Episode 2

Flying Sheep

(A tourist approaches a shepherd. The sounds of sheep and the outdoors are heard.)

Tourist: Good afternoon.

Shepherd: Eh, 'tis that.

Tourist: You here on holiday?

Shepherd: Nope, I live 'ere.

Tourist: Oh, good for you. Uh...those ARE sheep aren't they?

Shepherd: Yeh.

Tourist: Hmm, thought they were. Only, what are they doing up in the trees?

Shepherd: A fair question and one that in recent weeks 'as been much on my mind. It's my considered opinion that they're nestin'.

Tourist: Nesting?

Shepherd: Aye.

Tourist: Like birds?

Shepherd: Exactly. It's my belief that these sheep are laborin' under the misapprehension that they're birds. Observe their be'avior. Take for a start the sheeps' tendency to 'op about the field on their 'ind legs. Now witness their attmpts to fly from tree to tree. Notice that they do not so much fly as...plummet.

(Baaa baaa... flap flap flap ... whoosh ... thud.)

Tourist: Yes, but why do they think they're birds?

Shepherd: Another fair question. One thing is for sure, the sheep is not a creature of the air. They have enormous difficulty in the comparatively simple act of perchin'. (Baaa baaa... flap flap flap ... whoosh ... thud.) Trouble is, sheep are very dim. Once they get an idea in their 'eads, there's no shiftin' it.

Tourist: But where did they get the idea?

Shepherd: From Harold. He's that most dangerous of creatures, a clever sheep. 'e's realized that a sheep's life consists of standin' around for a few months and then bein' eaten. And that's a depressing prospect for an ambitious sheep.

Tourist: Well why don't just remove Harold?

Shepherd: Because of the enormous commercial possibilities if 'e succeeds.

Lecture On Sheep Aircraft

(Two Frenchmen stand in front of a diagram of a sheep adapted for flying. They speak rapidly in French, much of it pseudo.)

First Frenchman: (JOHN) Bonsoir - ici nous avons les diagrammes modernes d'un mouton anglo-français ... maintenant ... baa-aa, baa-aa... nous avons, dans la tête, le cabinc. Ici, on se trouve le petit capitaine Anglais, Monsieur Trubshawe.

Second Frenchman: Vive Brian, wherever you are.

First Frenchman: D'accord, d'accord. Maintenant, je vous présente mon collègue, le pour célèbre, Jean-Brian Zatapathique.

(Transfers his moustache to Second Frenchman)

Second Frenchman Maintenant, le mouton ... le landing ... les wheels, bon.

(Opens diagram to show wheels on sheep's legs.)

First Frenchman: Bon, les wheels, ici.

Second Frenchman C'est formidable, n'est ce pas ... (unintelligibly indicates motor at rear of sheep)

First Frenchman: Les voyageurs ... les bagages ... ils sont ... ici!

(Triumphantly opens the rest of the diagram to reveal the whole brilliant arrangement. They run round flapping their arms and baa-ing. Cut to pepperpots in supermarket with off-screen interviewer.)

First Pepperpot: Oh yes, we get a lot of French people round here.

Second Pepperpot: Ooh Yes.

Third Pepperpot: All over yes.

Interviewer: And how do you get on with these French people?

First Pepperpot: Oh very well.

Fourth Pepperpot: So do I.

Third Pepperpot: Me too.

First Pepperpot: Oh yes I like them. I mean, they think well don't they? I mean, be fair- Pascal.

Second Pepperpot: Blaise Pascal.

Third Pepperpot: Jean-Paul Sartre.

First Pepperpot: Yes, Voltaire.

Second Pepperpot: Ooh! - Rene Descartes.

(Rene Descartes is sitting thinking. Bubbles come from his head with 'thinks '. Suddenly he looks happy. In a thought bubble appears 'I THINK THEREFORE I AM '. A large hand comes into picture with a pin and pricks the thought bubble. It deflates and disappears. After a second, Rene disappears too.)

A Man With Three Buttocks

Announcer (Eric Idle): And now for something completely different. A man with three buttocks!

Host (John Cleese): Good Evening. I have with me Mr Arthur Frampton who has... (pause) Mr. Frampton, I understand that you, as it were, have... (pause) Well let me put it another way. I believe Mr. Frampton that whereas most people have - er - two... two.. you... you...

Frampton (Terry Jones): I'm sorry?

