hello i wish to register a
complaint. hello miss?
oh. sorry, i have a cold. i wish
to make a complaint about
this parrot what i purchased
not half an hour ago from this very
i'll tell you what's wrong with it,
my lad--it's dead, that's what's
wrong with it. now matey, i know
a dead parrot when i see one and
i'm looking at one right now. the
plumage don't enter into it--he's
stone dead. all right then, if he's resting
i'll wake him up.
mr. polly parrot,
i've got a lovely fresh fish for you..."
he didn't move, that was you hitting the cage!
you did! you did!
Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your
nine o'clock alarm call!"
Now that's what i call a dead parrot.
Stunned? Now look, mate, I've definitely
had enough of this. That parrot is
definitely deceased and when i purchased it
not half an hour ago you assured me that its
total lack of movement was due to it being
tired and shagged out following a prolonged squawk.
Pining for the Fjords?
What kind of talk is that?
Look, why did he fall flat on his back the moment
I got him home? I took the liberty of
examining that parrot when i got home and I
discovered the only reason it had been sitting
on its perch in the first place was that
it had been nailed there.
Voom? Mate, this parrot
wouldn't "voom" if you put four million volts
through it. He's bleeding demised! He's not pining,
he's passed on! This parrot is no more, he has ceased
to be, he's expired, and gone to meet his maker.
he's a stiff, bereft of life, he rests in peace, if you hadn't
nailed him to the perch, he'd be pushing up the daisies.
His metabolic processes are now history. He's kicked the
bucket, he's shuffled off this mortal coil, he's run down
the curtain and joined the bleeding choir invisible.
This is an ex-parrot.
Replace it? I see, I see, I get
the picture. A slug?
Pray, does the slug talk? Then, it's
hardly a bloody replacement, is it?
Back to your place? Thought you'd never ask.
[copied from Monty Python, who i hope doesn't sue me for copyright infringement.]