Monty Python – Travel agent sketch & theory of the brontosaurus

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26 thoughts on “Monty Python – Travel agent sketch & theory of the brontosaurus”

  1. The only American counterpart that we had to Python was Firesign Theater. But they did, essentially, radio, a medium sadly not used well these days. [go listen to an old radio play, or better yet, Firesign, and tell me I'm wrong]

  2. Eric Idle once invited Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia, and Han Solo back to his flat in London, because the Elstree location of the filming of Star Wars was boring. After a bit of drinking, the Rolling Stones showed up. At 6 am everyone went back to work. I miss those days.

  3. Yes, you're quite right. I'm fed up with being treated like sheep. What's the point of going abroad if you're just another tourist carted around in buses surrounded by sweaty mindless oafs from Kettering and Boventry in their cloth caps and their cardigans and their transistor radios and their Sunday Mirrors, bomplaining about the tea – 'Oh they don't make it properly here, do they, not like at home' – and stopping at Majorcan bodegas selling fish and chips and Watney's Red Barrel and calamaris and two veg and sitting in their cotton frocks squirting Timothy White's suncream all over their puffy raw swollen purulent flesh 'cos they 'overdid it on the first day.'

    And being herded into endless Hotel Miramars and Bellvueses and Bontinentales with their modern international luxury roomettes and draught Red Barrel and swimming pools full of fat German businessmen pretending they're acrobats forming pyramids and frightening the children and barging into queues and if you're not at your table spot on seven you miss the bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup, the first item on the menu of International Cuisine, and every Thursday night the hotel has a bloody cabaret in the bar, featuring a tiny emaciated dago with nine-inch hips and some bloated fat tart with her hair brylcreemed down and a big arse presenting Flamenco for Foreigners.

    And then some adenoidal typists from Birmingham with flabby white legs and diarrhoea trying to pick up hairy bandy-legged wop waiters called Manuel and once a week there's an excursion to the local Roman Ruins to buy cherryade and melted ice cream and bleeding Watney's Red Barrel and one evening you visit the so called typical restaurant with local colour and atmosphere and you sit next to a party from Rhyl who keep singing 'Torremolinos, torremolinos' and complaining about the food – 'It's so greasy here, isn't it?' – and you get cornered by some drunken greengrocer from Luton with an Instamatic camera and Dr. Scholl sandals and last Tuesday's Daily Express and he drones on and on and on about how Mr. Smith should be running this country and how many languages Enoch Powell can speak and then he throws up over the Cuba Libres.

  4. SNL started out as a Canadian-based comedy troupe. As the years wore on it became more American and, subsequently, less funny. Python was British. And stayed British. And remains unparalleled in the comedy realm. With very few exceptions, America sketch comedies are uninspired and poorly crafted. And now they're all about hating President Trump. Yeah. Really "pushing the envelope" there.

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