Host: Ah yes, yes I see. Are you quite comfortable?

Frampton: Yes, fine thank you.

Host: Mr Frampton, er, vis a vis your... (pause) rump.

Frampton: I beg your pardon?

Host: Your rump.

Frampton: What?

Host: Er, your posterior. (Whispers) Derriere. Sit-upon.

Frampton: What's that?

Host: (whispers) Your buttocks.

Frampton: Oh, me bum!

Host: (hurriedly) Sshhh! Well now, I understand that you, Mr Frampton, have a... (pause) 50% bonus in the region of what you say.

Frampton: I got three cheeks.

Host: Yes, yes, splendid, splendid. Well we were wondering, Mr Frampton, if you could see your way clear to giving us a quick... (pause) a quick visual... (long pause). Mr Frampton, would you take your trousers down?

Frampton: What? (to cameraman) 'Ere, get that away! I'm not taking me trousers off on television. What do you think I am?

Host: Please take them down.

Frampton: No!

Host: Just a little bit?

Frampton: No!

Host: No, er look, er Mr Frampton. It's perfectly easy for somebody just to come along here claiming... that they have a bit to spare in the botty department. The point is Mr. Frampton, our viewers need proof.

Frampton: I've been on Persian Radio. Get off! Arthur Figgis knows I've got three buttocks.

Host: How?

Frampton: We go cycling together.

(Cut to shot of two men riding tandem. The one behind (Graham) looks down, looks up and exclaims 'strewth '.)

Announcer: (sitting at desk) And now for something completely different. A man with three buttocks.

(Interview studio again.)

Host: Good evening, I have with me Mr Arthur Frampton, who... Mr Frampton I understand that you, as it were have - well let me put it another way... I believe Mr Frampton that whereas most people... didn't we do this just now?

Frampton: Er ... yes.

Host: Well why didn't you say so?

Frampton: I thought it was the continental version.

(Cut back to Announcer sitting at desk)

Announcer: And now for something completely the same - a man with three buttocks. (phone on desk rings - he answers) Hello? Oh, did we? (puts phone down and looks at camera) And now for something completely different. A man with three noses.

Off-Screen Voice: He's not here yet!

Announcer: Two noses?

A Man With 2 Noses

(Opening Scene : Stock shot of audience of Women , applauding. A man flourishing a handkerchief blows his nose. Then he puts his handkerchief inside his shin and blows again. Stock shot women applauding again.)

Compare: (Michael Palin) Ladies and gentlemen isn't she just great eh, wasn't she just Great? Ha, ha, ha, and she can run as fast as she can sing, ha, ha, ha. And I'm telling you - 'cos I know. No, only kidding. Ha, ha, ha. Seriously now, ladies and gentlemen, we have for you one of the most unique acts in the world today. He's ... well I'll say no more, just let you see for yourselves... ladies and gentlemen, my very great privilege to introduce Arthur Ewing, and his musical mice.

(Cut to Ewing)

Ewing: (Terry Jones) Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. Ladies and gentlemen. I have in this box twenty-three white mice. Mice which have been painstakingly trained over the past few years, to squeak at a selected pitch. (he raises a mouse by its tail) This is E sharp... and this one is G. You get the general idea. Now these mice are so arranged upon this rack, that when played in the correct order they will squeak 'The Bells of St Mary's'. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you on the mouse organ 'The Bells of St Mary's'. Thank you.

(He produces two mallets. He starts hitting the mice while singing quietly 'The Bells of St Mary's'. Each downward stroke of the mallet brings a terrible squashing sound and the expiring squeak. It is quite clear that he is slaughtering the mice. The musical effect is poor. After the first few notes people are shouting 'Stop it, stop him someone, Oh my God'. He cheerfully takes a bow. He is hauled off by the floor manager. He comes back and has a few more 'hits' before being dragged off again.)

Marriage Guidance Counselor

(A little man enters, with a beautiful blond buxom woman dressed very scantily.)

Arthur: Are you the marriage guidance counsellor?

Counsellor: Yes. Good morning

Arthur: Good morning, sir

Counsellor: (stares at woman, fascinated) And good morning to you madam (pauses, shrugs himself out of staring and says to Arthur) Name?

