A Liar's Autobiography: The Untrue Story of Monty Python's Graham Chapman Page #6

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of the gamma GTP, for instance.

But there's no sign of enlargement

and, with a bit of luck,

there's a chance you may not

have damaged your liver permanently.

We'll phase out the Heminevrin

and Valium gradually

and you can take an abstem tablet

in the morning and one in the evening,

so that if you drink any alcohol,

you'll feel as ill as you were

five days ago.

It's up to you whether you drink or not.

It's your liver.

It's your life.

Oh, dear puss, London is far behind us.

What shall we do now?

- Meow.

- What's that? Sing a song?

- Meow.

- What, now? For all the children?

- Meow.

- Shall we sing a song, children?

# Of all the organs the body contains

The liver's the one for me

# It processes food

It deals with the waste

# It's cleverer than a knee

# When it throws up its hands at alcohol

and makes you extremely ill

# It's best to take heed

You're not being a weed

# You're just being sensible

You've only got two stations.

I bought Marylebone from you

last time you landed on Graham's hotel.

- I'll give you the watenuorks.

- I don't want it.

Perhaps Graham does. Graham?

Do you want the waterworks?

- No, I'll buy the camelopard.

- What?

It's a camel that looked like a leopard.

A giraffe.

He's gone again.

Oh, Graham.

# It's Christmas in heaven

# Snow falls from the sky

Do you know, last time I was in Paris,

I really did ring John-Paul Sartre.

Sigmund de Bouvier

answered the phone

and said that he was out distributing

leaflets. Or was that a sketch?

# It's Christmas in heaven

# There's great films on TV

Do I talk here?

No, Graham.

That's the table lamp.

- The microphone's on your right.

- Right. Good.

Take 59.

You bastards!

We've been planning this for months!

Well, tough titty for you, fish-face.

The raid backfires. Brian is captured

and all the rest are killed.

Brian, beaten, bruised and bleeding,

is thrown into Pilate's

darkest stinking dungeon.

That was marvellous. Let's move on.

Oh, you lucky bastard.

Brian is on the run from the Romans

and to avoid capture

pretends to be a lobster.

Sorry, Graham.

We had a rogue lobster in there.

Oh, I'm son'y about that.

Are we ready?

Brian trailer, take 60.

Brian is on the run from the Romans

and to avoid lobster...

We seem to have a colony

of lobsters in there, Graham.

- Well, all right.

- Take 61.

Brian is on the run from the Romans

and to avoid capture pretends to lob...

Let's start it again. Sorry.

- Let's move on.

- It's certainly clean.

An unbeliever!

Kill the heretic!

Leave him alone!

Leave him alone!

Brian escapes from the crowd

and goes home with Judith.

Alone together at last,

the two rush naked at each other

and meet in a frenzy

of darting tongues...

Sorry, Graham.

That bit's been cut.

- All of it, I'm afraid.

- Even this bit here?

Yes. The boys loved the lobster idea,

so they're gonna re-shoot that bit.

Oh.

OK, next bit, Graham, please.

Take 62.

You're f***ing nicked, me old beauty!

Brian is anested and taken before Pilate,

where he is sentenced to be crucified.

Could we try one a little lighter, please?

Brian is arrested

and taken before Pilate,

where he's sentenced to be...

to be crucified.

- Yes, I think that's a little too light.

- What shall I try?

We'll use the take before.

We'll be able to make all that work.

- Thanks for coming in.

- That's it, is it?

Yes, that's it. If you want to collect

your 30 pounds on the way out.

Yeah. 30 pounds.

Yes, well, uh...

I was led to believe that probably

it might be a little, um...

Yes, look. It's not a big budget movie,

you know.

We'll have a whip round

and see what loose change we've got

and we should be able to give you

another two pounds.

All right, yes.

Goodbye.

Will you please welcome hard-working

mother of one, Graham Chapman.

Who's mummy's little baby?

- How beautifully you are clad.

- And so are you.

- You're still butch, aren't you?

- Oh, yeah.

Even though you go about telling people

who haven't asked that you're gay.

Yes.

No! Oh, no!

Graham, please don't tell your father.

It'll kill him.

- Of course it won't kill him.

- It will! It'll kill him!

Of course it won't. Shut up.

Never mind.

Let's go on to your manifesto.

You said that you would like to state

quite clearly

that sex is nothing more than a way

in which two or more people

can have lots of harmless, cheap fun,

provided that they are clean

and that the aim is not reproduction.

Yes.

Look, Graham, your mother's told me

why she's upset.

Don't worry about it.

If you want to go around talking

about this stuff, it's fine.

She just doesn't understand

these things.

Ladies and gentlemen,

it is now two years later,

and we'll be shortly arriving

at Los Angeles airport.

Would you please extinguish all

cigarettes and fasten your safety belts.

Hmm.

This is the place.

Come on. Open the door.

Hello. Starlight emergency

24-hour luxury door-opening service.

Opening doors to the stars.

Yes. We need someone here

straightaway to open our door.

It's account number 2248.

Hi!

Thank you, thank you.

Now, grip the teat

and whet the micro-tome.

If tea party there be,

let cucumber be slivered

to the thinnest with precision

and pressed twixt finest slices

of good bread.

Bravo! Bravo!

Graham, isn't that George Lazenby

over there,

seen enjoying a can of specially

imported Foster's lager?

What, you mean behind Christopher

lsherwood and Georgia Brown,

seen there enjoying a joke

with Ian La Frenais?

Yes, between Peter Cook, Dudley

Moore, Bo Diddley and the piano,

all seen enjoying a brief rest

in a tight schedule.

And who's that with the Hollywood

psychiatrist, Dr Stuart Lerner?

It could be either Jane Seymour,

Jenny Agutter,

Susan George, Shelly Duvall

or Victor Borge.

- Victor Borge?

- Sorry. Did I say Victor Borge?

Only, I also thought I caught sight

of Victor Borge

enjoying a quiet word

with Charlton "Chuck" Heston

and screenwriter companion Alan Katz.

Yes, but who's the girl

with Stuart Lerner?

Hmm. Ah!

That's Sylvia Kristel.

Good God!

Graham, do you realise

that in the last few minutes alone,

you've dropped no less than 17

famous names?

Have I? I didn't intend to.

I just happen to know these people.

They're friends of mine.

Uh, they live here.

I want you to repeat

what you've just said to yourself

and think about it as a medical man.

- You mean I've got...

- Yes.

Niven-ism. It's a common enough

complication of angelitis.

It's an endemic autobiographical

complaint

whereby people live vicariously

through the fame of other people.

Ahh.

It was, coincidentally,

David Frost's 40th birthday party,

his third that afternoon,

and I'd promised to try and look in

for a moment or two.

Super!

Super, super.

Super!

Really super.

# Happy birthday

# Dear...David Frost!

Super!

# We think you're swell

# You've achieved so much

# And done so well

# That everybody here agrees

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