.  Really.
Official:  (suspiciously) Are there any women here today?

(The women all shake their heads.  The Official faces Matthias again.)

Official:  Very well, by virtue of the authority vested in me ...

(One of the women throws a stone and it hits Matthias on the knee.)

Matthias:  Ow. Lay off.  We haven't started yet.
Official:  (turning around) Come on, who threw that?

(Silence.)
           Who threw that stone?  Come on.
Women:     (pointing to the culprit, keeping their voices as low in pitch as
           they can)
           She did.
           *He did.*
           He. Him.
Culprit:   (very deep voice) Sorry, I thought we'd started.
Official:  Go to the back.
Culprit:   Oh dear.
           (disappointedly goes to back)
Official:  There's always one, isn't there?  Now, where were we? ...
Matthias:  Look.  I don't think it ought to be blasphemy, just saying
           "Jehovah!"

(Sensation!!!!  The women gasp.)

Women:    (high voices) He said it again.
          (low voices)  He said it again.
Official: (to Matthias) You're only making it worse for yourself.
Matthias: Making it worse?  How can it be worse?  Jehovah, Jehovah, Jehovah.

(Great Sensation!!!!!!)

Official:  I'm warning you.  If you say "Jehovah" once more ...
           (He gasps at his error and claps his hand over his mouth.  A stone
           hits him on the side of the head.  He reacts.)
           Right!  Who threw that?
Women:     (high voices)
           It was her.
           It was *him*.
           (low voices)
           It was him.
Official:  Was it you?
Culprit:  Yes.
Official:  All right.
Culprit:  Well, you did say "Jehovah."

(The women all shriek and throw stones at her from very close range.  She falls
 to the ground stunned.  Quick cut of Romans reacting.  They shake their heads
 and mutter to each other.)

Official:  Stop that.  Stop it, will you stop that.  Now look, no one is to
           stone anyone until I blow this whistle.  *Even*...and I want to
           make this absolutely clear...*even* if they *do* say "Jehovah."

(There is a pause.  Then all the women throw stones at the Official and he
 goes down in a heap.  Five women carry a huge rock, run up and drop it on the
 Official.  Everyone claps.  The guards sadly shake their heads.)

*****   Here endeth Part Four of Life of Brian (of Nazareth)    *****
*****   Please send your comments, praise, complaints or        *****
*****   copyright infringement lawsuits to ...                  *****
*****   Dwayne A. X. E. E. (<CS107124@YUSOL>)                   *****

--

****                   The Story of the Film So Far                        ****

****  from the Album of the Soundtrack of the Trailer of the Film of       ****
****  "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"                                    ****
****  Transcribed by Malcolm Dickinson '89 ( [e-mail] )      ****
****  10/30/86                                                             ****

**** Transcript #8A from the Album; this scene follows                     ****
**** transcript #8, FRENCH PYTHON.                                         ****


The Story of the Film So Far:

Doug and Bob are metropolitan policemen with a difference.  Doug likes
nothing more than slipping into little cocktail frocks, while Bob bouffants
his hair for a night on duty.  Still, as the art immace, no one gives their
last names.


The *Real* Story of the Film So Far:

Pucky Reginald Vas Deferens is a nuclear scientist in love with mafia boss
Enrico Marx, who is himself married to Conchito Macbeth, a lively belly-dancer
at the Belgian disco whose manager, Burly Ivan Crapp, has a naked daughter
Janice engaged to J.J. Spinman, New York private detective, employed by
elegant Laura Herron to trace the missing million-pound bidet that Hitler
gave to Eva Brown as a bar mitzvah present during a state visit to Crufts, and
which remained hidden until a World Cup referee, Horse Jenkenson, was found
hanged in a New Jersey tenement with the plans of a Russian secret weapon
partially tatooed on his elbow.

In Brisbon, the Brain brothers, Nicky and Vance, torture a Mayfair
psychologist, who reveals to Dora Brain in a tender and emotional death scene
that his hair is not his own.

Meanwhile, the Kent Touring Eleven have trapped husky Matilda Tritt on a
sticky near Hastings, and she reveals all before enforcing the follow army.

Peter Niesewand and Cyril Garfunkel arrive just in time with the Welsh Police,
and the Harry Orchestra, and proceed to sing a love song which allows Dr.
Indira McNorton *just* enough time to cross the alps into Geneva, where he
meets Kon Rapp, a kung fu fanatic and cat lover, who frivilously shoots him,
but not before introducing him to lively intelligent Norweigan widow Lanny
Krimt, who shows him her inner thighs, where he finds the address of a good
French restaurant, and unexpectedly meets Gabriello Machismo, an ex-Korean
plastic surgeon whose frankly blond assistant Sally Lesbitt is now the
half-brother of a distant cousin of Ray Vorn Ding-ding-a-dong, the Eurovision
song, and *owner* of the million-pound bidet given by Hitler to Eva Brown as a
bar mitzvah present during a state visit to Crufts, and which remained hidden,
etc. etc. etc.

This they now do.

Meanwhile, Harold and Victor Medway III discover a newfound love for each
other in an flashback near Devon, where they meet up with Doug and Bob, the
metropolitan policemen who suprisingly turn out to be in this film at all, who
kill everyone, and live happily ever after.


**** continued in trancript #9, ROBIN PYTHON.                              ****

**** end of file STORY PYTHON 10/13/86 M.M.D.                              ****

--

****  The string sketch                                                    ****
****  Transcribed from "The Instant Monty Python Record Collection"        ****
****  by Malcolm Dickinson ( [e-mail] )   4/5/86.            ****


Adrian Wapcaplet:  Aah, come in, come in, Mr....Simpson.  Aaah, welcome to
    Mousebat, Follicle, Goosecreature, Ampersand, Spong, Wapcaplet, Looseliver,
    Vendetta and Prang!
Mr. Simpson: Thank you.
Wapcaplet: Do sit down--my name's Wapcaplet, Adrian Wapcaplet...
Mr. Simpson: how'd'y'do.
Wapcaplet: Now, Mr. Simpson... Simpson, Simpson... French, is it?
S: No.
W: Aah.  Now, I understand you want us to advertise your washing powder.
S: String.
W: String, washing powder, what's the difference.  We can sell *anything*.
S: Good.  Well I have this large quantity of string, a hundred and twenty-two
   thousand *miles* of it to be exact, which I inherited, and I thought if I
   advertised it--
W: Of course!  A national campaign.  Useful stuff, string, no trouble there.
S: Ah, but there's a snag, you see.  Due to bad planning, the hundred and
   twenty-two thousand miles is in three inch lengths.  So it's not very
   useful.
W: Well, that's our selling point!
   "SIMPSON'S INDIVIDUAL STRINGETTES!"
S: What?
W: "THE NOW STRING!  READY CUT, EASY TO HANDLE, SIMPSON'S INDIVIDUAL EMPEROR
    STRINGETTES - JUST THE RIGHT LENGTH!"
S: For what?
W: "A MILLION HOUSEHOLD USES!"
S: Such as?
W: Uhmm...Tying up very small parcels, attatching notes to pigeons' legs, uh,
   destroying household pests...
S: Destroying household pests?!  How?
W: Well, if they're bigger than a mouse, you can strangle them with it, and if
   they're smaller than, you flog them to death with it!
S: Well *surely*!....
W: "DESTROY NINETY-NINE PERCENT OF KNOWN HOUSEHOLD PESTS WITH PRE-SLICED,
   RUSTPROOF, EASY-TO-HANDLE, LOW CALORIE SIMPSON'S INDIVIDUAL EMPEROR
   STRINGETTES, FREE FROM ARTIFICIAL COLORING, AS USED IN HOSPITALS!"
S: 'Ospitals!?!?!?!!?
W: Have you ever in a Hospital where they didn't have string?
S: No, but it's only *string*!
W: ONLY STRING?!  It's everything!  It's...it's waterproof!
S: No it isn't!
W: All right, it's water resistant then!
S: It isn't!
W: All right, it's water absorbent!  It's...Super Absorbent String!
   "ABSORB WATER TODAY WITH SIMPSON'S INDIVIDUAL WATER ABSORB-A-TEX
    STRINGETTES!  AWAY WITH FLOODS!"
S: You just said it was waterproof!
W: "AWAY WITH THE DULL DRUDGERY OF WORKADAY TIDAL WAVES!  USE SIMPSON'S
    INDIVIDUAL FLOOD PREVENTERS!"
S: You're mad!
W: Shut up, shut up, shut up!  Sex, sex sex, must get sex into it.  Wait,
   I see a television commercial-

   There's this nude woman in a bath holding a bit of your string.  That's
   great, great, but we need a doctor, got to have a medical opinion.