Arthur: Mr and Mrs Arthur Pewty

Counsellor: (writes without looking down, just stares at Arthur's wife) And what is the name of your ravishing wife? (holds her hand) Wait. Don't tell me - it's something to do with moonlight - it goes with her eyes - it's soft and gentle, warm and yeilding, deeply lyrical and yet tender and frightened like a tiny whit rabbit

Arthur: It's Deidre

Counsellor: Deidre. What a beautiful name. What a beautiful, beautiful name (leans across and lightly brushes his hand accross Diedre's cheeck) And what seems to be the trouble with your marriage Mr Pewty?

Arthur: Well, it all started about five years ago when we started going on holiday in Brighton together. Deidre, that's my wife, has always been a jolly good companion to me and I never particularly anticipated any marital strife - indeed the very idea of consulting a professional marital adviser has always been of the greatest repugnance to me although far be it from me to impugn the nature of your trade or profession

(The counsellor and Arthur's wife are not listening, they are fascinated by each other)

Counsellor: (realizing Arthur has stopped) Do go on.

Arthur: Well, as I say, we've always been good friends, sharing the interests, the gardening and so on, the model aeroplanes, the sixpenny bottle for the holiday money, and indeed twice a month settling down in the evenings doing the accounts, something which, er, Deidre, Deidre that's my wife, er, particularly looked forward to on account of her feet (the counsellor has his face very close to Diedres, so close that they could kiss) I should probably have said at the outset I'm noted for having something of a sense of humour, although I have kept myself very much to myself over the las two years notwithstanding, as it were, and it's only as comparatively recently that I began to realize - well, er prehaps realize is not the correct word, er, imagine, that I was not the only thing in her life

Counsellor: (who is practically in a clutch with Diedre) You suspected your wife?

Arthur: Well yes - at first, frankly yes (the counsellor points Diedre to a screen. She goes behind it) Her behaviour did seem at the time to me, who after all was there to see, to be a little odd

Counsellor: Odd?

Arthur: Yes well, I mean to a certain extent yes. I'm not by nature a suspicious person - far from it - though in fact I have something of a reputation as an after-dinner speaker, if you take my meaning....

(A piece of Diedre's clothing comes over the top of the screen)

Counsellor: Yes I certainly do

(Diedre's bra and panties come over the screen)

Arthur: Anyway in the area where I'm known people in fact know me extremely well....

Counsellor: (taking his jacket off) Oh yes. Would you hold this

Arthur: Certainly yes (helps him with his jacket. The counsellor continues to undress) Anyway as I said, I decided to face up to the facts and stop beating about the bush or I'd never look myself in the bathroom mirror again.

Counsellor: (stips down to his shorts) Er, look would you mind running long for ten minutes? Make it half an hour.

Arthur: No, no right-ho, fine. Yes I'll wait outside shall I?...(the cousellor has already gone behind the screen) Yes, well that's perhaps the best things. Yes. You've certainly put my mind at rest on one or two points, there.

(Exits through door. Arthur is stopped by a deep southern American voice)

Southener: Now ait there stranger. A man can run and run for year after year until he realizes that what he's running from ......is hisself

Arthur: Gosh

Southener: A man's got ot do what a man's got to do, and there ain't no sense in runnin'. Now you gotta turn, and you gotta fight, and you gotta hold your head up high

Arthur: Yes!

Southener: Now you go back in there my son and be a man

Arthur: Yes I will. I will!. I've been pushed around long enough. This is it. This is your monent Arthur Pewty - this is it Arthur Pewty. At last you're a man! (open the door very determined) All right, Diedre, come out of there

Counsellor: Go away

Arthur: Right. Right.

(Arthur is then hit in the head with a chicken by a man in a suit of armour)

The Wacky Queen

(Queen Victoria Film: the texture of the film reproduces as accurately as possible an animated Victorian photograph. Queen Victoria and Gladstone are walking on the lawn in front of Osborne.)

Compare: These historic pictures of Queen Victoria, taken in 1880 at Osborne show the Queen with Gladstone. This unique film provides a rare glimpse into the private world of a woman who ruled half the earth. The commentary, recorded on the earliest wax cylinders, is spoken by Alfred Lord Tennyson, the Poet Laureate.

