The Marty Feldman Comedy Machine

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Achtung! Britisher Ship!

Prepare to fire!

Fire torpedo eins!

Thank you. Just one more, thank you.

Thank you. One more, please.

Thank you.

Quick, driver. Straight on.

Wait a minute. One more, sir.

Thank you.

Thank you, one more please.

Thank you.

...can I just have one more, please...

I'm terribly sorry my dear, I've had

a simply dreadful day at the office.

A dreadful day.

Pity, they all came out a bit blurred.

Still, it's his fault

for moving I suppose.

The Gofongo, if you please,

is a fish with singing knees,

and a tail that plays

the Spanish clarionet.

He has toes that whistle tunes,

and explode like toy balloons.

Hence his many,

many visits to the vet.

The Gofongo, when he likes,

swallows jam and rusty bikes,

orange pips, and treacle

pudding, boiled in glue.

He loves chips with rusty nails,

and can swallow iron rails,

that is why they cannot

keep one in a zoo.

But Gofongo as a pet

would cause panic and regret.

People tried it,

and were nearly driven barmy.

For once inside a house,

he screams "I'm a jewish mouse",

Then he runs away,

joins the arab army.

Hi friends.

Tonight I want to appeal to you

on behalf of the natural

preservation society,

a group dedicated

to the protection

of each of the... species that in-...

...habit this planet.

And here, Bengal tiger,

nature's finest creatures.

Javanese rhino,

in danger of extinction.

And tonight I wanted to talk to you

about a species that might disappear

before even the tiger and the rhino,

before we even realise

there is a problem.

The British Aristocrat.

We took our camera team

to a nobility sanctuary,

Spongling Manor,

home of Lord Plumdink.

A happpy haven for aristocrats,

all relations of lord Plumdink.

But sadly he himself is unmarried

and without male issue.

This is part of our mission.

We're in luck.

The dual coronet reveals,

that this is the head of the

family himself:
Lord Plumdink.

The sight of our camera car

has frightened him away.

It was to be several hours

before we were finally rewarded.

Mouldering, butler to

nobility for many years,

and now our guide, spotted

a pride of peers at play.

And here we see him attempting

to lure the aristocrats.

Our hearts were in our mouths

as they emerged from hiding.

They'd obviously caught

wind of the bait.

Their capes flooded with excitement

at the scent of cucumber sandwich.

We're in luck:
Lord Plumdink,

Lady Ann, his sister,

and her son, Peregrine, have taken

the bait. They have come for tea.

With the aid of our hidden

camera we were able

to take some unique shots

of our aristocrats eating.

Our camera crew moved a little nearer.

It was at this moment that

some strange, primeval instinct

told Lord Plumdink

of our presence.

That his territory

was being threatened.

We had learned

that it was essential

to win the confidence of Lord

Plumdink and his family.

American aristologists have found

that the English aristocrat

is invariably attracted

by the dollar bill.

This proved a sure way to bring our

noble prey right up to the camera car.

Having gained his Lordships confidence,

we are ready for our prime objective:

Meat.

Lord Plumdink must have an heir.

There is no suitable mate in England,

so we flew over a Russian countess.

The authorities in Europe who

kindly came to our assistance

assured us that her credentials

were fully authenticated.

To our surprise, and disappointment,

lord Plumdink at first showed

little interest in the great lady.

But the resourceful

Mouldering tempted him

with genuine 18 carat

Romanov jewelery.

The ice was broken.

Mouldering assures us

that all is going well.

The aristocratic mating

ritual is well underway.

We returned nine months later.

Success! A new

aristocret is born!

Lord Plumdink proudly announces

the birth of his heir

to his faithful workers.

The duke is dead, long live the duke.

Now to keep this race alive.

the natural preservation of

aristocrats fund needs your money.

Without this money lord Plumdink, and

many like him, will simply disappear.

The choice is yours.

Goodnight.

Once upon a time there was

an undertaker named Melmoth.

Then there was the competition, an

undertaker called the original Melmoth.

It was a very grave situation.

To make matters worse, no-one had died

in their town for a very long time.

So they tried to create their own trade.

At last someone had died.

Things were looking up,

at least for one of them.

Finally good sense prevailed,

two little unsuccesful firms

became one big unsuccesful firm.

And they lived happily ever after.

On the Ning Nang Nong

Where the Cows go Bong!

and the monkeys all say BOO!

There's a Nong Nang Ning

Where the trees go Ping!

And the tree tops jibber jabber joo.

On the Nong Ning Nang

All the mice go Clang

And you just can't

catch 'em when they do!

So its Ning Nang Nong

Cows go Bong!

Nong Nang Ning

Trees go ping

Nong Ning Nang

The mice go Clang

What a noisy place to belong

is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!

Ding Dang Dong, Ding Dang Dong,

Ding Dang Ding Dang Dong. Tsssh.

Well, that's about it for this week.

See you again next week.

I'd like to thank everybody

on the show, but above all,

I'd like to thank you, for

inviting me into your living room.

I never invited him in, did you?

I thought he was with you.

I don't know anybody

who dresses like that.

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