I noticed I've been typing super-short chapters lately. So what? I can do whatever I want! I also noticed that they've been considerably lacking in a story. So here goes.
Disclaimer: I'm so f*cking tired of disclaimers! I DO own the Pythons and all the cool stuff they thought of…in my mind. In reality I don't.
I'd like to thank (in advance) people who will read this and decide to review. Just do it!
It's Man is shopping at a plate store. He looks at camera, says it's and the camera slowly pans away to John, who is also shopping for plates. Michael, a guy who works at the store, goes over to assist him.
Assistant (Michael): Hello sir, would you like help finding anything?
John: No I'm quite fine thanks [starts to walk away, Michael steps in front of him]
Assistant: Are you sure?
John: [tries to get around him but Michael steps in front of him] No, I'm alright.
Assistant: Are you absolutely sure?
John: Positive. [finally gets around Michael, starts to walk away]
Assistant: I'm sorry if I bothered you sir.
John: Not at all.
Assistant: Then you wouldn't mind if I helped then?
John: [sighs] Fine.
Assistant: Alright sir, what kind of plate were you looking for today?
John: Oh just your average inexpensive plate.
Assistant: [snatches up a random plate] how about this one?
John: How much is it?
Assistant: [to another assistant] oh hey, Verity?
Verity (Eric): [off screen] yes?
Assistant: How much is this plate?
Verity: Oh, lets see, about $50?
Assistant: Oh so sorry, Mr. Verity gives figures 10 times to high.
John: So it's only $5?
John: It doesn't look very sturdy though.
Assistant: But it is! Vary stu-stu-sturdy sir!
John: Alright. Why are we talking in dollars though?
Verity: [enters] that's because the poor confused writer AdorableEric just doesn't know the pounds system.
Here I pause for you to begin planning out your review. Let me help you start it: "You don't know the dollars to pounds conversion? You miserable twit! I have gardeners who are more economically minded than you! You're a douche bag!" and so on. Good luck with that!
John: Oh that's sad. I have gardeners who are more economically minded than that!
See, you'll be in good company.
Verity: Oh give her a chance! This is only the first skit of the episode!
John: Oh alright. But only for you, darling.
To add a bit of fluff for those of you that like that sort of thing.
Assistant: Alright then, sir, this plate is awfully sturdy!
John: What is it with you and the supposed sturdiness of the plates?
Music starts to play as all of the assistants enter and line up in a line. They begin to dance and sing.
All Assistants: Oh how we love!
Our plates so sturdy!
So much better!
Than the other plate companies!
All you say is price!
And is this dishwasher-safe?
And sometimes, "Oh the plates here aren't made right, not like they're made at home oh no I prefer it back there at least you get good customer service and real people and not computers that want to take over the world."
But we actually want our plates to be strong!
[camp voices] And sturdy!
And oh so muscularly masculine! [here they break into giggles]
Opening sequence. Cuts to the outside of an average home in a random town named Wainscoting.
Woman (Eric): [runs out of house, yelling] They just mentioned us on the internet! [runs back inside]
Cuts to sitting room of previously mentioned house. Woman walks in, out of breath, and sits down at the computer again.
Man (Graham): What are you doing, woman?
Woman: Just reading some Monty Python fan fictions.
Man: Forget that rubbish! Why aren't you in the damn kitchen making me a friggin' quesadilla?
Woman: Why? Is it because I'm a woman?
Man: No…because you're Woman, who is apparently a character.
Woman: What an odd character name.
Man: Just be thankful that it's not Womyn with a Y.
Woman: Oh yes indeed, I am thankful to have man in my name because that way I always have a man inside me. [goes into kitchen to make the "friggin' quesadilla". Son comes out dressed in a schoolboy outfit]
Son (Michael): Hello Man.
Man: Hello Son.
Woman: [from kitchen] Good day, Son!
Son: Good day Woman!
Man: Don't you ever call your mother by her first name again!
Son: Sorry Mother.
Man: Father, I'm father.
Son: Sorry father but I was just apologizing to Mother, not you
Man: Were you being impertinent, Son?
Son: [crying, trying to suppress it] no Father, I was just saying [starts to break down] suh-suh-sorry to Muh-Mother. [bawling] I didn't mean it. [Son's friend enters, also dressed in school uniform]
Friend (Eric): [to Son] Oh uh, hey Son, I'm just gonna go cuz my mum prolly wants me home soon okay? Uh, I'll leave you to it then. Er, good luck. [turns and starts to leave]
Man: What did you just say?
Friend: Uh, good luck?
Man: And what the hell's that supposed to mean? Eh? Well, out with it!
Friend: Er, no reason.
Man: Oh that's good. Hey Friend, how 'bout you sit down? I'm sure your daddy wont mind! [Friend noticeably cringes at the mention of his father and sits down, cross-legged, next to Son]
Man: So, what time do you need to leave?
Friend: Anytime is good. But my mum will be expecting me back for tea.
Man: Tea! Yes, it's about teatime now. I'll let you get on with soon enough. So how do you know my son?
Friend: We go to school together.
Man: Oh really. So why do you go to that school, then? I heard it was only for kids with only one or no parents. I got my kid in by faking my death. Isn't that right Son? [pats Son on back, Son winces]
Friend: Oh, well my father was killed in an unfortunate hitch-hiking accident on Christmas Eve several years ago. Things haven't been the same since. I miss him a lot.
Man: That's only natural. Heck, if I died for real, just dropped dead as a doornail, I'd hope my family mourned my passing for as long as humanly possible. Actually, I'd hope that they never forget the tragic day and be horribly scarred for the rest of their lives because of it. I'd hope that they'd develop psychological problems and never, ever move on. I know that doesn't even sound remotely arrogant, but you'd be surprised.
Friend: [leans to Son's ear, whispers in sing-song voice] narcissist!
Man: What did you say?
Friend: [frightened] Nothing, sir!
Man: [calming down] oh alright. [Woman enters with "friggin' quesadilla"] What the hell is this, Woman?
Woman: It's your "friggin' quesadilla"
Man: I will not stand for impertinence in this household. I will slap you!
Man: I'm sorry I said that, old beast.
Woman: It's quite alright, fat bastard.
.Friend: Your family is weird.
Son: Tell me about it.
A letter read by John Cleese:
Dear Sir or Miss (hopefully Sir) who is in charge of the BBC,
I cannot believe that you put this filth on the telly! Seriously? Why do you promote slapping? I sure as heck don't! And you shouldn't either. Sorry, gotta go, my son just came home with a bad report card. I'm gonna go have a little "chat" with him.
Sir or Miss (hopefully Sir) Nibblybiscutbottom.
A letter read by Eric Idle in a little kid voice:
I thinck thats not funey. Its not rait to slap pepul. I onse slappd a kid for being meen to me an I got in truble. I thinck that th dad in that last sketsh mite get in truble. Dont say I didnt worn yoo.
PS: I wont to see mor big bottoms on the programme. Thancks.
Another letter but this time read by Terry Jones:
I want to complain about the last letter's grammar. It was incorrigible. If you don't know what that means, look it up you pansy!
PS: I agree with the last letter's postscript though.
Another letter but this one is read by AdorableEric:
I'm sorry for fudging up all your hard work.
PS: If you find a time machine, tell me. I want to hang out with you guys, but from the early 70s.
Cuts to It's Man
It's Man: It's
Cuts to Gumby.
Cuts to John the Announcer.
John: The end of the programme.
Check out the sequel!