   There's a nude woman in a bath with a doctor--that's too sexy.  Put an
   archbishop there watching them, that'll take the curse off it.  Now, we
   need children and animals.

   There's two kids admiring the string, and a dog admiring the archbishop
   who's blessing the string.  Uhh...international flavor's missing...make the
   archbishop Greek Orthodox.  Why not Archbishop Macarios?  No, no, he's
   dead... nevermind, we'll get his brother, it'll be cheaper... So, there's
   this nude woman....

--

**** The opening scene from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"              ****
**** Transcribed from the film by                                          ****
**** Malcolm Dickinson ( [e-mail] )  on 12/1/86,             ****
**** expressly for use of the BBOARD@YALEVM Python Collection              ****

**** This is Transcript #1 from the movie                                  ****

     The film begins.  Out of a dense fog trots Arthur, accompanied on two
     empty coconut halves by his trusty servant, Patsy.  They approach a
     castle.  Suddenly a guard appears atop a high rampart.

Guard:  Halt!  Who goes there?
Arthur: It is I, Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, from the castle of Camelot.
        King of the Britons, defeater of the Saxons, sovereign of all England!
Guard:  Who's the other one?
Arthur: I am, and this is my trusty servant Patsy.  We have ridden the length
        and breadth of the land in search of knights who will join me in my
        court at Camelot.  I must speak with your lord and master.
Guard:  What, ridden on a horse?
Arthur: Yes.
Guard:  You're using coconuts!
Arthur: What?
Guard:  You've got two empty 'alves of coconuts and you're bangin' 'em
        together!
Arthur: So?    We have ridden since the snows of winter covered this land.
        Through the kingdom of Mercia, through...
Guard:  Where'd you get the coconuts?
Arthur: (somewhat taken aback) We found them.
Guard:  Found them?  In Mercia?  The coconut's tropical!
Arthur: What do you mean?
Guard:  This is a temperate zone!
Arthur: The swallow may fly south with the sun, or the house maarten or the
        plummer may seek warmer climes in winter, but these are not strangers
        to our land!
Guard:  Are you suggesting that coconuts migrate?
Arthur: Not at all!  They could be carried.
Guard:  (indcredulous) What, a swallow, carrying a coconut?
Arthur: It could grip it by the husk!
Guard:  It's not a question of where 'e grips it!  It's a simple question of
        weight ratios!  A five-ounce bird could *not* carry a one-pound
        coconut!
Arthur: (exasperated)
        Well it doesn't matter!  Will you go and tell your master that Arthur
        from the court of Camelot is here!

(pause)

Guard:  Listen.  In order to maintain air-speed velocity, a swallow needs to
        beat its wings forty-three times every second, right?

Arthur: Please!
Guard:  (patiently)   Am I right.
Arthur: I'm not interested!

       ( A second guard appears on the rampart. )

G2:     It could be carried by an African swallow!
G1:     Oh, yeah, an African swallow, maybe, but not a European swallow, that's
        my point.
G2:     Oh, yeah, I agree with that.
Arthur: (extremely exasperated) Will you ask your master if he wants to join
        my court at Camelot!!

(pause)

G1:     But then of course, African swallows are non-migratory.
G2:     Oh yeah...

(Arthur and Patsy give up and trot away)

G1:     So they couldn't bring a coconut back anyway.
G2:     Wait a minute!  Supposing *two* swallows carried it together!
G1:     Nooo..... They'd have to have it on a line...
G2:     Well, simple!  They'd just use a strand of creeper!
G1:     What, held under the dorsal guiding feathers?
G2:     Well, why not?

****   continued in DEAD PYTHON, transcript #2 in the movie                ****

****   end of file SWALLOW PYTHON      12/1/86 MMD                         ****

--

****  The Tale of Sir Launcelot: SWAMP PYTHON                              ****
****  From "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"                               ****
****  Laboriously plagiarized by Bret "zzzz...." Shefter                   ****
****  ( [e-mail] ) on the tenth day of April in the year of   ****
****  our Bret 1986                                                        ****
****  Laboriously corrected by Malcolm Dickinson                           ****
****  ( [e-mail] )  10/30/86 and a bit more again on 3/11/87 ****

****  Transcript #12 from the Film                                         ****
****  Continued from the middle of transcript #10, NI PYTHON               ****


                      THE TALE OF SIR LAUNCELOT

As Sir Launcelot, the boldest and most expensive of the knights, lost his way
in the Forest of Ewing, at nearby Swamp Castle, a celebration was underway.


Setting: A small garret room in the Tall Tower of Swamp Castle.
         The King and his son the Prince.

King: (gesturing expansively out the window) One day, lad, *all* this will be
      yours.
Son:  What, the curtains?
King: No, not the curtains, lad!  All that you can see, stretched out over the
      'ills and valleys of this land.  That'll be your kindom, lad.
Son:  But, Mother...
King: Father, lad, Father.
Son:  But, Father, I don't want any of that.
King: Listen, lad:  I built this kingdom up from nuthin'.  When I started
      here, all of this was swamp!  Other kings said it was *daft* to build a
      castle in a swamp, but I built it all the same, just to show 'em!  It
      sank into the swamp.  SO, I built a second one!  That sank into the
      swamp.  So I built a *third* one.  That burned down, fell over, *then*
      sank into the swamp.  But the fourth one......stayed up.  And that's what
      you're gonna get, lad:  the *strongest* castle in these islands.
Son:  But I don't want any of that! I'd rather...
King: Rather what?
Son:  I'd rather...just...sing!......
      <music up>
King: Stop that!  Stop that!  You're not going into a song while I'm here!
      <music dies away>
      Now, listen, lad.  In twenty minutes you're gettin' married to a girl
      whose father owns the biggest *tracts* of open land in England.
Son:  But I don't want land!
King: Listen, Alice...
Son:  'Erbert...
King: 'Erbert.  We live in a bloody swamp!  We need all the land we can get!!
Son:  But... but I don't *like* 'er!
King: don't like 'er?!?  What's wrong with 'er?  She's...  beautiful, she's...
      *rich*, she's got...  HUGE.............  tracts o' land...
Son:  Ah...ah know.  But I want the girl that I marry to have...  a
      certain...*special*...something...  <music up>
King: Cut that out!!  Cut that out.... <grabs the prince>
      <music dies away>
      You're marryin' Princess Lucky, so you'd better get used to the idea!
      <slaps the prince>
      GUARDS!!!  <two guards come in>
      Make sure the prince doesn't leave this room until I come and get 'im.
      <starts to go>
Guard 1: <repeating> Not to leave the room, even if you come and get 'im.
Guard 2: *Hic*
King:    Nono....  *Until* I come and get him.
Guard 1: Until you come and get him, we're not to enter the room.
King:    <stops> Nono, no... You *stay* in the room, and make sure *he*
         doesn't leave.
Guard 1: And you'll come and get him.
Guard 2: *Hic*
King:    Right.
Guard 1: We don't need to do anything, apart from just stop him, entering the
         room.
King:    Nono.  *Leaving* the room.
Guard 1: Leaving the room, yes.
King:    All right?
Guard 1: 'Right.
King:    Right.  <goes out the door>
Guard 1: Oh!  If if if uhhhh.... if if uhhhhh....  If if if we......
King:    <coming back in> Yes, what is it?
Guard 1: Oh.  I-if.......     Oh.... (forgetting)
King:    Look, it's quite simple.
Guard 1: Uh.....
King:    You just stay here, and make sure 'e doesn't leave the room.
         All right?
Guard 2: *hic*
Guard 1: Oh, I remember!  Uhhhh, can he leave the room with us?
King:    No...nono, no.   You just keep him in 'ere, and make sure...
Guard 1: Oh yes, we'll keep him in here, obviously, but if he *had*
         to leave, and we *were* with him...
King:    nononono just KEEP HIM IN HERE
Guard 1: ...Until you or anyone else...
King:    No, not anyone else, just me...
Guard 1: ...Just you...
Guard 2: *hic*
King:    Get back.
Guard 1: Get back.
King:    All right?
Guard 1: Right, we'll stay here until you get back.
Guard 2: *hic*
King:    <pause>  And, uh... make sure 'e doesn't leave.
Guard 1: What?
King:    <pause>  Make sure 'e doesn't leave!
Guard 1: The prince??????
King:    Yes, MAKE SURE 'E DOESN'T LEAVE...
Guard 2: *hic*
Guard 1: Oh, yes, of course!!  I thought you meant him!  <motions towards
         the second guard>  You know, it seemed a bit daft me having to guard
         him when 'e's a guard...
King:    <pause> Is that clear?
Guard 1: Oh, quite clear, no problems!
Guard 2: *hic*
King:    Right. <starts to leave. The guards follow him>
         Where are *you* going?
Guard 1: We're coming with you!
King: Nono, I want you to *stay* here and MAKE SURE 'E DOESN'T LEAVE!
Guard 1: Oh, I see, right!
Son:     <plaintively>  but father...
King:    Shut your noise, you!  And get that suit on.  <leaves>