Tennyson: (Michael Palin) Well hello, it's the wacky Queen again! (the Queen repeatedly nudges Gladstone in the ribs and chucks him under the chin) And who's the other fella? It's Willie Gladstone! And when these two way-out wacky characters get together there's fun a-plenty. (they come up to a gardener with a hosepipe) And, uh-oh! There's a hosepipe! This means trouble for somebody! (the Queen takes the hose and kicks the gardener; he falls over) Uh-oh, Charlie Gardener's fallen for that old trick. The Queen has put him in a heap of trouble! (the Queen turns the hose on Gladstone) Uh-oh that's one in the eye for Willie! (the Queen hands Gladstone the hose) Here, you have a go! (she goes back to the tap and turns off the water) Well, doggone it, where's the water? (Gladstone examines the end of the hose; the water flow returns, spraying him) Uh-oh, there it is, all over his face! (she lifts her skirts and runs as he chases her across the lawn; next we see the Queen painting a fence,' Gladstone approaches from the other side) Well, hello, what's Britain's wacky Queen up to now? Well, she's certainly not sitting on the fence. She's painting it. Surely nothing can go wrong here? Uh! oh, here's the PM coming back for more. (Gladstone walks into line with the end of the fence; the Queen drubs paint on him) And he certainly gets it (he takes the bucket from her and empties it over her head; she kicks him; he falls through the fence) Well, that's one way to get the housework done!

(Cut to the Queen and Gladstone having tea on the lawn. She pushes a custard pie into his face. As he retaliates the picture freezes; the camera pulls back to reveal that it is a photo on the mantelpiece of a working-class sitting room.)

Working Class Playwright

Opening Scene : A sitting room straight out of. H. Lawrence. Mum, wiping her hands on her apron is ushering in a young man in a suit. They are a Northern couple.)

Mum: Oh dad... look who's come to see us... it's our Ken.

Dad: (without looking up) Aye, and about bloody time if you ask me.

Ken: Aren't you pleased to see me, father?

Mum: (squeezing his arm reassuringly) Of course he's pleased to see you, Ken, he...

Dad: All right, woman, all right I've got a tongue in my head - I'll do 'talkin'. (looks at Ken distastefully) Aye ... I like yer fancy suit. Is that what they're wearing up in Yorkshire now?

Ken: It's just an ordinary suit, father... it's all I've got apart from the overalls.

(Dad turns away with an expression of scornful disgust.)

Mum: How are you liking it down the mine, Ken?

Ken: Oh it's not too bad, mum... we're using some new tungsten carbide drills for the preliminary coal-face scouring operations.

Mum: Oh that sounds nice, dear...

Dad: Tungsten carbide drills! What the bloody hell's tungsten carbide drills?

Ken: It's something they use in coal-mining, father.

Dad: (mimicking) 'It's something they use in coal-mining, father'. You're all bloody fancy talk since you left London.

Ken: Oh not that again.

Mum: He's had a hard day dear... his new play opens at the National Theatre tomorrow.

Ken: Oh that's good.

Dad: Good! good? What do you know about it? What do you know about getting up at five o'clock in t'morning to fly to Paris... back at the Old Vic for drinks at twelve, sweating the day through press interviews, television interviews and getting back here at ten to wrestle with the problem of a homosexual nymphomaniac drug-addict involved in the ritual murder of a well known Scottish footballer. That's a full working day, lad, and don't you forget it!

Mum: Oh, don't shout at the boy, father.

Dad: Aye, 'ampstead wasn't good enough for you, was it? ... you had to go poncing off to Barnsley, you and yer coal-mining friends. (spits)

Ken: Coal-mining is a wonderful thing father, but it's something you'll never understand. Just look at you!

Mum: Oh Ken! Be careful! You know what he's like after a few novels.

Dad: Oh come on lad! Come on, out wi' it! What's wrong wi' me?... yet tit!

Ken: I'll tell you what's wrong with you. Your head's addled with novels and poems, you come home every evening reeling of Chateau La Tour...

Mum: Oh don't, don't.

Ken: And look what you've done to mother! She's worn out with meeting film stars, attending premieres and giving gala luncheons...

Dad: There's nowt wrong wi' gala luncheons, lad! I've had more gala luncheons than you've had hot dinners!

Mum: Oh please!

Dad: Aaaaaaagh! (clutches hands and sinks to knees)

Mum: Oh no!

Ken: What is it?

Mum: Oh, it's his writer's cramp!

Ken: You never told me about this...

Mum: No, we didn't like to, Kenny.

Dad: I'm all right! I'm all right, woman. Just get him out of here.

