AdamR said:
Bring out your dead. Bring out your dead
How did I forget about Monty?
KING ARTHUR:
Whoa there!
[clop clop clop]
SOLDIER #1:
Halt! Who goes there?
ARTHUR:
It is I, Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, from the castle of Camelot. King of the Britons, defeater of the Saxons, Sovereign of all England!
SOLDIER #1:
Pull the other one!
ARTHUR:
I am,... and this is my trusty servant Patsy.
We have ridden the length and breadth of the land in search of knights who will join me in my court at Camelot. I must speak with your lord and master.
SOLDIER #1:
What? Ridden on a horse?
ARTHUR:
Yes!
SOLDIER #1:
You're using coconuts!
ARTHUR:
What?
SOLDIER #1:
You've got two empty halves of coconut and you're bangin' 'em together.
ARTHUR:
So? We have ridden since the snows of winter covered this land, through the kingdom of Mercia, through--
SOLDIER #1:
Where'd you get the coconuts?
ARTHUR:
We found them.
SOLDIER #1:
Found them? In Mercia? The coconut's tropical!
ARTHUR:
What do you mean?
SOLDIER #1:
Well, this is a temperate zone.
ARTHUR:
The swallow may fly south with the sun or the house martin or the plover may seek warmer climes in winter, yet these are not strangers to our land?
SOLDIER #1:
Are you suggesting coconuts migrate?
ARTHUR:
Not at all. They could be carried.
SOLDIER #1:
What? A swallow carrying a coconut?
ARTHUR:
It could grip it by the husk!
SOLDIER #1:
It's not a question of where he grips it! It's a simple question of weight ratios! A five ounce bird could not carry a one pound coconut.
ARTHUR:
Well, it doesn't matter. Will you go and tell your master that Arthur from the Court of Camelot is here?
SOLDIER #1:
Listen. In order to maintain air-speed velocity, a swallow needs to beat its wings forty-three times every second, right?
ARTHUR:
Please!
SOLDIER #1:
Am I right?
ARTHUR:
I'm not interested!
SOLDIER #2:
It could be carried by an African swallow!
SOLDIER #1:
Oh, yeah, an African swallow maybe, but not a European swallow. That's my point.
SOLDIER #2:
Oh, yeah, I agree with that.
ARTHUR:
Will you ask your master if he wants to join my court at Camelot?!
SOLDIER #1:
But then of course a-- African swallows are non-migratory.
SOLDIER #2:
Oh, yeah.
SOLDIER #1:
So, they couldn't bring a coconut back anyway.
[clop clop clop]
SOLDIER #2:
Wait a minute! Supposing two swallows carried it together?
SOLDIER #1:
No, they'd have to have it on a line.
SOLDIER #2:
Well, simple! They'd just use a strand of creeper!
SOLDIER #1:
What, held under the dorsal guiding feathers?
SOLDIER #2:
Well, why not?
GALAHAD:
They're nervous, sire.
ARTHUR:
Then we'd best leave them here and carry on on foot. Dis-mount!
TIM:
Behold the cave of Caerbannog!
ARTHUR:
Right! Keep me covered.
GALAHAD:
What with?
ARTHUR:
W-- just keep me covered.
TIM:
Too late!
[dramatic chord]
ARTHUR:
What?
TIM:
There he is!
ARTHUR:
Where?
TIM:
There!
ARTHUR:
What, behind the rabbit?
TIM:
It is the rabbit.
ARTHUR:
You silly sod!
TIM:
What?
ARTHUR:
You got us all worked up!
TIM:
Well, that's no ordinary rabbit!
ARTHUR:
Ohh.
TIM:
That's the most foul, cruel, and bad-tempered rodent you ever set eyes on!
ROBIN:
You tit! I soiled my armour I was so scared!
TIM:
Look, that rabbit's got a vicious streak a mile wide! It's a killer!
GALAHAD:
Get stuffed!
TIM:
He'll do you up a treat, mate.
GALAHAD:
Oh, yeah?
ROBIN:
You mangy Scots git!
TIM:
I'm warning you!
ROBIN:
What's he do, nibble your bum?
TIM:
He's got huge, sharp-- eh-- he can leap about-- look at the bones!
ARTHUR:
Go on, Bors. Chop his head off!
BORS:
Right! Silly little bleeder. One rabbit stew comin' right up!
TIM:
Look!
[squeak]
BORS:
Aaaugh!
ARTHUR:
Jesus Christ!
TIM:
I warned you!
ROBIN:
I done it again!
TIM:
I warned you, but did you listen to me? Oh, no, you knew it all, didn't you? Oh, it's just a harmless little bunny, isn't it? Well, it's always the same. I always tell them--
ARTHUR:
Oh, shut up!
TIM:
Do they listen to me?
ARTHUR:
Right!
TIM:
Oh, no...
KNIGHTS:
Charge!
[squeak squeak squeak]
KNIGHTS:
Aaaaugh!, Aaaugh!, etc.
ARTHUR:
Run away! Run away!
KNIGHTS:
Run away! Run away!...
TIM:
Ha ha ha ha! Ha haw haw! Ha! Ha ha!
ARTHUR:
Right. How many did we lose?
LAUNCELOT:
Gawain.
GALAHAD:
Ector.
ARTHUR:
And Bors. That's five.
GALAHAD:
Three, sir.
ARTHUR:
Three. Three. And we'd better not risk another frontal assault. That rabbit's dynamite.
ROBIN:
Would it help to confuse it if we run away more?
ARTHUR:
Oh, shut up and go and change your armour.
GALAHAD:
Let us taunt it! It may become so cross that it will make a mistake.
ARTHUR:
Like what?
GALAHAD:
Well... ooh.
LAUNCELOT:
Have we got bows?
ARTHUR:
No.
LAUNCELOT:
We have the Holy Hand Grenade.
ARTHUR:
Yes, of course! The Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch! 'Tis one of the sacred relics Brother Maynard carries with him. Brother Maynard! Bring up the Holy Hand Grenade!
MONKS: [chanting]
Pie Iesu domine, dona eis requiem.
Pie Iesu domine, dona eis requiem. Pie Iesu domine, dona eis requiem. Pie Iesu domine, dona eis requiem.
ARTHUR:
How does it, um-- how does it work?
LAUNCELOT:
I know not, my liege.
ARTHUR:
Consult the Book of Armaments!
BROTHER MAYNARD:
Armaments, chapter two, verses nine to twenty-one.
SECOND BROTHER:
And Saint Attila raised the hand grenade up on high, saying, 'O Lord, bless this Thy hand grenade that, with it, Thou mayest blow Thine enemies to tiny bits in Thy mercy.'
And the Lord did grin, and the people did feast upon the lambs and sloths and carp and anchovies and orangutans and breakfast cereals and fruit bats and large chu--
MAYNARD:
Skip a bit, Brother.
SECOND BROTHER:
And the Lord spake, saying, 'First shalt thou take out the Holy Pin. Then, shalt thou count to three. No more. No less. Three shalt be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, nor either count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the third number, be reached, then, lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch towards thy foe, who, being naughty in My sight, shall snuff it.'
MAYNARD:
Amen.
KNIGHTS:
Amen.
ARTHUR:
Right!
One!... Two!... Five!
GALAHAD:
Three, sir!
ARTHUR:
Three!
[angels sing]
[boom]