|Man (Cleese): (whistles a bit, then) Hello. I would like to buy a fish
Postal clerk (Palin): A what?
Man: A licence for my pet fish, Eric.
Clerk: How did you know my name was Eric?
Man: No, no, no! My fish's name is Eric. Eric fish. He's an halibut.
Man: He is an halibut.
Clerk: You've got a pet halibut?
Man: Yes, I chose him out of thousands. I didn't like the others, they were
all too flat.
Clerk: You must be a loony.
Man: I am not a loony. Why should I be tarred with the epithet 'loony'
merely because I have a pet halibut? I've heard tell that Sir Gerald
Nabarro has a pet prawn called Simon - you wouldn't call him a loony!
Furthermore Dawn Pathorpe, the lady showjumper, had a clam called
Stafford, after the late chancellor. Alan Bullock has two pikes, both
called Chris, and Marcel Proust had an 'addock! So if you're calling
the author of 'A la recherche de temps perdu' a loony, I shall have to
ask you to step outside!
Clerk: All right, all right, all right. A licence?
Clerk: For a fish.
Clerk: You are a loony.
Man: Look, it's a bleeding pet, isn't it? I've got a licence for me pet dog
Eric, I've got a licence for me pet cat Eric.
Clerk: You don't need a licence for your cat.
Man: I bleedin' well do and I've got one! Can't be caught out there!
Clerk: There is no such thing as a bloody Cat Licence.
Man: Yes there is.
Clerk: No there isn't.
Man: I've bleedin' got one, look! What's that then?
Clerk: This is a dog licence with the word 'dog' crossed out and 'cat' written
in in crayon.
Man: Man didn't have the right form.
Clerk: What man?
Man: The man from the cat detector van.
Clerk: The loony detector van, you mean.
Man: Look, it's people like you what cause unrest.
Clerk: What cat detector van?
Man: The cat detector van from the Ministry of Housinge.
Man: It was spelt like that on the van. I'm very observant. I never seen so
many bleedin' aerials. The man said their equipment could pinpoint a
purr at four hundred yards, and Eric being such a happy cat was a piece
Clerk: How much did you pay for this?
Man: Sixty quid and eight for the fruit-bat.
Clerk: What fruit-bat?
Man: Eric the fruit-bat.
Clerk: Are all your pets called Eric?
Man: There's nothing so odd about that. Kemel Attaturk had an entire
menagerie called Abdul.
Clerk: No he didn't.
Man: Did, did, did, did, did and did!
Clerk: Oh all right.
Man: Spoken like a gentleman, sir. Now, are you going to give me a fish
Clerk: I promise you that there is no such thing. You don't need one.
Man: In that case give me a bee licence.
Clerk: A licence for your pet bee.
Clerk: Called Eric? Eric the bee?
Man: No, Eric the half bee. He had an accident.
Clerk: You're off your chump.
Man: Look, if you intend by that utilization of an obscure colloquialism to
imply that my sanity is not up to scratch, or even to deny the
semi-existence of my little chum Eric the half bee, I shall have to ask
you to listen to this. Take it away, Eric the orchestra-leader.
Eric Idle: A one, two, a one two three four!
Man (sings): Half a bee, philosophically,
Must, ipso facto, half not be.
But half the bee has got to be
Vis a vis, its entity. D'you see? But can a bee be said to be
Or not to be an entire bee
When half the bee is not a bee
Due to some ancient injury? Chorus: La dee dee, one two three,
Eric the half a bee.
A B C D E F G,
Eric the half a bee. Man: Is this wretched demi-bee,
Half-asleep upon my knee,
Some freak from a menagerie?
No! It's Eric the half a bee! Chorus: Fiddle de dum, Fiddle de dee,
Eric the half a bee.
Ho ho ho, tee hee hee,
Eric the half a bee. Man: I love this hive, implore ye-ee,
One summer afternoon by me,
I love him carnally. Chorus: He loves him carnally,
Semi-carnally. Man: The end. Clerk: Cyril Connolly? Man: No, semi-carnally! Clerk: Oh. Chorus: Cyril Connolly. (Whistle end of tune.)
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