Never Forgotten: a Foster's Home Community

Never Forgotten: a Foster's Home Community (http://www.fosters-home.com/forum/index.php)

- Other Entertainment (http://www.fosters-home.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?f=23)

- - Monty Python? (http://www.fosters-home.com/forum/showthread.php?t=110)

The fact that I know every single Monty Python song by heart should tell you I'm not healthy. I love those guys.

Don't worry most of us arent quite right in the head.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Kzinistzerg (Post 1795)

Don't worry most of us arent quite right in the head.

In that case maybe you should go see "the Brain Specialist".... "THE BRAIN SPECIALIST!!!" ;)

Don't know that one.

Well, when your thoughts go like this:

Quote:

Neville Shunt's latest West End Success, "It all Happened on the 11.20 from
Hainault to Redhill via Horsham and Reigate, calling at Carshalton Beeches,
Malmesbury, Tooting Bec and Croydon West," is currently appearing at the Limp
Theatre, Piccadilly. What Shunt is doing in this, as in his earlier nine
plays, is to express the human condition in terms of British Rail.

Some people have made the mistake of seeing Shunt's work as a load of rubbish
about railway timetables, but clever people like me who talk loudly in
restaurants see this as a deliberate ambiguity, a plea for understanding in a
mechanised mansion. The points are frozen, the beast is dead. What is the
difference? What indeed is the point? The point is frozen, the beast is late
out of Paddington. The point is taken. If La Fontaine's elk would spurn Tom
Jones the engine must be our head, the dining car our oesophagus, the guards
van our left lung, the cattle truck our shins, the first class compartment the
piece of skin at the nape of the neck and the level crossing an electric elk
called Simon. The clarity is devastating. But where is the ambiguity? Over
there in a box. Shunt is saying the 8.15 from Gillingham when in reality he
means the 8.13 from Gillingham. The train is the same, only the time is
altered. Ecce homo, ergo elk. La Fontaine knew its sister and knew her bloody
well. The point is taken, the beast is moulting, the fluff gets up your nose.
The illusion is complete; it is reality, the reality is illusion and the
ambiguity is the only truth. But is the truth, as Hitchcock observes, in the
box? No, there isn't room, the ambiguity has put on weight. The point is
taken, the elk is dead, the beast stops at Swindon, Chabrol stops at nothing,
I'm having treatment and La Fontaine can get knotted.

Then your caretakers should get you away from the keyboard and back into your nice padded room.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Starsky (Post 1790)

The fact that I know every single Monty Python song by heart should tell you I'm not healthy.

As long as you aren't dim (of the yard).

The local PBS station is running them here for the first time in...maybe ever. (We get Red Green now, too! So awesome!) Monty Python is amazing. It's fresh after 40 years, and still feels different from everything else, even though everything else has obviously been cribbing from it ever since.

The Lumberjack Song may be my favorite. They even played it at the George Harrison funeral concert. Not a bad way to go, suspendies and a brahr.

Well, if we're going to start quoting...

Quote:

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 six 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, the dead crab she said, she said. Well, her sister's gone to Rhodesia what with her womb and all, and her youngest, her youngest as thin as a filing cabinet, and the goldfish, the goldfish they've got whooping cough they keep spitting water all over their 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 surgeon but I don't like the sound of his liver, all that squeaking and banging every night till the small hours, his mother's been much better since she had her head off, yes she has, I said, don't you talk to me about bladders, I said...

"There are a great many people in the country today who, through no fault of their own, are sane."

Quote:

Originally Posted by don Jaime (Post 2113)

(We get Red Green now, too! So awesome!)

Lucky

Augh, lucky! I wish we got Red-Green... Such a great show...

I saw a little bit of Monty Python and The Holy Grail...