LITEROTICA PODCAST
LIT CAMS (200 Free Tokens)ADULT TOYSVOD MOVIES

Respond with Monty Python

And that there is the machine that goes bing. It’s the most expensive machine in the whole hospital!
 
This man is no ordinary man. This is Mr. F G Superman. To all appearances, he looks like any other law-abiding citizen. But Mr F G Superman has a secret identity. When trouble strikes at any time, at any place, he is ready to become... BICYCLE REPAIR MAN!
 
It was a day like many another, and Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Brainsample were a perfectly ordinary couple leading perfectly ordinary lives. The sort of people to whom nothing extraordinary ever happened - and not the kind of people to be the center of one of the most astounding incidents in the history of mankind... So let's forget about them and follow instead the destiny of this man...
 
Kevin Phillips Bong - you polled no votes at all. Not a sausage. Bugger all. Tell me, are you at all disappointed with this performance?
 
BRIAN: Larks' tongues. Otters' noses. Ocelot spleens.

REG: Got any nuts?

BRIAN: I haven't got any nuts. Sorry. I've got wrens' livers, badgers' spleens--

REG: No, no, no.

BRIAN: Otters' noses?

REG: I don't want any of that Roman rubbish.

JUDITH: Why don't you sell proper food?

BRIAN: Proper food?

REG: Yeah, not those rich imperialist tit-bits.

BRIAN: Well, don't blame me. I didn't ask to sell this stuff.

REG: All right. Bag of otters' noses, then.

FRANCIS: Make it two.
 
Hornblende said:
BRIAN: Larks' tongues. Otters' noses. Ocelot spleens.

REG: Got any nuts?

BRIAN: I haven't got any nuts. Sorry. I've got wrens' livers, badgers' spleens--

REG: No, no, no.

BRIAN: Otters' noses?

REG: I don't want any of that Roman rubbish.

JUDITH: Why don't you sell proper food?

BRIAN: Proper food?

REG: Yeah, not those rich imperialist tit-bits.

BRIAN: Well, don't blame me. I didn't ask to sell this stuff.

REG: All right. Bag of otters' noses, then.

FRANCIS: Make it two.
Click to expand...

Splitters!!
 
GC: SHUT YOUR FESTERING GOB, YOU TIT! YOUR TYPE MAKES ME PUKE! YOU VACUOUS TOFFEE-NOSED MALODOROUS PERVERT!!!

MP: Yes, but I came here for an argument.

GC: Oh! oh, I'm sorry. This is abuse.
 
TheMrBurns said:
GC: SHUT YOUR FESTERING GOB, YOU TIT! YOUR TYPE MAKES ME PUKE! YOU VACUOUS TOFFEE-NOSED MALODOROUS PERVERT!!!

MP: Yes, but I came here for an argument.

GC: Oh! oh, I'm sorry. This is abuse.
Click to expand...

(Hits you with a hammer.) Hold your hands like this and go "WAAAAAAAAAA!" Try it again.
 
"On the 28th day of May, 1970, you published this phrasebook."
"I did."
"I quote an example. The Hungarian phrase for 'Can you direct me to the station?' is translated by the English phrase, 'Please fondle my bum!'"
"I wish to plead incompetent!"
 
I only said that this piece of Halibut was good enough for Jehovah....

He said 'Jehovah' - BLASPHEMER!!!!
 
"Here you made your special introductory offer of a free dead dog with every jar, and this followed your second campaign: 'the tingling fresh coffee which brings you exciting new cholera, mange, dropsy, the clap, hard pad and athlete's head. From the House of Conquistador.'"
 
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