<music up>
<king re-enters>
         AND NO SINGING!
Guard 2: *hic*
King: Oh, go and get a glass of water.  (leaves)

The Prince looks at the guards.  They look at him.  He smiles.  They smile
back.  He gets a pen a paper out.  He smiles at them.  They smile back.
He scribbles something on it very fast, not looking at it.  He smiles at the
guards.  They smile back.  The Prince gets a bow and arrow from the wall.
He sticks the note on the arrow.  He smiles at the guards.  They smile back.
He side-steps to the window.  He smiles at the guards.  They smile back.
He shoots the arrow with the note out the window.  He puts down the bow.
He smiles at the guards.  They smile back.

Guard 2: *Hic*

Meanwhile, at a nearby stream, Sir Launcelot approaches.  We hear horse's
hooves in the distance.  Sir Launcelot appears, followed by Concorde, who is
banging two coconut halves together to make the noise of a horse.  They are
crossing a stream by jumping between the boulders that lie in it.

Launcelot: <they jump from one rock to the next> Well taken, Concorde!
Concorde:  Thank you, sir!  Most kind!
Launcelot: And again..... oooover we go. <jumps to another rock>
           <Concorde makes the jump behind him>
Launcelot: Good.... Steady.....
           And now, the big one... <jumps>  Come on, Concorde!
           <an arrow whizzes through the air and embeds itself in Concorde>
Concorde:  (as he falls) Message for you, sir.  (he falls)
Launcelot: Concorde!! Concorde, speak to me!
           (spies the arrow and unwraps the message)
           <reads> "To whoever finds this note.  I have been...*imprisoned* by
           my father who wishes me to marry against my will, please please
           please come and rescue me.  I am in the Tall Tower of...Swamp
           Castle."  At last!  A call, a cry of distress!  This could be the
           sign that leads us to the Holy Grail!  Brave, brave Concorde, you
           shall not have died in vain!
                   <starts to draw sword>

Concorde:  Uh... I--I'm not quite dead, sir!
Launcelot: (a bit put off) Well...you shall not have been *mortally wounded*
           in vain! <draws sword>
Concorde:  I--I think I--I could pull through, sir.
Launcelot: (a bit more put off) Oh, I see.
Concorde:  Actually, I think I'm allright to come with you, sir--
Launcelot: No no, sweet Concorde, stay here.  I will send help as soon as I've
           accomplished a daring and heroic rescue in my own particular...
           <pauses, trying to think of word.  Gives up...>
Concorde:  Idiom, sir?
Launcelot: Idiom!
Concorde:  No, I feel fine, actually--
Launcelot: Farewell, sweet Concorde!!
           <runs off, leaving Concorde looking after him perplexedly>
Concorde:  (pause) I'll just stay here, then, shall I, sir?  ... Yeah.
           (drums fingers)

Scene: The drawbridge of Swamp Castle.  Two guards standing here looking very
       bored.  Off in the distance, they see Launcelot running towards them
       waving his sword in the air.  They look at each other, then back at
       Launcelot. They seem confused.  He does not get any closer, though he
       he keeps running.  The guards look at each other again.  One taps his
       forehead.  They lean on their pikes and idly watch Sir Launcelot
       still running towards them and getting nowhere.  They look at each
       other.  Suddenly Launcelot appears right next to them and runs one of
       them through.  He dies, considerably surprised.  Launcelot runs in.

Other guard: (ineffectually) Hey...

       Launcelot runs through the castle, slicing, dicing, grating, mincing,
       and otherwise generally killing the entire populace.  He fights his
       way up to the Tower through the throngs of bewildered wedding guests.
       He reached the Tower and throws open the door.

Guard 1: Hello!  Now, you're not allowed to enter the roo--  Urgh.
         <dies, run though>
Guard 2: *Hic*  <also run through>
Launcelot: <kneeling before the white-garbed figure in the room> O fair one,
           behold your humble Sir Launcelot of Camelot.  I have come to take--
           <sees it's a man, gets up immediately> Oh, I'm terribly sorry.
Prince: <claps hands delightedly> You got my note!
Launcelot: Ah, well, I--I got, uh, *a* note....
Prince:    You've come to rescue me!!
Launcelot: Ah, well, no, you see, um--
Prince: I *knew* some one would!
        I knew that somewhere out there, there must be, *someone*--<music up>
King: <barging in, quite upset>  Stop that, Stop that, STOP IT!  STOP IT!!
      <music out> (to Launcelot)  'Oo are you?
Prince: (hurt) I'm your son!
King: (to son) No, not *you*!!!
Launcelot: Uh, I am Sir Launcelot, sir.
Prince: (proudly) 'E's come to rescue me, Father!
Launcelot: Well let's not jump to conclusions--
King: (to Launcelot) Did you kill all those guards?!
Launcelot: (trying to remember)  Uhhh...
           (suddenly) Oh yes!   (highly embarrassed) Sorry....
King:      They cost fifty pounds each!
Launcelot: Well I'm awfully sorry... Um, I really *can* explain everything--
Prince:    Don't be afraid, Sir Launcelot! I've got a rope all ready! (displays
           rope made of shredded bedsheets and ties one end to bedpost)
King:      You killed eight wedding guests in all!
Launcelot: Well you see the thing is, I thought your son was a *lady*....
King:      I can understand that!
Prince:    (climbing out window) Hurry, Sir Launcelot!  Hurry!
King:      SHUT UP!!  (to Launcelot) You only killed the bride's father, that's
           all!!!
Launcelot: Well, I really didn't *mean* to....
King:      Didn't MEAN to?!?  You put your *sword* right through 'is 'ead!!!
Launcelot: Oh, dear!  Is he all right?
King:      You even kicked the bride in chest!  This is going to cost me a
           fortune....
Launcelot: Well I can explain; I was in the forest, um, riding north from
           Camelot when I got this note, you see--
King:      (abruptly) Camelot?  Are you from, uh, Camelot?
Son:       (outside window) Hurry, Sir Launcelot!
Launcelot: Uh...I am a knight of King Arthur, Sir.
King:      Very nice Castle, Camelot, uh...very good pig country!
           (pause)
Launcelot: Is it?
Prince:    Hurry, I'm *ready*!!!
King:      Would you, uh, like to come 'n' have a drink?
           <goes to window, draws dagger>
Launcelot: Well, that--that's awfully nice of you--
Prince:    (from outside) I am ready!!
Launcelot: --I mean, to be so understanding, um--
<The King cuts the blanket-rope, which slithers out the window>
Prince:    Ooh!
Launcelot: --I'm afraid when I am in this sort of idiom, I sometimes get a bit
           , um, sort of carried away....
King:      Oh, don't worry about that--
<they leave the room>
Prince:    (splat)

Sir Launcelot and the king are going down the stairs.
King:  Now, this is the main hall.  (gesturing) We're going to have all this
knocked through, and made into one big, uh, living--

One of the remaining guests looks up and, upon recognizing Launcelot as the one
who caused all the damage, shouts, "There he is!"

