Monty Python Live at the Hollywood Bowl Page #7

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Fat Man :

I've got two legs from my hips to the ground

And when I lift them they walk around

And when I lift them they climb the stairs

And when I shave them they ain't got hairs

Argumentator's rifle: [Bang]

Fat Man:
Aaargh!

Singer :

How sweet to be an idiot

As harmless as a cow

Too small to hide the sun

Almost poking fun

At the warm but insecure untidy crowd

How sweet to be an idiot

And dip my brain in joy

Children laughing at my back

With no fear of attack

As much retaliation as a toy

How sweet to be an idiot

How sweet

I tiptoe down the street

Smile at everyone I meet

But suddenly a scream

Smashes through my dream

Fi fa fo fum

I smell blood of an asylum

Hey you

You're such a pedant

You've got as much brain as a dead ant

As much imagination as a caravan site

But I still love you

Still love you

How sweet to be an idiot

How sweet

How sweet

How sweet

Jung und

elastisch

Es

macht

spass!

SCHLEPP 91

MOROCCO:

Sun, Sea, and Watch

out behind you

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Good morning.

Secretary:
Oh, good morning. Uhm, have you come to arrange a holiday or would you like a blow job?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: I'm sorry?

Secretary:
Uh, oh, you've come to arrange a holiday?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Uuh...yes.

Secretary:
Oh, sorry, sorry. Now, where were you thinking of going?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Uh, to India.

Secretary:
Ah, one of our adventure holidays.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Yes, that's right.

Secretary:
Well, you'd better see Mr. Bounder about that. Uh, Mr. Bounder, this gentleman is interested in the "India

Overland" - and nothing else.

Mr. Bounder:
Ah. Hello, I'm Bounder of Adventure.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Oh, hello. My name is Smoketoomuch.

Mr. Bounder:
What?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: My name is Smoketoomuch. Mr. Smoketoomuch.

Mr. Bounder:
Well, you'd better cut down a little then. [Laughter]

Mr. Smoketoomuch: I'm sorry?

Mr. Bounder:
You'd better cut down a little then. [Snigger]

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Oh, I see! Smoke too much so I'd better cut down a little then!

Mr. Bounder:
Yes. [Laughter] Ooh, it's going to get people making jokes about your name all the time, eh?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: No, actually, it never struck me before. Smoketoomuch... [Laughter]

Mr. Bounder:
Anyway, ehm, you're interested in one of our holidays, are you?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Yes, that's right. I saw your advert in the blassified ads.

Mr. Bounder:
The what?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: In The Times Blassified Ads.

Mr. Bounder:
Ah, The Times Classified Ads.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Yes, that's right. I'm afraid I have a speech impediment. I can't pronounce the letter B.

Mr. Bounder:
Uh, C.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Yes, that's right, B. It's all due to a trauma I suffered when I was a schoolboy. I was attacked by a

Siamese bat.

Mr. Bounder:
Uh, ah, a Siamese cat.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: No, a Siamese bat. They're more dangerous.

Mr. Bounder:
Listen...can you say the letter K?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Oh, yes. Khaki, kettle, Kipling, Khomeini, Kellog's Born Flakes.

Mr. Bounder:
Well, why don't you say the letter K instead of the letter C?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Well, you mean, pronounce "blassified" with a K?

Mr. Bounder:
Yes, absolutely!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Classified!

Mr. Bounder:
Good!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Oh, it's very good! I never thought of that before. What a silly bunt.

Mr. Bounder:
Now then, uhm, about the holiday...

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Yes, well, I've been unpackaged store many times before, so your advert really bought my eye.

Mr. Bounder:
Good, good, jolly good, well, let me offer you this...

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Why-why, what's the point of going abroad, if your just going to be treated like a sheep?

Mr. Bounder:
Mmm.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Cartered around in buses surrounded by sweaty mindless oaves from Vetchy and Boventry.

Mr. Bounder:
Absolutely.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: They've blothed backs and their bardigans and their chances to radios, complaining about the tea or they

don't make it properly, do they? And stopping at endless Majorcan bodegas selling fish and chips and Rodney's Red Barrel

and calamares and toothache. And sitting in their cotton sunfrost, squirting Timothy White Suncream all over their puffy,

raw, swollen, parollen flesh, 'cos they overdid it on the first day.

