Hakoah, Stan and Monty Python
Nov. 4th, 2005 09:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bliumchikGrandad German's birthday today. I complained to Stan that there were so many BETTER things to do on a Friday night. He said "Name three". But frankly - hanging at Hakoah with a bunch of grandparents? One: The Internet.
So he came round to keep me company, since his house is like five minutes thataway. We walked through the nostalgic part of Bondi beach and talked toot, chewed the fat and all that shit. If either of us smoked, we would've been smoking. Twas good to catch up.
You're not allowed to bring bottles into Hakoah, because they're licensed. My family gets told off for it every time, and every time they bring a bottle. This guy came up to tell us we weren't allowed, so the wine bottle got put under the table and Great-uncle Leon swiftly appropriated the whiskey. It was actually very good whiskey, inasmuch as I don't like whiskey - better than the stuff at Rubin's wedding. Speaking of which, they turned up coincidentally - well, I mean, friday night at Hakoah, some Russian Jewish family gathering is likely to be happening. Apparantly Rubin Junior asked my dad how expensive kids were, so we can expect new babysitting opportunities in that direction sometime soon. Actually, written down, that sounds kinda funny - like buying children. Mheh.
~~~
Customer: Good Morning.
Owner: Good morning, Sir. Welcome to the National Child Emporium!
Customer: Ah, thank you, my good man.
Owner: What can I do for you, Sir?
Customer: Well, I was, uh, sitting in the public library on Thurmon Street just now, skimming through Rogue Herrys by Hugh Walpole, and I suddenly came over all paternal.
Owner: Paternal, sir?
Customer: Fatherly.
Owner: Eh?
Customer: I wanna kid, roight?
Owner: Ah, you want a child!
Customer: In a nutshell. And I thought to myself, "a little blue-eyed babe will do the trick," so, I curtailed my Walpoling activites, sallied forth, and infiltrated your place of purveyance to negotiate the vending of some childish comestibles!
Owner: Come again?
Customer: I want to buy a child.
Owner: Oh, I thought you were complaining about the bazouki player!
Customer: Oh, heaven forbid: I am one who delights in all manifestations of the Terpsichorean muse!
Owner: Sorry?
Customer: 'Ooo, Ah lahk a nice tuune, 'yer forced too!
Owner: So he can go on playing, can he?
Customer: Most certainly! Now then, a child please, my good man.
Owner: (lustily) Certainly, sir. What would you like?
Customer: Well, eh, how about a little red-haired freckly kid.
Owner: I'm, a-fraid we're fresh out of red-haired freckly kids, sir.
Customer: Oh, never mind, how are you on Timothys?
Owner: I'm afraid we never have that at the end of the week, sir, we get it fresh on Monday.
Customer: Tish tish. No matter. Well, stout yeoman, forty kilograms of Canadian, if you please.
Owner: Ah! It's beeeen on order, sir, for two weeks. Was expecting it this morning.
Customer: 'T's Not my lucky day, is it? Aah, Israeli?
Owner: Sorry, sir.
Customer: Redfaced Screamers?
Owner: Normally, sir, yes. Today the van broke down.
Customer: Ah. Short kids?
Owner: Sorry.
Customer: Lebanese? German?
Owner: No.
Customer: Any Norweigan children, per chance.
Owner: No.
Customer: Libyan?
Owner: No.
Customer: Lancashire?
Owner: No.
Customer: pasty short kids?
Owner: No.
Customer: Danish drunkard-to-be?
Owner: No.
Customer: Twins?
Owner: (pause) No.
Customer: Big grinners?
Owner: No.
Customer: Cockney English?
Owner: No.
Customer: French, southern French, Polish, Portia, Ally, Paul, Carribbean, Brendan, Bruce?
Owner: No.
Customer: Bert, perhaps?
Owner: Ah! We have Bert, yessir.
Customer: (suprised) You do! Excellent.
Owner: Yessir. He's ..ah,.....he's a bit runny...
Customer: Oh, I like them runny.
Owner: Well,.. He's very runny, actually, sir.
Customer: No matter. Fetch hither the kiddy with the full diaper! Mmmwah!
Owner: I...think he's a bit runnier than you'll like it, sir.
Customer: I don't care how fucking runny he is. Hand him over with all speed.
Owner: Oooooooooohhh........! (pause)
Customer: What now?
Owner: The cat's eaten him.
