Oh dear, Richard the Third.
Nov. 6th, 2008 03:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
whathoI compiled quotations from The Blackadder so you don't have to watch it. That's not really why I did it. I just wanted to see how many funny 'uns I could get and to go over it again without having to bother to blow the dust off the VHSs and because I thought I might enjoy it. John Sergeant said the laugh per minute ratio wasn't as high as in the others and I don't entirely agree. I love my Blackadders in order. I'm very neat like that. I'm trying to accept that my way is not the only way. I don't like the Spanish Infanta episode because they think it's funny that she's fat, though I do like Jim Broadbent being the interpretor. My favourite's either 'The Witchsmeller Pursuivant' or the archbishop one. I don't know which. I doubt it really matters. I love John Sergeant in spite of his feelings about The Blackadder.
I'm going to have tomato soup for my tea. You don't have to have a Twitter account to be banal. (I like posts about what people are having for tea. For the record.)
***
Oh dear, Richard the Third.
Wessex, while they're away, take ten thousand troops and pillage Geneva.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more! Consign their parts most private to a Rutland tree.
Ah. Horsey.
Hell! where the softest bits of your nether regions are everybody else's favourite lunch.
He took some finishing off, I can tell you!/ Yes, indeed. I killed him myself at one point.
Dear Enemy. I curse you and hope something slightly unpleasant happens to you, like an onion falling on your head.
Right! And the other is fornication.
Hell! Where Satan belches fire, and enormous devils break wind both night and day. Hell! Where the mind is never free from the torments of remorse, and your bottom never free from the pricking of little forks.
Chiswick! Fresh horse.
Hell! Where the air is pungent with the aroma of roasted behinds.
An informed source tells me that the Duchess of Gloucester has given birth to twin goblins.
Now, I'm afraid that there's going to have to be a certain amount of ... violence. But at least we know it's all in a good cause, don't we?
Hell! Where tiny tweezers ....
Are we getting married now?
I like not this news. Bring me some other news.
So what you're telling me, Percy, is that something you have never seen is slightly less blue than something else you have never seen.
You do have another son, my Lord.
Have the armies of the Rhine been slaughtered to a man and their heads cut off, and melted cheese poured down their nostrils in the traditional Swiss manner?/ No, my Lord.
Almost as tragic as Archbishop Bertram being struck by a falling gargoyle while swimming off Beachy Head./ Quite, quite. And nearly as tragic as poor old Archbishop Wilfred slipping and falling backwards onto the spire of Norwich Cathedral. Oh Lord, you do work in mysterious ways.
Chiswick, take this to the Queen of Naples./ What is it, my Lord?/ The King of Naples.
I could not resist the texture of the Hessian underthings.
What we need is a real bastard.
I've just been hearing about your work in Taunton. Imagine that - every single person in the village having an affair with the same duck.
Heaven is for people who like the sort of things that go on in Heaven. Like ... well ... singing. Talking to God. Watering pot plants.
St Juniper once said, 'By his loins shall ye know him, and by the length of his rod shall he be measured'. The length of my rod is known only to my Queen and a thousand Turkish whores.
May you be turned orange in hue, and may your head fall off at an awkward moment.
What did you mean by milk?/ I meant milk! Bloody milk!/ Bloody milk! A mixture of milk and blood!/ No, no. Just milk./ Ah. So the blood was to come later./ There wasn't any blood!/ So you had to make do ... WITH MILK!
Well, if it sounds like Greek, it probably is Greek.
Did you, Satin, on certain nights last Lammastide, indulge - albeit, I accept, in all innocence - in frenzied, naked, and obscene Satanic orgies with your master, known to you as the Great Grumbledook?
Are we to assume this horse has something to hide?/ Either that or he can't talk.
Well, otherwise, I'll be burnt! /Ah, yes, this would be a pity.
She's seen me on a coin.
I'm rather regretting my choice of undergarments as well.
Blood! Death! War! Rumpy pumpy! Triumph!
Edmund? It's not a sheep, is it?
You know the saying. A rat a day keeps the plague away.
And a farmer in Rye heard a cow reciting Geoffrey Chaucer; and a young woman in Shropshire saw Geoffrey Chaucer in a field, mooing and suckling a young heifer.
They don't call me Clever Pete ... at all.
Look at his hair! The hair proves it.
You ride a horse rather less well than another horse would.
Dear Lord ... who made the birds and the bees ... and the snails ....
Did I say 'Your money or your life'? Slip of the tongue. I meant 'Your money and your life'.