King: Oh, bloody 'ell.

Launcelot draws his sword and goes beserk again, accompanied by the
appropriate fighting music and action.

Launcelot is at last subdued before causing too much damage, save only kicking
the bride again, and the King brings things back to order.
King: Stop!  Stop!  Hold it, hold it, please!
Launcelot: (very embarrassed) Sorry.  Sorry!  You see what I mean, I just get
           carried away, I'm really most awfully sorry.
           (to all) Sorry!  Sorry, everyone....
Guest:  'E's killed the best man!
King: Ladies and gentlemen.  This is Sir Launcelot, a very brave and
      influential knight, and my special guest here today.
Guest: He killed my auntie!
King: Please!  This is supposed to be a...*happy* occasion!  Let's not
      *bicker* and *argue* about 'oo killed 'oo!  We are here today to witness
      the union of two young people in the joyful bond of a holy wedlock.
      (groans)
      Unfortunately, one of them, my son 'Erbert has just fallen to 'is death.
      (gasps) But, I like to think I've lost a son, so much as gained a
      daughter.  (weak applause)
      For, since the tragic death of her father...
Voice: He's not quite dead....
King: (thrown) Since the near-fatal *wounding* of 'er father....
Voice: 'E's getting better!
King: <whispers to a guard, who circles towards the back of the room, where the
      father lies> For, since her own father, who, when 'e seemed about to
      recover, suddenly felt the icy hand of death upon him...
(thump)
Voice: He's died!!
King: I want his only daughter to look upon me as her own Dad, in a very real,
      and legally binding sense.  (more weak applause)
      And I feel sure that the merger--er, the *union*,--between the princess
      and the brave but *dangerous* Sir Launcelot of Camelot--
Launcelot: <taken aback>  What?
Someone: Look!  The Dead Prince!  (general reaction)
Concorde: <entering with the Prince in his arms>  He's not *quite* dead!
Prince: No, I feel much better!
King: You fell out of the Tall Tower, you creep!!!
Prince: No, I was saved at the last minute.
King: 'Ow?
Prince: Well, I'll tell you:
         <music starts>
King: Not like that! Not like that!  No!  Stop it!  STOP!<but it is too late>
Guests:                 He's going to tell,
                        he's going to tell,
                        he's going to tell,
                        he's going to tell!

                        He's going to tell,
                        he's going to tell,
                        he's going to tell,
                        he's going to tell!

Concorde:  <suddenly appearing out of the crowd> Quickly, sir, come this way!
Launcelot: No, no!  It doesn't fit my idiom!  I must escape more........
           (sigh)
Concorde:  Dramatically, sir?
Launcelot: Dramatically!  <grabs bell pull>
           Runs up stairs.  Jumps in the air.  Swings down towards the window.
           Falls about twelve feet short, having not given himself a very good
           start.  Swings back and forth for a short time.>
           'Scuse me, could, uh, could someone give me a push, please?


****   Continued in the middle of NI PYTHON, transcript #11 from the film  ****

****   End of file SWAMP PYTHON, transcript #12 from the film              ****

--

****  The Package Tour Complaint:  TOUR PYTHON                             ****
****  From the third series of Monty Python's Flying Circus                ****
****  Transcribed 3/28/88 by Jonathan Mestel ( [e-mail] )        ****
****  From his copy of "Monty Python's Brand New Papperbok"                ****

What's the point of going abroad if you're just another tourist carted around
in buses surrounded by sweaty mindless oafs from Kettering and Coventry in
their cloth caps and their cardigans and their transistor radios and their
Sunday Mirrors, complaining about the tea - "Oh they don't make it properly
here, do they, not like at home" - and stopping at Majorcan bodegas selling
fish and chips and Watney's Red Barrel and calamares and two veg and sitting in
their cotton frocks squirting Timothy White's suncream all over their puffy raw
swollen purulent flesh 'cos they "overdid it on the first day."  And being
herded into endless Hotel Miramars and Bellvueses and Continentales with their
modern international luxury roomettes and draught Red Barrel and swimming pools
full of fat German businessmen pretending they're acrobats forming pyramids and
frightening the children and barging into queues and if you're not at your
table spot on seven you miss the bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup, the
first item on the menu of International Cuisine, and every Thursday night the
hotel has a bloody cabaret in the bar, featuring a tiny emaciated dago with
nine-inch hips and some bloated fat tart with her hair brylcreemed down and a
big arse presenting Flamenco for Foreigners.  And adenoidal typists from
Birmingham with flabby white legs and diarrhoea trying to pick up hairy
bandy-legged wop waiters called Manuel and once a week there's an excursion to
the local Roman Remains to buy cherryade and melted ice cream and bleeding
Watney's Red Barrel and one evening you visit the so called typical restaurant
with local colour and atmosphere and you sit next to a party from Rhyl who keep
singing "Torremolinos, torremolinos" and complaining about the food - "It's so
greasy isn't it?"  - and you get cornered by some drunken greengrocer from
Luton with an Instamatic camera and Dr. Scholl sandals and last Tuesday's Daily
Express and he drones on and on about how Mr. Smith should be running this
country and how many languages Enoch Powell can speak and then he throws up
over the Cuba Libres.  And sending tinted postcards of places they don't
realise they haven't even visited to "All at number 22, weather wonderful, our
room is marked with an 'X'.  Food very greasy but we've found a charming little
local place hidden away in the back streets where they serve Watney's Red
Barrel and cheese and onion crisps and the accordionist plays 'Maybe it's
because I'm a Londoner'."  And spending four days on the tarmac at Luton
airport on a five-day package tour with nothing to eat but dried BEA-type
sandwiches and you can't even get a drink of Watney's Red Barrel because you're
still in England and the bloody bar closes every time you're thirsty and
there's nowhere to sleep and the kids are crying and vomiting and breaking the
plastic ash-trays and they keep telling you it'll only be another hour although
your plane is still in Iceland and has to take some Swedes to Yugoslavia before
it can load you up at 3 a.m.  in the bloody morning and you sit on the tarmac
till six because of "unforeseen difficulties", i.e.  the permanent strike of
Air Traffic Control in Paris - and nobody can go to the lavatory until you take
off at 8, and when you get to Malaga airport everybody's swallowing
"enterovioform" and queuing for the toilets and queuing for the armed customs
officers, and queuing for the bloody bus that isn't there to take you to the
hotel that hasn't yet been finished.  And when you finally get to the
half-built Algerian ruin called the Hotel del Sol by paying half your holiday
money to a licensed bandit in a taxi you find there's no water in the pool,
there's no water in the taps, there's no water in the bog and there's only a
bleeding lizard in the bidet.  And half the rooms are double booked and you
can't sleep anyway because of the permanent twenty-four-hour drilling of the
foundations of the hotel next door - and you're plagues by appalling apprentice
chemists from Ealing pretending to be hippies, and middle-class stockbrokers'
wives busily buying identical holiday villas in suburban development plots just
like Esher, in case the Labour government gets in again, and fat American
matrons with sloppy-buttocks and Hawaiian-patterned ski pants looking for any
mulatto male who can keep it up long enough when they finally let it all flop
out.  And the Spanish Tourist Board promises you that the raging cholera
epidemic is merely a case of mild Spanish tummy, like the previous outbreak of
Spanish tummy in 1660 which killed half London and decimated Europe - and
meanwhile the bloody Guardia are busy arresting sixteen-year-olds for kissing
in the streets and shooting anyone under nineteen who doesn't like Franco.  And
then on the last day in the airport lounge everyone's comparing sunburns,
drinking Nasty Spumante, buying cartons of duty free "cigarillos" and using up
their last pesetas on horrid dolls in Spanish National costume and awful straw
donkeys and bullfight posters with your name on "Ordoney, El Cordobes and Brian
Pules of Norwich" and 3-D pictures of the Pope and Kennedy and Franco, and
everybody's talking about coming again next year and you swear you never will
although there you are tumbling bleary-eyed out of a tourist-tight antique
Iberian airplane.....

