The Dead Parrot.

A pet shop; Palin is standing behind the counter.

[Enter Cleese}

Cleese. Hello, I wish to register a complaint. Hello, Miss?

Palin. What do you mean, ‘miss?’

Cleese. Oh, I’m sorry; I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint.

Palin. Sorry, we’re closing for lunch.

Cleese. Never mind that, my lad; I wish to make a complaint about this parrot what I purchased not half an hour ago from this very boutique.

Palin. Oh, yes, the Norwegian blue. What’s wrong with it?

Cleese. I’le tell you what’s wrong with it: it’s dead; that’s what’s wrong with it.

Palin. No, no, it’s resting, look.

Cleese. Look my lad, I know a dead parrot when I see one, and I’m looking at one right now.

Palin. No, sir, it’s not dead; it’s resting.

Cleese. All right, then, if it’s resting, then I’le wake it up. Hello, Polly! I’ve got a nice cuttlefish for you when you wake up, Polly parrot!

Palin. [pushes the cage] There, it moved!

Cleese. No it didn’t; that was you pushing the cage!

Palin. I did not!

Cleese. Yes you did! [takes parrot from the cage and shouts into its ear] Hello, Polly! Polly! [bangs parrot on the counter] Polly parrot, wake up! [bangs parrot on the counter again] Polly!

[throws parrot up, so that it falls to the floor in front of the counter] Now that’s what I call a dead parrot.

Palin. No, no, it’s stunned.

Cleese. Look, my lad, I’ve had just about enough of this. That parrot is definitely deceased, and when I bought it, not half an hour ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement was due to its being tired and shagged out after a long squawk.

Palin. Well, sir, it’s probably just pining for the fjords.

Cleese. Pining for the fjords? What kind of talk is that? Look, why did it fall flat on its back the moment I got it home?

Palin. The Norwegian blue prefers kipping on its back. It’s a lovely bird, beautiful plumage.

Cleese. Look, I took the liberty of examining that parrot, and I discovered that the only reason it had been sitting on its perch in the first place was that it had been nailed there.

Palin. Well, of course it was nailed there, otherwise it would muscle up to those bars and voom!

Cleese. Look, matey, [picks up the parrot off the floor] this parrot wouldn’t voom if I put four thousand volts through it. It’s bleedin’ demised.

Palin. It’s not; it’s pining!

Cleese. It’s not pining; it’s passed on; this parrot has ceased to be; it’s expired and gone to meet its maker; this is a late parrot. It’s a stiff; bereft of life, it rests in peace; if you hadn’t nailed it to the perch it would be pushing up the daisies. It’s rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible: this is an ex-parrot.

Palin. Well, I guess I’d better replace it then.

Cleese. [aside] If you want to get anything done in this country, you’ve got to complain till you’re blue in the mouth!

Palin. Sorry, gov, we’re right out of parrots.

Cleese. I see, I see; I get the picture.

Palin. I’ve got a slug.

Cleese. Does it talk?

Palin. Not really, no.

Cleese. Well it’s scarcely a replacement then, is it?

Palin. Tell you what, tell you what: if you go to my brother’s pet shop in Bolton, he’ll replace your parrot for you. [hands Cleese a business card]

Cleese. Bolton, eh?

Palin. Yeah.

Cleese. All right. [exit]

Subtitle. A SIMILAR PET SHOP IN BOLTON, LANCS.

The pet shop looks exactly the same at the other one. Palin again stands behind the counter, wearing a false moustache.

[Enter Cleese]

Cleese. [picks up a parrot cage just like the one he left in the other pet shop, then drops it] Uh, excuse me, this is Bolton, is it?

Palin. No, no, it’s, uh, Ipswich.

Cleese. [aside] That’s inter-city rail for you! [exit]

Subtitle. COMPLAINTS DEPARTMENT, RAIL STATION

Jones sits at the complaints desk.

[Enter Cleese]

Cleese. I wish to make a complaint.

Jones. I don’t have to do this, you know.

Cleese. I beg your pardon?

Jones. I’m a qualified brain surgeon. I only do this because I like being me own boss.

Cleese. Excuse me, this is irrelevant, isn’t it?

Jones. Oh, yeah. It’s not easy to pad these out to thirty minutes.

Cleese. Well, I wish to make a complaint: I got on the Bolton train, and found myself deposited here in Ipswich.

Jones. No, this is Bolton.

Cleese. The pet shop owner’s brother was lying!

Jones. Well, you can’t blame British Rail for that!

Cleese. If this is Bolton, I shall return to the pet shop.

Subtitle. A LITTLE LATER LIMITED

Back at the pet shop.

[Enter Cleese]

Cleese. I understand that this is Bolton.

Palin. Yeah?

Cleese. But you told me it was Ipswich.

Palin. It was a pun.

Cleese. A pun?

Palin. No, no, not a pun. What’s the other thing, where it reads the same backwards as forwards?

Cleese. A palindrome?

Palin. Yeah.

Cleese. It’s not a palindrome; the palindrome of Bolton would be Notlob. It don’t work!

Palin. Look, what do you want?

Cleese. No, I’m sorry; I’m not prepared to pursue my line of inquiry any further, as I think this is getting too silly!

[Enter Chapman]

Chapman. Quite agree, quite agree. Silly, silly, silly. Right, get on with it. Get on with it!

[Exeunt]