Mum: Oh Ken! You'd better go ...

Ken: All right. I'm going.

Dad: After all we've done for him...

Ken: (at the door) One day you'll realize there's more to life than culture. There's dirt, and smoke, and good honest sweat!

Dad: Get out! Get out! Get OUT! You ... LABOURER!

(Ken goes. Shocked silence. Dad goes to table and takes the cover off the typewriter.)

Dad: Hey, you know, mother, I think there's a play there .... get t'agent on t'phone.

Mum: Aye I think you're right, Frank, it could express, it could express a vital theme of our age...

Dad: Aye.

(In the room beneath a man is standing on a chair banging on the ceiling with a broom.)

Man: Oh shut up! (bang bang) Shut up! (they stop talking upstairs) Oh, that's better. (he climbs down and looks at the camera) And now for something completely different ... a man with three buttocks...

Mum and Dad: (from upstairs) We've done that!

(The man looks up slightly disconcerted.)

Man: Oh all right. All right! A man with nine legs.

Voice Off: He ran away.

Man: Oh... Bloody Hell! Er ... a Scotsman on a horse!

(Cut to film of a Scotsman [John Cleese] riding up on a home. He looks around, puzzled. Cut to stock film of Women's Institute audience applauding. Cut to the man with two noses (Graham Chapmam); he puts a handkerchief to his elbow and we hear the sound of a nose being blown. Cut to Women's Institute audience applauding. Cut to cartoon of a flying sheep.)

Voice Over: Harold! Come back, Harold! Harold! Come back, Harold! Oh, blast!

(The sheep is shot down by a cannon. Cut to film of an audience of Indian ladies not applauding.)

The Wrestling Epilogue

Interviewer: Good evening, and welcome once again to the Epilogue. On the programme this evening we have Monsignor Edward Gay, visiting Pastoral Emissary of the Somerset Theological College and author of a number of books about belief, the most recent of which is the best seller 'My God'. And opposite him we have Dr Tom Jack: humanist, broadcaster, lecturer and author of the book 'Hello Sailor'. Tonight, instead of discussing the existence or non-existence of God, they have decided to fight for it. The existence, or non-existence, to be determined by two falls, two submissions, or a knockout. All right boys, let's get to it. Your master of ceremonies for this evening - Mr Arthur Waring.

(The partialpants move into a wrestling ring.)

MC: Good evening ladies and gentlemen and welcome to a three-round contest of the Epilogue. Introducing on my right in the blue comer, appearing for Jehovah - the ever popular Monsignor Eddie Gay. (there are boos from the crowd) And on my left in the red comer - author of the books 'The Problems of Kierkegaard' and 'Hello Sailor' and visiting Professor of Modern Theological Philosophy at the University ot' East Anglia - from Wigan - Dr Tom Jack! (cheers; gong goes for the start)

(CAPTION: 'ROUND 1' They are real wrestlers. They throw each other about.)

Interviewer: Now Dr Jack's got a flying mare there. A flying mare there, and this is going to be a full body slam. A full body slam, and he's laying it in there, and he's standing back. Well .. there we are leaving the Epilogue for the moment, we'll be bringing you the result of this discussion later on in the programme.

Interviewer: Oh my God! (pulls out a revolver and shoots something off-screen)

(ANIMATION: We see a cowboy just having been shot. This leads into cartoon film, which includes a carnivorous pram and music from Rodin's statue 'The Kiss '. Then a protest march appears carrying banners. Close in on banners which read: End Discrimination: Mice Is Nice; Ho Ho Ho Traps Must Go; Hands Off Mice: Repeal Anti-Mouse Laws Now; Kidderminster Young Methodists Resent Oppression: A Fair Deal For Mice Men.)

The Mouse Problem

(Sketch starts with a policeman leading a man in mouse costume into a police station. Photo of headline: Mouse Clubs On Increase. Cut to: photos of neon signs of clubs: Eek Eek Club; The Little White Rodent Room; Caerphilly A Go-Go. Cut to studio: ordinary grey-suited Linkman.)

Linkman: (Michael Palin) Yes. The Mouse Problem. This week 'The World Around Us' looks at the growing social phenomenon of Mice and Men. What makes a man want to be a mouse.

(Interviewer, Harold Voice, sitting facing a confessor. The confessor is badly lit and is turned away from camera.)