Customer: (pause) Has it.
Owner: She, sir.
Customer: (pause) Gina?
Owner: No.
Customer: Egyptian?
Owner: No.
Customer: Loch Ness?
Owner: No.
Customer: Austrian?
Owner: No.
Customer: Japanese chick called Sage?
Owner: No, sir.
Customer: You...do *have* some children, don't you?
Owner: (brightly) Of course, sir. It's a child shop, sir. We've got--
Customer: No no... don't tell me. I'm keen to guess.
Owner: Fair enough.
Customer: Wensleydale.
Owner: Yes?
Customer: Ah, well, I'll have some of that!
Owner: Oh! I thought you were talking to me, sir. Mister Wensleydale, that's my name.
Customer: (pause) Greek?
Owner: Uh, not as such.
Customer: Uuh, Medea?
Owner: No.
Customer: Patrick,
Owner: No.
Customer: Italian,
Owner: No.
Customer: Kramer,
Owner: No.
Customer: Danish Bimbo,
Owner: No.
Customer: Czech shepherd's,
Owner: No.
Customer: Venezuelan Beaver Child?
Owner: Not *today*, sir, no.
Customer: (pause) Aah, how about John?
Owner: Well, we don't get much call for them around here, sir.
Customer: Not much ca-- it's the single most popular childname in the world!
Owner: Not 'round here, sir.
Customer: (slight pause) and what IS the most popular cheese 'round hyah?
Owner: Willie, sir.
Customer: IS it.
Owner: Oh, yes, it's staggeringly popular in this manor, squire.
Customer: Is it.
Owner: It's our number one best seller, sir!
Customer: I see. Uuh... Willie, eh?
Owner: Right, sir.
Customer: All right. Okay. 'Have you got any?' [expecting the answer 'no']
Owner: I'll have a look, sir........nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnno.
Customer: It's not much of a child shop, is it?
Owner: Finest in the district!
Customer: (annoyed) Explain the logic underlying that conclusion, please.
Owner: Well, it's so clean, sir!
Customer: It's certainly uncontaminated by children....
Owner: (brightly) You haven't asked me about Lenny, sir.
Customer: Would it be worth it?
Owner: Could be....
Customer: Have you --SHUT THAT BLOODY BAZOUKI OFF!
Owner: Told you sir....
Customer: (slowly) Have you got any Lennys?
Owner: No.
Customer: Figures. Predictable, really I suppose. It was an act of purest optimism to have posed the question in the first place. Tell me:
Owner: Yessir?
Customer: (deliberately) Have you in fact got any children here at all.
Owner: Yes, sir.
Customer: Really?
(pause)
Owner: No. Not really, sir.
Customer: You haven't.
Owner: Nosir. Not a scrap. I was deliberately wasting your time, sir.
Customer: Well I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to shoot you.
Owner: Right-Oh, sir.
(The customer takes out a gun and shoots the owner)
Customer: What a *senseless* waste of human life.
~~~
Also, I appear to have some kind of minor blood problem. Bleeding at random orifices is not cool. That's three times in two days. Yesterday I got a nose-bleed while laughing in Ensemble, sprayed blood all over my hand. Not like it lasts long, so it's presumbly a capillary thing, it's just bloody annoying (no pun intended).
So he came round to keep me company, since his house is like five minutes thataway. We walked through the nostalgic part of Bondi beach and talked toot, chewed the fat and all that shit. If either of us smoked, we would've been smoking. Twas good to catch up.
You're not allowed to bring bottles into Hakoah, because they're licensed. My family gets told off for it every time, and every time they bring a bottle. This guy came up to tell us we weren't allowed, so the wine bottle got put under the table and Great-uncle Leon swiftly appropriated the whiskey. It was actually very good whiskey, inasmuch as I don't like whiskey - better than the stuff at Rubin's wedding. Speaking of which, they turned up coincidentally - well, I mean, friday night at Hakoah, some Russian Jewish family gathering is likely to be happening. Apparantly Rubin Junior asked my dad how expensive kids were, so we can expect new babysitting opportunities in that direction sometime soon. Actually, written down, that sounds kinda funny - like buying children. Mheh.
~~~
Customer: Good Morning.
Owner: Good morning, Sir. Welcome to the National Child Emporium!
Customer: Ah, thank you, my good man.
Owner: What can I do for you, Sir?