**** end of file TOUR PYTHON 3/28/88  ****
From:       [e-mail]
To:         Clarinet@YALEVM

--

**** A trial scene from Monty Python                                       ****
**** Transcribed 8/15/87 by Jonathan Partington ( [e-mail] )     ****


Bailiff (Cleese): I'm sorry I'm late, m'lud, I couldn't find a kosher car
                  park.  Don't bother to recap, m'lud, I'll pick it up as we go
                  along.  Call Mrs Fiona Lewis.

(Enter Chapman, in drag)

Fiona Lewis (Chapman):  I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing
                        but the truth, so anyway, I said to her, I said, they
                        can't afford that on what he earns, I mean for a start
                        the feathers get up your nose, I ask you, four and
                        sixpence a pound, and him with a wooden leg, I don't
                        know how she puts up with it after all the trouble
                        she's had with her you-know-what, anyway, it *was* a
                        white wedding, much to everyone's surprise, of course
                        they bought everything on the hire purchase, I think
                        they ought to send them back where they came from, I
                        mean you've got to be cruel to be kind, so Mrs Harris
                        said, so she said she said she said, a dead crab she
                        said she said?  well her sister's gone to Rhodesia,
                        what with her womb and all, and her youngest, fit as a
                        filing cabinet, and the goldfish, the goldfish, they've
                        got whooping-cough, they keep spitting water at the
                        Bratbys, well they *do*, don't they, I mean, you
                        *can't*, can you, I mean they're not even married or
                        anything, they're not even *divorced*, and he's in the
                        KGB if you ask me, he says he's a tree surgoen, but I
                        don't like the sound of his liver, all that squeaking
                        and banging every night till the small hours, well, his
                        mother's been much better since she had her head off,
                        don't you talk to me about bladders, I said...

**** End of file TRIAL PYTHON ****
**** From:  [e-mail]  ****

--

****  Interview with Arthur "Two Sheds" Jackson                            ****
****  From Monty Python's Flying Circus                                    ****
****  Transcribed 11/7/87 by Jonathan Partington ( [e-mail] )    ****
****  especially for the BBoard collection of Python Files @YALEVM         ****


Host (Eric Idle): Last week the Royal Festival Hall saw the first performance
                  of a new symphony by one of the world's leading modern
                  composers, Arthur 'Two sheds' Jackson.  Mr Jackson.
Jackson (Terry Jones): Hello.
Host:    May I just sidetrack for one moment.  This -- what shall I call it --
         nickname of yours...
Jackson: Ah yes.
Host:    "Two sheds".  How did you come by it?
Jackson: Well, I don't use it myself, but some of my friends call me "Two
         Sheds".
Host:    And do you in fact have two sheds?
Jackson: No, I've only got one.  I've had one for some time, but a few years
         ago I said I was thinking of getting another, and since then some
         people have called me "Two Sheds".
Host:    In spite of the fact that you only have one.
Jackson: Yes.
Host:    And are you still intending to purchase this second shed?
Jackson (impatient): No!
Host:    ...To bring you in line with your epithet?
Jackson: No.
Host:    I see, I see. Well to return to your symphony.
Jackson: Ah yes.
Host:    Did you write this symphony in the shed?
Jackson (surprised): No!
Host:    Have you written any of your recent works in this shed of yours?
Jackson: No, no, not at all. It's just an ordinary garden shed.
Host:    I see, I see.  And you're thinking of buying this second shed to write
         in!
Jackson: No, no.  Look.  This shed business -- it doesn't really matter.  The
         sheds aren't important.  A few friends call me Two Sheds and that's
         all there is to it.  I wish you'd ask me about the music.  Everybody
         talks about the sheds.  They've got it out of proportion -- I'm a
         composer.  I'm going to get rid of the shed.  I'm fed up with it!
Host:   Then you'll be Arthur 'No Sheds' Jackson, eh?
Jackson: Look, forget about the sheds. They don't matter.
Host (sternly): Mr. Jackson, I think, with respect, we ought to return to the
                subject of your symphony.
Jackson: Huh!
Host:    I understand that you used to be interested in train-spotting.
Jackson: What?
Host:    I understand that, about thirty years ago, you were interested in
         train-spotting.
Jackson: Well what's that got to do with my bloody music?
John Cleese (entering): Are you having any trouble with him?
Host:    Yes, a little.  Good Lord!  You're the man who interviewed Sir Edward
         Ross earlier.
Cleese:  Exactly.  Well we interviewers are more than a match for the likes of
         you, "Two Sheds".
Host:    Yes, make yourself scarce, "Two Sheds".  This studio isn't big enough
         for the three of us!  [They throw him out.]
Jackson: Here, what are you doing?  Stop it! [Crash.]
Cleese:  Get your own Arts programme, you fairy!
Host:    Arthur "Two Sheds" Jackson... Never mind, Timmy.
Cleese:  Oh Mike, you're such a comfort.


****  end of file TWOSHEDS PYTHON    11/30/87  ****
From:       [e-mail]
To:         Clarinet@YALEVM

--

****   THE UNDERTAKER SKETCH                                               ****
****   from Monty Python's Contractual Obligations Album                   ****
****   transcribed May, 1986 and uploaded to CMS January 1987              ****
****   by R. "Gumby" Preston ( [e-mail] )                       ****


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.

--

****  More Monty Python!!! A little-known biblical lesson                  ****
****  Transcribed by Bret "Who else?" Shefter ( [e-mail] )    ****


                     St. Victor of Python

     And it came to pass that Saint Victor was taken from this place
to another place, where he was lain to rest himself amongst sheets
of muslin and velvet.
     And there stroked was he by maidens of the Orient.
     For sixteen days and nights stroked they him, yea verily and
caressed him.
     His hair, ruffled they.  And their fingers rubbethed they in oil
of olives, and ranneth them across all parts of his body for as much
as to soothe him.
     And the soles of his feet licked they.  And the upper parts of
his thigh did they anoint with the balm of forbidden trees.
     And with the teeth of their mouths, nibbled they the pointed
bits at the top of his ears.  Yea verily, and did their tongues
thereof make themselves acquainted with his most secret places.
     For fifteen days and nights did Victor withstand these maidens,
until he cried out, saying:
     "This...is fantastic!  Oh...this is *terrific!!*"
     And the Lord did here the cry of Victor.  And verily came He down
and slew the maidens.  And caused their cottonwool bugs to blow away,
and their Kleenex to be laid waste utterly.
     And Victor, in his anguish, cried out that the Lord was a rotten
bastard.
     So the Lord sent an angel to comfort Victor for the weekend.
     And entered they together the jaccuzzi.

   Here endeth the lesson.