Seethe, seethe, seethe. If he goes on seething like that much longer, he'll turn into a seethe.
These feathers will tickle you under what's left of your arms, and that is the amusing part.
As my tutor, old Bubble Face, used to say, 'Make love and be merry, for tomorrow you may catch some disgusting skin disease'.
Run away from the hills! Run away from the hills! If you see the hills, run the other way!
I'm going to have tomato soup for my tea. You don't have to have a Twitter account to be banal. (I like posts about what people are having for tea. For the record.)
***
Oh dear, Richard the Third.
Wessex, while they're away, take ten thousand troops and pillage Geneva.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more! Consign their parts most private to a Rutland tree.
Ah. Horsey.
Hell! where the softest bits of your nether regions are everybody else's favourite lunch.
He took some finishing off, I can tell you!/ Yes, indeed. I killed him myself at one point.
Dear Enemy. I curse you and hope something slightly unpleasant happens to you, like an onion falling on your head.
Right! And the other is fornication.
Hell! Where Satan belches fire, and enormous devils break wind both night and day. Hell! Where the mind is never free from the torments of remorse, and your bottom never free from the pricking of little forks.
Chiswick! Fresh horse.
Hell! Where the air is pungent with the aroma of roasted behinds.
An informed source tells me that the Duchess of Gloucester has given birth to twin goblins.
Now, I'm afraid that there's going to have to be a certain amount of ... violence. But at least we know it's all in a good cause, don't we?
Hell! Where tiny tweezers ....
Are we getting married now?
I like not this news. Bring me some other news.
So what you're telling me, Percy, is that something you have never seen is slightly less blue than something else you have never seen.
You do have another son, my Lord.
Have the armies of the Rhine been slaughtered to a man and their heads cut off, and melted cheese poured down their nostrils in the traditional Swiss manner?/ No, my Lord.
Almost as tragic as Archbishop Bertram being struck by a falling gargoyle while swimming off Beachy Head./ Quite, quite. And nearly as tragic as poor old Archbishop Wilfred slipping and falling backwards onto the spire of Norwich Cathedral. Oh Lord, you do work in mysterious ways.
Chiswick, take this to the Queen of Naples./ What is it, my Lord?/ The King of Naples.
I could not resist the texture of the Hessian underthings.
What we need is a real bastard.
I've just been hearing about your work in Taunton. Imagine that - every single person in the village having an affair with the same duck.
Heaven is for people who like the sort of things that go on in Heaven. Like ... well ... singing. Talking to God. Watering pot plants.
St Juniper once said, 'By his loins shall ye know him, and by the length of his rod shall he be measured'. The length of my rod is known only to my Queen and a thousand Turkish whores.
May you be turned orange in hue, and may your head fall off at an awkward moment.
What did you mean by milk?/ I meant milk! Bloody milk!/ Bloody milk! A mixture of milk and blood!/ No, no. Just milk./ Ah. So the blood was to come later./ There wasn't any blood!/ So you had to make do ... WITH MILK!
Well, if it sounds like Greek, it probably is Greek.
Did you, Satin, on certain nights last Lammastide, indulge - albeit, I accept, in all innocence - in frenzied, naked, and obscene Satanic orgies with your master, known to you as the Great Grumbledook?
Are we to assume this horse has something to hide?/ Either that or he can't talk.
Well, otherwise, I'll be burnt! /Ah, yes, this would be a pity.
She's seen me on a coin.
I'm rather regretting my choice of undergarments as well.
Blood! Death! War! Rumpy pumpy! Triumph!
Edmund? It's not a sheep, is it?
You know the saying. A rat a day keeps the plague away.
And a farmer in Rye heard a cow reciting Geoffrey Chaucer; and a young woman in Shropshire saw Geoffrey Chaucer in a field, mooing and suckling a young heifer.
They don't call me Clever Pete ... at all.
Look at his hair! The hair proves it.
You ride a horse rather less well than another horse would.
Dear Lord ... who made the birds and the bees ... and the snails ....
Did I say 'Your money or your life'? Slip of the tongue. I meant 'Your money and your life'.
Seethe, seethe, seethe. If he goes on seething like that much longer, he'll turn into a seethe.
These feathers will tickle you under what's left of your arms, and that is the amusing part.
As my tutor, old Bubble Face, used to say, 'Make love and be merry, for tomorrow you may catch some disgusting skin disease'.
Run away from the hills! Run away from the hills! If you see the hills, run the other way!
