Man: Good morning, I'd care to purchase a chicken, please.
Vendor: Don't come here with that posh talk, you nasty, stuck-up twit!
Man: I beg your pardon?
Vendor: A chicken, sir? Certainly. Here we are.
Man: Thank you. And how much does that come to per pound, my good fellow?
Vendor: Per pound, you slimy trollop? What kind of a ponce are you?
Man: I'm sorry?
Vendor: Four and six a pound, sir. Nice and ready for roasting.
Man: I see. And I'd care to purchase some stuffing in addition, please.
Vendor: Use your own, you great poofy poll-nagger!
Man: What?
Vendor: Certainly, sir, some stuffing.
Man: Oh, thank you.
Vendor: Oh, "thank you", says the great queen, like a la-di-da pooftah!
Man: I beg your pardon?
Vendor: That's alright, sir, call again!
Man: Excuse me...
Vendor: What is it now, you great pillock?!
Man: I can't help but notice that you insult me, and then you're polite to me, alternately.
Vendor: Oh, I'm terribly sorry to hear that, sir!
Man: Oh, that's all right. It doesn't really matter.
Vendor: Tough titty if it did, you nasty, spotted prancer!

Mr. Last: You've got a pet halibut?
Mr. Praline: Yes. I chose him out of a thousand. I didn't like the others; they were all too flat.
Mr. Last: You're a loony!
Mr. Praline: 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, and you wouldn't call Sir Gerald a loony, would you? Furthermore, Dawn Pelforth, the lady show jumper, had a clam called Sir Stefford after the late Chancellor, Allen Bullock has two pikes, both called Norman, and the late, great Marcel Proust had a haddock! If you're calling the author of À la recherche du temps perdu a loony, I shall have to ask you to step outside!

Mr. Wiggin: This is a 12-story block combining classical neo-Georgian features with the efficiency of modern techniques. The tenants arrive here and are carried along the corridor on a conveyor belt in extreme comfort, past murals depicting Mediterranean scenes, towards the rotating knives. The last twenty feet of the corridor are heavily soundproofed. The blood pours down these chutes and the mangled flesh slurps into these...
Client 1: Excuse me.
Mr. Wiggin: Yes?
Client 1: Did you say 'knives'?
Mr. Wiggin: Rotating knives, yes.
Client 2: Do I take it that you are proposing to slaughter our tenants?
Mr. Wiggin: ...Does that not fit in with your plans?
Client 1: Not really. We asked for a simple block of flats.

Mrs Bun: Have you got anything without Spam?
Waitress: Well, Spam, egg, sausage, and Spam; that's not got much Spam in it.
Mrs Bun: I don't want any Spam!
Mr Bun: Why can't she have egg, bacon, Spam, and sausage?
Mrs Bun: That's got Spam in it!
Mr Bun: Not as much as Spam, egg, sausage, and Spam,
Mrs. Bun: Look, could I have egg, bacon, Spam and sausage, without the Spam?
Waitress: Bleurgh!
Mrs. Bun: What do you mean "Ugh?" I don't like Spam!
Vikings: [singing] Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam... Lovely Spam! Wonderful Spam!

Narrator: In 1970 the British Empire lay in ruins, foreign nationals frequented the streets, many of them Hungarians (not the streets--the foreign nationals). Anyway, many of these Hungarians went into tobacconists shops to buy cigarettes...

Padre: Sorry I'm late, head master. I've been wrestling with Plato.
Head Master: What you do in your own time, padre, is written on the wall in the vestry!

Psychiatrist Milkman: Mrs. Ratbag, if you don't mind me saying so, you're badly in need of an expensive course of psychiatric treatment. Now, I'm not going to say that a trip to our dairy will cure you, but it will give hundreds of lower-paid workers a good laugh.