--

****  The Crunchy Frog Sketch                                              ****
****  From "Monty Python Live at the Hollywood Bowl" and                   ****
****  "Monty Python Live at City Cente 1974"                               ****
****  Transcribed from memory on 3/28/86 by                                ****
****  Bret Shefter '89 ( [e-mail] )                           ****


Inspector: 'ELLO!
Mr. Hilton: 'Ello.
Inspector:  Mr. 'ilton?
Hilton:  A-yes?
I: You are the sole proprietor and owner of the Whizzo Chocolate Company?
H: I am, yes.
I: Constable Clitoris and I are from the 'ygiene squad, and we'd like to have
   a word with you about your box of chocolates entitled the "Whizzo Quality
   Assortment".
H: Oh, yes.
I: If I may begin at the beginning.  First there is the Cherry Fondue.
   Now this is extremely nasty. (pause) But we can't prosecute you for that.
H: Ah, agreed.
I: Then we have number four.  Number four: Crunchy Frog.
H: Yes.
I: Am I right in thinking there's a real frog in 'ere?
H: Yes, a little one.
I: What sort of frog?
H: A...a *dead* frog.
I: Is it cooked?
H: No.
I: What, a RAW frog?!?
H: Oh, we use only the finest baby frogs, dew-picked and flown from Iraq,
   cleansed in the finest quality spring water, lightly killed, and sealed in
   a succulent, Swiss, quintuple-smooth, treble-milk chocolate envelope, and
   lovingly frosted with glucose.
I: That's as may be, but it's still a frog!
H: What else?
I: Well, don't you even take the bones out?
H: If we took the bones out, it wouldn't be crunchy, would it?
I: Constable Clitoris et one of those!! We have to protect the public!
C: Uh, would you excuse me a moment, Sir?   (exits)
I: We have to protect the public! People aren't going to think there's a real
   frog in chocolate! Constable Clitoris thought it was an almond whirl!
   They're bound to expect some sort of mock frog!
H: (outraged) MOCK frog!?!  We use NO artificial additives or preservatives of
   ANY kind!
I: Nevertheless, I advise you in future to replace the words "Crunchy Frog"
   with the legend, "Crunchy, Raw, Unboned Real Dead Frog" if you wish to avoid
   prosecution!
H: What about our sales?
I: FUCK your sales!  We've got to protect the public!  Now what about this
   one, number five, it was number five, wasn't it?  Number five:  Ram's
   Bladder Cup. (beat) Now, what sort of confectionery is that?!?
H: Oh, we use only the finest juicy chunks of fresh Cornish Ram's bladder,
   emptied, steamed, flavoured with sesame seeds, whipped into a fondue, and
   garnished with lark's vomit.
I: LARK'S VOMIT?!?!?
H: Correct.
I: It doesn't say anything here about lark's vomit!
H: Ah, it does, at the bottom of the label, after "monosodium glutamate".
I: I hardly think that's good enough!  I think it's be more appropriate if the
   box bore a great red label: "WARNING: LARK'S VOMIT!!!"
H: Our sales would plummet!
I: (screaming) Well why don't you move into more conventional areas of
   confectionary??!!
(the constable returns)
I: Like Praline, or, or Lime Creme, a very popular flavor, I'm lead to
   understand.  Or Raspberry Lite.  I mean, what's this one, what's
   this one?  'Ere we are: Cockroach Cluster!  --      --   Anthrax Ripple!
C: MMMMWWWAAAAAGGGGGHHHH!!

** For those of you watching this transcript on your terminal, the young     **
** constable has just thrown up into his helmet.  This is the longest        **
** continuous vomit seen on Broadway since John Barrymore puked over Laertes **
** in the second act of Hamlet in 1941.                                      **

I: (continuing)  And what is this one: Spring Surprise?
H: Ah, that's one of our specialities.  Covered in dark, velvety chocolate,
   when you pop it into your mouth, stainless steel bolts spring out and plunge
   straight through both cheeks.
I: (stunned) Well where's the pleasure in THAT?!?  If people pop a nice little
   chockie into their mouth, they don't expect to get their cheeks pierced!!!
   In any case, it is an inadequate description of the sweetmeat.  I shall have
   to ask you to accompany me to the station.
H: (shrugging) It's a fair cop.
I: And DON'T talk to the audience.

--

****  The Australian Table Wines sketch
****  From Monty Python
****  Transcribed by ( [e-mail] )

A lot of people in this country pooh-pooh Australian table wines.  This is a
pity, as many fine Australian wines appeal not only to the Australian palette,
but also to the cognoscenti of Great Britain.

"Black Stump Bordeaux" is rightly praised as a peppermint flavoured
Burgundy, whilst a good "Sydney Syrup" can rank with any of the world's
best sugary wines.

"Chateau Bleu", too, has won many prizes; not least for its taste, and
its lingering afterburn.

"Old Smokey, 1968" has been compared favourably to a Welsh claret,
whilst the Australian wino society thouroughly recommends a 1970 "Coq du
Rod Laver", which, believe me, has a kick on it like a mule:  8 bottles
of this, and you're really finished -- at the opening of the Sydney
Bridge Club, they were fishing them out of the main sewers every half an
hour.

Of the sparkling wines, the most famous is "Perth Pink".  This is a
bottle with a message in, and the message is BEWARE!.  This is not a
wine for drinking -- this is a wine for laying down and avoiding.

Another good fighting wine is "Melbourne Old-and-Yellow", which is
particularly heavy, and should be used only for hand-to-hand combat.

Quite the reverse is true of "Chateau Chunder", which is an Appelachian
controle, specially grown for those keen on regurgitation -- a fine wine
which really opens up the sluices at both ends.

Real emetic fans will also go for a "Hobart Muddy", and a prize winning
"Cuiver Reserve Chateau Bottled Nuit San Wogga Wogga", which has a
bouquet like an aborigine's armpit.

--

****  The Opening Scene of Life of Brian                                   ****
****  Transcribed by Dwayne A. X. E. E. ( [e-mail] )  4/26/84 ****
****  Edited by Malcolm Dickinson '89 ( [e-mail] ) 10/20/86  ****


(Three camels are silhouetted against the bright stars of the moonless sky,
moving slowly along the horizon.  A star leads them towards Bethlehem.  The
WISE MEN enter the gates of the sleeping town and make their way through the
deserted streets.  A dog snarls at them.  They approach a stable, out of which
streams a beam of light.  They dismount and enter to find a typical manger
scene, with a baby in a rough crib of straw and patient animals standing
around.  The mother nods by the side of the child.  Suddenly she wakes from her
lightish doze, sees them, shrieks and falls backwards off her straw.  She's up
again in a flash, looking guardedly at them.  She is a ratbag.)

Mandy: Who are you?
Wise Man 1: We are three wise men.
Wise Man 2: We are astrologers.  We have come from the East.
Mandy:  Is this some kind of joke?
WM1: We wish to praise the infant.
WM2: We must pay homage to him.
Mandy: Homage!!  You're all drunk you are.  It's disgusting.  Out, out.
WM3: No, no.
Mandy:  Coming bursting in here first thing in the morning with some tale about
        Oriental fortune tellers...  get out.
WM1: No.  No we must see him.
Mandy: Go and praise someone else's brat, go on.
WM2: We were led by a star.
Mandy: Led by a bottle, more like.  Get out!
WM2: We must see him.  We have brought presents.
Mandy: Out!
WM1: Gold, frankincense, myrrh.

(Mandy changes direction, smooth as silk.)

Mandy:  Well, why didn't you say?  He's over here ...  Sorry this place is a
        bit of a mess.  What is myrrh, anyway?
WM3: It is a valuable balm.
Mandy: A balm, what are you giving him a balm for?  It might bite him.
WM3: What?
Mandy: It's a dangerous animal.  Quick, throw it in the trough.
WM3: No it isn't.
Mandy: Yes it is.
WM3: No, no, it is an ointment.
Mandy: An ointment?
WM3: Look.
Mandy:  (sampling the ointment with a grubby finger).  Oh. There is an animal
called a balm or did I dream it?  You astrologers, eh?  Well, what's he then?
WM2: H'm?
Mandy: What star sign is he?
WM2: Capricorn.
Mandy: Capricorn eh, what are they like?
WM2: He is the son of God, our Messiah.
WM1: King of the Jews.
Mandy: And that's Capricorn, is it?
WM3: No, no, that's just him.
Mandy: Oh, I was going to say, otherwise there'd be a lot of them.

(The WISE MEN are on their knees.)

WM2: By what name are you calling him?

