Tuesday, August 29, 2006

British Humour has its own wikipedia.

A history of Black Adder

In World War One, Black Adder realizes the best thing a soldier could aspire to is be a pilot.

Black Adder IV, Episode 4 - Private Plane
Flasheart . . . so I flew straight through her bedroom window, popped a box of chocs on the dressing table, machine-gunned my telephone number into the wall, and then shot off and shagged her sister.

[As George creases up, Bobby Parkhurst enters the dugout.]

Bobby Ahem. Driver Parkhurst reporting for duty, my Lord . . .

Flasheart Well, well, well. If it isn't little Bobby Parkhurst-- saucier than a direct hit on a Heinz factory.

Bobby I've come to pick you up.

Flasheart Well, that's how I like my girls--direct and to my point. Woof!

Bobby Woof!

[Flasheart removes his feet from Baldrick, grabs Bobby and puts her across his lap and begins to snog her. During the snog BA sarcastically checks his watch.]

Flasheart Ah! Tally ho, then! Back to the bar. You should join the Flying Corps, George. That's the way to fight a war. Tasty tuck, soft beds and a uniform so smart it's got a PhD from Cambridge.

[Flasheart gestures at Baldrick.]

Flasheart You could even bring the breath monster here. Anyone can be a navigator if he can tell his arse from his elbow.

BA Well, that's Baldrick out, I fear . . .

Flasheart We're always looking for talented types to join the Twenty Minuters.

BA . . . and there goes George.

[Flasheart rises from the chair, lifting Bobby in his arms.]

Flasheart Tally ho, then, Bobby. Hush, here comes a whizz-bang and I think you know what I'm talking about! Woof!

Bobby Woof!

[Flasheart and Bobby leave.]

BA God, it's like Crufts in here!

[Baldrick and George stand.]

George I say, Sir. What a splendid notion. The Twenty Minuters. Soft tucker, tasty beds, fluffy uniforms.

Baldrick Begging your permission, Sir, but why do they call them the Twenty Minuters?

George Ah, now, yes, . . .

[George moves across the dugout to get his card album.]

George . . . now this one is in my Brooke Bond `Book of the Air'.

[George returns to the cot and sits down.]

George Now, you have to collect all the cards and then stick them into this wonderful presentation booklet. Er . . .

[Baldrick sits down next to George.]

George Ah, here we are: Twenty Minuters. Oh, damn! Haven't got the card yet. Ah, but the caption says `Twenty minutes is the average amount of time new pilots spend in the air.'

BA Twenty minutes.

George That's right, Sir.

BA I had a twenty hour watch yesterday, with four hours overtime, in two feet of water.

[George, then Baldrick, rise from the cot and move to the table.]

George Well then, for goodness sake, Sir, why don't we join?

Baldrick Yeah, be better than just sitting around here all day on our elbows.

BA No thank you. No thank you. I have no desire to hang around with a bunch of upper-class delinquents, do twenty do minutes work, and then spend the rest of the day loafing about in Paris drinking gallons of champagne and having dozens of moist, pink, highly-experienced young French peasant girls galloping up and down my . . . Hang on!