Confessor: (John Cleese) (very slowly and painfully) Well it's not a question of wanting to be a mouse... it just sort of happens to you. All of a sudden you realize... that's what you want to be.

Interviewer: (Terry Jones) And when did you first notice these... shall we say... tendencies?

Confessor: Well... I was about seventeen and some mates and me went to a party, and, er... we had quite a lot to drink... and then some of the fellows there... started handing... cheese around... and well just out of curiosity I tried a bit... and well that was that.

Interviewer: And what else did these fellows do?

Confessor: Well some of them started dressing up as mice a bit... and then when they'd got the costumes on they started... squeaking.

Interviewer: Yes. And was that all?

Confessor: That was all.

Interviewer: And what was your reaction to this?

Confessor: Well I was shocked. But, er... gradually I came to feel that I was more at ease... with other mice.

(Cut to linkman.)

Linkman: (Michael Palin) A typical case, whom we shall refer to as Mr A, although his real name is this:

Voice Over: (John Cleese)(and CAPTION)
ARTHUR JACKSON
32A MILTON AVENUE,
HOUNSLOW, MIDDLESEX.

Linkman: What a lot of people don't realize is that a mouse, once accepted, can fulfil a very useful role in society. Indeed there are examples throughout history of famous men now known to have been mice.

(Cut to julius Caesar on beach. He shouts 'Veni Vidi, Vici'. Then he adds a furtive squeak. Napoleon pulls slice of cheese out of jacket and bites into it. Cut to Linkman)

Linkman: And, of course, Hillaire Belloc. But what is the attitude...

(Cut to man in a Viking helmet.)

Viking: (Eric Idle) ... of the man in the street towards...

Linkman: ... this growing social problem?

(Vox pops films.)

Window Cleaner: (Eric Idle) Clamp down on them.

Off-screen Voice: How?

Window Cleaner: I'd strangle them.

Stockbroker: (John Cleese) Well speaking as a member of the Stock Exchange I would suck their brains out with a straw, sell the widows and orphans and go into South American Zinc.

Man: (Terry Jones) Yeh I'd, er, stuff sparrows down their throats, er, until the beaks stuck out through the, er, stomach walls.

Accountant: (Graham Chapman) Oh well I'm a chartered accountant, and consequently too boring to be of interest.

Vicar: (John Cleese)I feel that these poor unfortunate people should be free to live the lives of their own choice.

Porter: (Terry Jones) I'd split their nostrils open with a boat hook, I think.

2nd Man: (Graham Chapman) Well I mean, they can't help it, can they? But, er, there's nothing you can do about it. So er, I'd kill 'em.

(Cut to linkman.)

Linkman: Clearly the British public's view is a hostile one.

Voice Over: (and CAPTION) 'HOSTILE'

Linkman: But perhaps this is because so little is generally known of these mice men. We have some film now taken of one of the notorious weekend mouse parties, where these disgusting little perverts meet.

(Cut to exterior house (night). The blinds are drawn so that only shadows of enormous mice can be seen, holding slices of cheese and squeaking.)

Linkman's Voice: Mr A tells us what actually goes on at these mouse parties.

(Cut to Mr A.)

Mr A: Well first of all you get shown to your own private hole in the skirting board... then you put the mouse skin on... then you scurry into the main room, and perhaps take a run in the wheel.

Linkman: The remainder of this film was taken secretly at one of these mouse parties by a BBC cameraman posing as a vole. As usual we apologize for the poor quality of the film.

(Very, poor quality film, shadowy shapes, the odd mouse glimpsed.)

Mr A's Voice: Well, er, then you steal some cheese, Brie or Camembert, or Cheddar or Gouda, if you're on the harder stuff. You might go and see one of the blue cheese films... there's a big clock in the middle of the room, and about 12:50 you climb up it and then ...eventually, it strikes one... and you all run down.

(Cut to a large matron with apron and carving knife)

Linkman's Voice: And what's that?

Mr A's Voice: That's the farmer's wife.

(Cut to the linkman at desk.)

Linkman: Perhaps we need to know more of these mice men before we can really judge them. Perhaps not. Anyway, our thirty minutes are up.

(Sound of baa-ing. The linkman looks up in air, looks startled, pulls a gun from under the desk and fires in the air. The body of a sheep falls to the floor.)

Linkman: Goodnight.