(Dramatic Holy music... )

Mandy: ... Brian.
Three Wise Men: We worship you, Oh, Brian, who are Lord over us all.  Praise
                unto you, Brian and to the Lord our Father.  Amen.
Mandy: Do you do a lot of this, then?
WM1: What?
Mandy: This praising.
WM1: No, no, no.
Mandy: Oh!  Well, if you're dropping by again do pop in.
(They take the hint and rise.)
       And thanks a lot for the gold and frankincense but ...  don't worry too
       much about the myrrh next time.  Thank you ...  Goodbye.
(To Brian)
       Well weren't they nice ... out of their bloody minds, but still...

(In the background we see the WISE MEN pause outside the door as a
 gentle glow suffuses them.  They look at each other, confer and then
 stride back in and grab the presents off MANDY and turn to go again,
 pushing MANDY over.

       Here, here, that's mine, you just gave me that.  Ow!

****  Please send your comments, praise, complaints or                     ****
****  copyright infringement lawsuits to ...                               ****
****  Dwayne A. X. E. E. ( [e-mail] )                         ****

--

****  The Witch Scene from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"               ****
****  Transcribed from memory and later corrected from the tape by         ****
****  Malcolm ( [e-mail] ) Dickinson   3/25/86               ****

**** This is transcript #5 from the movie, continued from KNIGHT PYTHON    ****

Bedevere stands on a stage in front of a large crowd of wild villagers.

Villager: We have found a witch, may we burn her?
Crowd: BURN!! BUUUURN HER!
Bedevere: But how do you *know* she is a witch?
Villager: She looks like one!
Other Villagers: Yeah!  She looks like one!!!
Bedevere: Bring her forward.

(a young woman is pushed through the crowd of villagers to the platform.  She
 is dressed all in black, has a carrot tied around her face on top of her nose,
 and a black paper hat on her head.  She talks funny because her nose is
 closed by the carrot.)

Witch: I'm not a witch, I'm not a witch!
Bedevere: Er,...but you are dressed as one.
Witch: THEY dressed me up like this.
Villagers: No! nooo!  We didn't!  We didn't!
Witch: And this isn't my nose, it's a false one!

(Bedevere lifts up the carrot to reveal the woman's real nose, which is in
 fact rather small.)

Bedevere: Well?
One Villager: Well, we did do the nose.
Bedevere: The nose?
Villager: And the Hat.  But she's a witch!
Villagers: Yeah! Burn her! Burn! Burn her!
B: Did you dress her up like this?
Villagers: NO! No, no, no, no, no, no...
One Villager: yes.
Villagers: yes. yes. yes.  A bit. yes. a bit. a bit.
Another Villager: (hopefully) She has got a wart...
B: What makes you think she is a witch?
Villager: Well, She turned me into a newt!!

(pause)

Bedevere: a newt?

(long pause)

Villager: I got better...
Villagers: BURN HER anyway! BURN! BURN! BURN HER!
B: Quiet, quiet, quiet, QUIETA  There are ways of *telling* whether she
   is a witch!
Villagers: Are there?  What?  Tell us, then!  Tell us!
B: Tell me.  What do you do with witches?
V: BUUUURN!!!!! BUUUUUURRRRNN!!!!!  You BURN them!!!!  BURN!!
B: And what do you burn apart from witches?
Villager: More Witches!
Other Villager: Wood.
B: So.  Why do witches burn?

(long silence)
(shuffling of feet by the villagers)

Villager: (tentatively) Because they're made of.....wood?
B: Goooood!
Other Villagers:  oh yeah... oh....
B: So.  How do we tell whether she is made of wood?
One Villager: Build a bridge out of 'er!
B: Aah.  But can you not also make bridges out of stone?
Villagers: oh yeah. oh.  umm...
B: Does wood sink in water?
One Villager: No! No, no, it floats!
Other Villager: Throw her into the pond!
Villagers: yaaaaaa!

(when order is restored)

B: What also floats in water?
Villager: Bread!
Another Villager: Apples!
Another Villager: Uh...very small rocks!
Another Villager: Cider!
Another Villager: Uh...great gravy!
Another Villager: Cherries!
Another Villager: Mud!
Another Villager: Churches! Churches!
Another Villager: Lead! Lead!
King Arthur: A Duck!
Villagers: (in amazement) ooooooh!
B: exACTly!
B: (to a villager) So, *logically*...
Villager: (very slowly, with pauses between each word)
          If...she...weighs the same as a duck......she's made of wood.
B: and therefore...

(pause)

Villager: A Witch!
All Villagers: A WITCH!

(they do consequently weigh her across from a duck on Bedevere's largest
 scale, and she does indeed weigh the same as the duck.)

Witch: (to camera) It's a fair cop.

Thereafter follows the knighting of Bedevere and the reading of the list of
other knights:

Sir Bedevere the Wise
Sir Lancelot the Brave
Sir Galahad the Pure
Sir Robin, the Not So Brave As Sir Launcelot,
    who had nearly fought the Dragon of Angor
    who had nearly stood up to the vicious Chicken of Bristol
    and who had personally wet himself at the Battle of Badon Hill.
and the aptly named
Sir Not Appearing In This Film.

****  Continued in CAMELOT PYTHON, Transcript #6 in the movie              ****

****  End of file WITCH PYTHON   3/25/86 MMD                               ****

--

****  The Woody Sketch                                                     ****
****  From Monty Python's Flying Circus                                    ****
****  Transcribed 1/1/88 by Jonathan Partington ( [e-mail] )     ****
****  continued from BANTER PYTHON                                         ****

Scene: a 1920s-style drawing room

Chapman:   I say!
Cleveland: Yes, Daddy?
Chapman:   Croquet hoops look dam' pretty this afternoon.
Cleveland: Frightfully damn pretty.
Idle (as her mother):  They're coming along *awfully* well this year.
Chapman:   Yes, better than your Aunt Lavinia's croquet hoops.
Cleveland: Ugh! Dreadful tin things.
Idle:      I did tell her to stick to wood.
Chapman:   Yes, you can't beat wood.  Gorn.
Idle:      What's gone, dear?
Chapman:   Nothing, nothing -- just like the word, it gives me confidence.
           Gorn.  Gorn -- it's got a sort of *woody* quality about it.  Gorn.
           Go-o-orn.  Much better than 'newspaper' or 'litter bin'.
Cleveland: Ugh! Frightful words!
Idle:      Perfectly dreadful!
Chapman:   'Newspaper' -- 'litter bin' -- 'litter bin' -- dreadful *tinny* sort
           of word.
(Cleveland screams)
Chapman:   Tin, tin, tin.
Idle:      Oh, don't say 'tin' to Rebecca, you know how it upsets her.
Chapman:   Sorry, old horse.
Idle:      'Sausage.'
Chapman:   'Sausage'!  There's a good woody sort of word, 'sausage'.  'Gorn.'
Cleveland: 'Antelope!'
Chapman:   Where? On the lawn?
Cleveland: No, no, Daddy. Just the word.
Chapman:   Don't want antelope nibbling the hoops.
Cleveland: No, no -- 'ant-e-lope'.  Sort of nice and woody type of thing.
Idle:      Don't think so, Becky old chap.
Chapman:   No, no -- 'antelope' - 'antelope', *tinny* sort of word.
(Cleveland screams)
Chapman:   Oh, sorry old man.
Idle:      Really, Mansfield.
Chapman:   Well, she's got to come to terms with these things.  'Seemly.'
           'Prodding.' 'Vac-u-um.' 'Leap.'
Cleveland: Oh -- hate 'leap'.
Idle:      Perfectly dreadful.
Cleveland: Sort of PVC sort of word, don't you know.
Idle:      Lower middle.
Chapman:   'Bound!'
Idle:      Now you're talking!
Chapman:   'Bound.' 'Vole!' 'Recidivist!'
Idle:      Bit *tinny*...
(Cleveland screams and rushes out sobbing)
Idle:    Oh, sorry, Becky old beast.
Chapman: Oh dear, I suppose she'll be gorn for a few days now.
Idle:    Caribou.
Chapman: Splendid word!
Idle:    No, dear, nibbling the hoops.
(Chapman fires a shotgun)
Chapman  (with satisfaction): Caribou -- gorn... 'Intercourse.'
Idle:    Later, dear.
Chapman: No, no -- the word, 'intercourse'.  Good and woody.  'Inter-course.'
         'Pert,' 'pert,' 'thighs,' 'botty,' 'botty,' 'botty' (getting excited),
         'erogenous zo-o-one'.  Ha ha ha ha -- oh, 'concubine', 'erogenous
         zo-o-one', 'loose woman', 'erogenous zone'...