Radio Announcer: That was Part 2 of the death of Mary Queen of Scots; adapted for the radio. And now, Radio Four will explode. [intreval music plays until the radio suddenly combusts]
Pepperpot 1: We'll have to watch the telly then.
Pepperpot 2: Yes.
Pepperpot 1: Well, what's on the television then?
Pepperpot 2: Looks like a penguin.
Pepperpot 1: No, no, no, no! I didn't mean 'what's on the television set?' I meant 'what program?'
Pepperpot 2: Oh.
Pepperpot 2: Funny that penguin being there, isn't it? What's it doing there?
Pepperpot 1: Standing.
Pepperpot 2: I can see that!
Pepperpot 1: If it lays an egg, it will fall down the back of the television set.
Pepperpot 2: We'll have to watch that. Unless it's a male.
Pepperpot 1: Ooh, I hadn't thought of that.
Pepperpot 2: Yes. Looks fairly butch.
Pepperpot 1: Perhaps it comes from next door.
Pepperpot 2: Penguins don't come from next door; they come from the Antarctic!
Pepperpot 1: BURMA!
Pepperpot 2: Why'd you say "Burma"?
Pepperpot 1: I panicked.
Pepperpot 2: Perhaps it's from the zoo.
Pepperpot 1: Which zoo?
Pepperpot 2: How should I know which zoo? I'm not Doctor Bloody Bernofsky!
Pepperpot 1: How does Doctor Bernofsky know which zoo it came from?
Pepperpot 2: He knows everything.
Pepperpot 1: Ooh, I wouldn't like that. It'd take all the mystery out of life. Anyway, if it came from the zoo, it'd have 'Property of the Zoo' stamped on it.
Pepperpot 2: No it wouldn't. They don't stamp animals 'Property of the Zoo'! You couldn't stamp a huge lion!
Pepperpot 1: They stamp them when they're small.
Pepperpot 2: What happens when they moult?
Pepperpot 1: Lions don't moult!
Pepperpot 2: No, but penguins do. There! I've run rings around you, logically.
Pepperpot 1: Oh, intercourse the penguin!

Reg: Mr. Wentworth just told me to come in here and say that there was trouble at the mill, that's all--I didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition!
[Three men in red uniforms burst through the door]
Cardinal Ximinez: Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!

Reverend Arthur Belling: There are a great many people in the country today, who through no fault of their own, are sane. Some of them were born sane, while others became sane later in their lives. It is up to people like us, who are out of our tiny minds, to help them overcome their sanity. You can start in small ways, with ping pong ball eyes and a funny voice, and then perhaps paint half of your body red and their other half green, and then stand in a bowl of treacle going "SQWAK SQWAK SQWAK!" Finally, you can roll around on the floor going "p'ting p'ting p'ting!"
Announcer: The Reverend Arthur Belling is vicar at the St. Loony Up the Cream Bun and Jam.

Reverend Gumby: I believe in peace, and bashing two bricks together!

Sailor 1: Still no sign of land. How long is it?
Sailor 2: That's a rather personal question, sir.
Sailor 1: You stupid git! I meant 'how long have we been in the lifeboat?' You've spoiled the atmosphere!
Sailor 2: Sorry, sir.
Sailor 1: Shut up! We'll have to start again. Still no sign of land. How long is it?
Sailor 2: 33 days, sir.
Sailor 3: 33 days?
Sailor 2: I don't think we can hold out much longer. I don't think I did spoil the atmosphere that time.
Sailor 1: Shut up!
Sailor 2: Well, I don't think I did!
Sailor 1: Of course you did!
Sailor 1: Do you think I spoiled the atmosphere?
Sailor 3: Yes, I think you did.
Sailor 1: Look, shut up! Shut up! Still no sign of land. How long is it?
Sailor 2: 33 days, sir.
Sailor 4: Have we started again?
Undertaker Sketch

Silly Reverend: We at the Church of the Divine Loony believe in the power of prayer to turn the face purple!

Vanilla Hoare: Look, you crumb bum, I'm a star. Star, star, star! I don't get a million dollars to act out of a trench. I played Mrs. St John the Baptist in a trench, and I played Mrs. Napoleon Bonaparte in a trench, and I played Mrs. Alexander Fleming in a furrow, so if you want this scene played out of a trench, well you just get yourself a goddamn stuntman! I played Mrs. Galileo in a groove and I played Mrs. Jesus Christ in a geological syncline!

Vince: One day, I was sitting at home, threatening the kids, when this tank drives up. One of Dinsdale's boys gets out all nice and friendly like, and says Dinsdale wants to have a talk with me. So, he chains me to the back of the tank, and takes me for a scrape round to Dinsdale's place. Dinsdale's there in the conversation pit with Doug, Charles Paisley the Baby Crusher, a couple of film producers and a fellow called Kierkegaard who just sits there, biting the heads off whippets. And Dinsdale says 'I hear you've been a naughty boy, Clement', and he splits my nostrils open, saws my leg off and pulls my liver out. And I says, 'My name's not Clement', and then he loses his temper and nails my head to the floor.