Mr. Bounder:
Yes, I know just what you mean! Now, what we offer is...

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Being herded into countless Hotel Miramars and Bellevues, Bontinentals with their international luxury

modern roomettes...

Mr. Bounder:
Oh, yes.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ...and swimming pools full of draft Red Barrel and fat German businessmen pretending to be acrobats

and forming pyramids and frightening the children and...

Mr. Bounder:
Oh, yes.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ...barging into the cues. And if you're not at your table...

Mr. Bounder:
Oh, yes.

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ...spot on seven you miss your bowl of Campbell's Cream and Mushroom Soup, the first item in the

menu of International Cuisine.

Mr. Bounder:
Absolutely. Now what we have here is...

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Every Thursday night there's a bloody cabaret in the bar featuring some tiny ---- dego with nine-inch

hips and some fat bloated tart with her hair really creamed down and big arse presenting her to foreigners.

Mr. Bounder:
Will you be quiet, please?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ---- from Birmingham with bloody right...

Mr. Bounder:
Will you be quiet?

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ...legs and diarrhea trying to pick up hairy, bandy legs ,whop degos called Manuel.

Mr. Bounder:
Be-be quiet!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: And once a week there's an excursion to local Roman remains, where you can buy Cherry Aid and

melted ice cream...

Mr. Bounder:
Be quiet!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ...and bleedin' Rodney's Red Barrel.

Mr. Bounder:
Shut up!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: And one night they take you to a typical restaurant with local...

Mr. Bounder:
Shut up!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ...atmosphere and color and you sit next to a...

Mr. Bounder:
Shut up!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ...party from Relu who keep singing "I love the Costa Brava!"

Mr. Bounder:
Shut up!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: "I love the Costa Brava!" And you get cornered by some drunken green grocer from Luton with an

Instamatic camera and last Tuesday's daily express...

Mr. Bounder:
Please be quiet!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ...and he's on and on and on about how it is running the country and how many languages Margaret

Powell can speak and she throws up all over the cuba libre. And spending four days on the tarmac at Luton Airport on a five-

day package store with nothing to eat but dry----sandwhiches.

Mr. Bounder:
Shut up! Please shut up!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: And you can't even get a glass of Rodney's Red Barrel because you're still in England with the bloody

bar closes every time you're thirsty. And the kids are crying and vomiting and breaking the plastic ashtrays. They keep telling

you won't be another hour, but you know damn well your plane is still in Iceland, because it had to turn back, trying to take a

party of Swedes to...

Mr. Bounder:
Shut up!

Mr. Smoketoomuch: ...to take a party of Swedes to Yugoslavia. Of course it loads you up there at 3 a.m. in the morning. And

then you sit on the tarmac for four hours because of unforeseen difficulties, i.e. the permanent strike of airtraffic control over

Paris. When you finally get to Malaga airport, everybody's cueing for the bloody toilet, and cueing for the bloody half-

customs officers, and cueing for the bloody bus that isn't there, waiting to take you to the hotel that hasn't yet been built.

When you finally get to the half-built----ruin called the Hotel Limassol, while paying half the holiday money to a license

Spaniard in a taxi, there's no water in the pool, there's no water in the bath, there's no water in the tap, there's only a bleeding

lizard in the bid�, and half the rooms are doublebooked, and you can't sleep anyhow, 'cause the permanent are in the jungles in

the hotel next door. Meanwhile, the Spanish National Tourist Board promises that the raging cholera epidemic is merely a

mild outbreak of the Spanish Conleigh, while the like of the previous outbreak in 1616 even the bloody rats are dying from it!

Graham Chapman:
As early as the late 14th century, or indeed as late as the early 14th century, the earliest forms of japes

were divisible in...

Mr. Smoketoomuch: Meanwhile, the bloody guardia are arresting 16-yearolds for kissing in the streets----everybody's buying

awful little horrid donkeys with their names on, I can't tell you the----and when you finally get to Manchester, there's only

another bloody bus to carry you another 60 miles...

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