(Idle calmly empties a bucket of water over Chapman)

Chapman: Oh, thank you, dear.  There's a funny thing, dear -- all the naughty
         words sound woody.
Idle:    Really, dear -- how about 'tit'?
Chapman: Oh dear, I hadn't thought about that.  'Tit.' 'Tit.' Oh, that's very
         tinny, isn't it?  'Tit.' 'Tit.' Tinny, tinny.

(Cleveland, who has just come in, screams and rushes out again)

Chapman: Oh dear.  'Ocelot.' 'Was-p.' 'Yowling.' Oh dear, I'm bored.  Better
         go and have a bath, I suppose.
Idle:    Oh really, must you, dear -- you've had nine today.
Chapman: All right -- I'll sack one of the servants.  Simpkins!  Nasty tinny
         sort of name.  SIMPKINS!

(Enter Palin, in RAF uniform)

Palin: I say, mater, cabbage crates coming over the briny.
Idle:  Sorry dear, don't understand.
Palin: Er -- cow-catchers creeping up on the conning towers?
Idle:  No, sorry old sport.
Palin: Um -- caribou nibbling at the croquet hoops.
Idle:  Yes, Mansfield shot one in the antlers.


****  end of file WOOD PYTHON  1/20/88  ****
From:       [e-mail]
To:         Clarinet@YALEVM

--

****   I'M SO WORRIED                                                      ****
****   from Monty Python's Contractual Obligations Album                   ****
****   transcribed by R. "Gumby" Preston ( [e-mail] )           ****


I'm so worried about what's hapenin' today, in the middle east, you know.
And I'm worried about the baggage retrieval system they've got at Heathrow.
I'm so worried about the fashions today, I don't think they're good for your
    feet.
And I'm so worried about the shows on TV that sometimes they want to repeat.

I'm so worried about what's happenin' today, you know.
And I'm worried about the baggage retrieval system they've got at Heathrow.
I'm so worried about my hair falling out and the state of the world today.
And I'm so worried about bein' so full of doubt about everything, anyway.

I'm so worried about modern technology.
I'm so worried about all the things that they dump in the sea.
I'm so worried about it, worried about it, worried, worried, worried.

I'm so worried about everything that can go wrong.
I'm so worried about whether people like this song.
I'm so worried about this very next verse, it isn't the best that I've got.
And I'm so worried about whether I should go on, or whether I should just stop.

(pause)

I'm worried about whether I ought to have stopped.
And I'm worried about, it's the sort of thing I ought to know.
And I'm worried about the baggage retrieval system they've got at Heathrow.

(longer pause)

I'm so worried about whether I should have stopped then.
I'm so worried that I'm driving everyone 'round the bend.
I'm worried about the baggage retrieval system they've got at Heathrow.



--

****  The Opening Scene Song from "Monty Python's Life of Brian"           ****
****  Transcribed by Dwayne A. X. E. E. ( [e-mail] )  4/27/86 ****


Brian...the babe they called Brian
Grew...grew grew and grew, grew up to be
A boy called Brian
A boy called Brian

He had arms and legs and hands and feet
This boy whose name was Brian
And he grew, grew, grew and grew
Grew up to be
Yes he grew up to be
A teenager called Brian
A teenager called Brian
And his face became spotty
Yes his face became spotty
And his voice dropped down low
And things started to grow
On young Brian and show
He was certainly no
No girl named Brian
Not a girl named Brian

And he started to shave
And have one off the wrist
And want to see girls
And go out and get pissed
This man called Brian
This man called Brian


****   End of file BRIAN PYTHON                                            ****
****   Please send your comments, praise, complaints or                    ****
****   copyright infringement lawsuits to ...                              ****
****   Dwayne A. X. E. E. ( [e-mail] )                        ****

--

****  CINEMA PYTHON - television interview with Sir Edward Ross ****
****  From the first series of Monty Python's Flying Circus.     ****
****  Transcribed 11/06/87 by Jonathan Partington ( [e-mail] ) ****


Eric Idle:  Good evening and welcome to another edition of It's the Arts.  And
            we kick off this evening with Cinema.

Host (John Cleese):  Good evening.  One of the most prolific film directors of
                       this age, or indeed of any age, is Sir Edward Ross, back
                       in his native country for the first time for five years
                       to open a season of his works at the National Film
                       Theatre, and we are indeed fortunate to have him with us
                       in this studio tonight.
Ross (Graham Chapman): Good evening.
Host:  Edward... you don't mind if I call you Edward?
Ross:  No, not at all.
Host:  Because it does worry some people - I don't know why - but they are a
       little sensitive so I take the precaution of asking on these occasions.
Ross:  No, that's fine.
Host:  So Edward's all right.  Splendid.  I'm sorry to have brought it up.
Ross:  No, no, please.  Edward it is.
Host:  Well thank you very much for being so helpful.  And it's more than my
       job's worth to, er...
Ross:  Yes, quite.
Host:  Makes it rather difficult to establish a rapport - put the other person
       at his ease...
Ross:  Quite.
Host:  Silly little point but it does seem to matter.  Still, er, least said
       the better.  Ted, when you first started you...  I hope you don't mind
       if I call you Ted, er, I mean as opposed to Edward?
Ross:  No, no, everyone calls me Ted.
Host:  Well of course it's shorter, isn't it.
Ross:  Yes it is.
Host:  And much less formal!
Ross:  Yes, Ted, Edward or anything!
Host:  Thank you.  Um, incidentally, do call me Tom. I don't want you bothering
       with this 'Thomas' nonsense!  Ha ha ha ha!  Now where were we?  Ah yes.
       Eddie Baby, when you first started in the...
Ross:  I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but I don't like being called "Eddie Baby".
Host:  What?
Ross:  I don't like being called "Eddie Baby".
Host:  (pause) Did I call you "Eddie Baby"?
Ross:  Yes, you did!  Now if you could get on with the interview...
Host:  I don't think I did call you "Eddie Baby".
Ross:  You did!
Host:  Did I call him "Eddie Baby"?

(Audience murmurs of 'yes' etc.)

Host:  I didn't really call you "Eddie Baby", did I, sweetie?
Ross:  Don't call me "sweetie"!
Host:  Can I call you "sugar plum"?
Ross:  No.
Host:  "Pussycat"?
Ross:  No!
Host:  "Angel drawers"?
Ross:  No you may not!  Get on with it!
Host:  Can I call you "Frank"?
Ross (suspiciously):  Why "Frank"?
Host:  It's a nice name.  Richard Nixon's got a hedgehog called Frank.
Ross:  What IS going on?
Host:  Now Frank -- Fran -- Frannie -- little Frannie-pooh...
Ross:  No. I'm leaving.  I'm off.  I'm going.  I've never...  (exits)
Host (loudly):  Tell us about your latest film, Sir Edward.
Ross (nearly offstage):  What?
Host:  Tell us about your latest film, Sir Edward, if you'd be so very kind.
Ross:  None of this "Pussycat" nonsense?
Host:  Promise.  (Pats seat next to him.)  Please, Sir Edward.
Ross:  My latest film?
Host:  Yes, Sir Edward.
Ross:  Well the idea, funnily enough, is based on an idea I had when I first
       joined the industry in 1919.  Of course, in those days I was only the
       tea boy and...
Host:  Oh shut up!


**** end of file CINEMA PYTHON 11/30/87 M.M.D. ****
**** continued in TWOSHEDS PYTHON.  ****

From:       [e-mail]
To:         Clarinet@YALEVM

--

 [End Part II]