Customer: Well, I was, uh, sitting in the public library on Thurmon Street just now, skimming through Rogue Herrys by Hugh Walpole, and I suddenly came over all paternal.
Owner: Paternal, sir?
Customer: Fatherly.
Owner: Eh?
Customer: I wanna kid, roight?
Owner: Ah, you want a child!
Customer: In a nutshell. And I thought to myself, "a little blue-eyed babe will do the trick," so, I curtailed my Walpoling activites, sallied forth, and infiltrated your place of purveyance to negotiate the vending of some childish comestibles!
Owner: Come again?
Customer: I want to buy a child.
Owner: Oh, I thought you were complaining about the bazouki player!
Customer: Oh, heaven forbid: I am one who delights in all manifestations of the Terpsichorean muse!
Owner: Sorry?
Customer: 'Ooo, Ah lahk a nice tuune, 'yer forced too!
Owner: So he can go on playing, can he?
Customer: Most certainly! Now then, a child please, my good man.
Owner: (lustily) Certainly, sir. What would you like?
Customer: Well, eh, how about a little red-haired freckly kid.
Owner: I'm, a-fraid we're fresh out of red-haired freckly kids, sir.
Customer: Oh, never mind, how are you on Timothys?
Owner: I'm afraid we never have that at the end of the week, sir, we get it fresh on Monday.
Customer: Tish tish. No matter. Well, stout yeoman, forty kilograms of Canadian, if you please.
Owner: Ah! It's beeeen on order, sir, for two weeks. Was expecting it this morning.
Customer: 'T's Not my lucky day, is it? Aah, Israeli?
Owner: Sorry, sir.
Customer: Redfaced Screamers?
Owner: Normally, sir, yes. Today the van broke down.
Customer: Ah. Short kids?
Owner: Sorry.
Customer: Lebanese? German?
Owner: No.
Customer: Any Norweigan children, per chance.
Owner: No.
Customer: Libyan?
Owner: No.
Customer: Lancashire?
Owner: No.
Customer: pasty short kids?
Owner: No.
Customer: Danish drunkard-to-be?
Owner: No.
Customer: Twins?
Owner: (pause) No.
Customer: Big grinners?
Owner: No.
Customer: Cockney English?
Owner: No.
Customer: French, southern French, Polish, Portia, Ally, Paul, Carribbean, Brendan, Bruce?
Owner: No.
Customer: Bert, perhaps?
Owner: Ah! We have Bert, yessir.
Customer: (suprised) You do! Excellent.
Owner: Yessir. He's ..ah,.....he's a bit runny...
Customer: Oh, I like them runny.
Owner: Well,.. He's very runny, actually, sir.
Customer: No matter. Fetch hither the kiddy with the full diaper! Mmmwah!
Owner: I...think he's a bit runnier than you'll like it, sir.
Customer: I don't care how fucking runny he is. Hand him over with all speed.
Owner: Oooooooooohhh........! (pause)
Customer: What now?
Owner: The cat's eaten him.
Customer: (pause) Has it.
Owner: She, sir.
Customer: (pause) Gina?
Owner: No.
Customer: Egyptian?
Owner: No.
Customer: Loch Ness?
Owner: No.
Customer: Austrian?
Owner: No.
Customer: Japanese chick called Sage?
Owner: No, sir.
Customer: You...do *have* some children, don't you?
Owner: (brightly) Of course, sir. It's a child shop, sir. We've got--
Customer: No no... don't tell me. I'm keen to guess.
Owner: Fair enough.
Customer: Wensleydale.
Owner: Yes?
Customer: Ah, well, I'll have some of that!
Owner: Oh! I thought you were talking to me, sir. Mister Wensleydale, that's my name.
Customer: (pause) Greek?
Owner: Uh, not as such.
Customer: Uuh, Medea?
Owner: No.
Customer: Patrick,
Owner: No.
Customer: Italian,
Owner: No.
Customer: Kramer,
Owner: No.
Customer: Danish Bimbo,
Owner: No.
Customer: Czech shepherd's,
Owner: No.
Customer: Venezuelan Beaver Child?
Owner: Not *today*, sir, no.
Customer: (pause) Aah, how about John?
Owner: Well, we don't get much call for them around here, sir.
Customer: Not much ca-- it's the single most popular childname in the world!
Owner: Not 'round here, sir.
Customer: (slight pause) and what IS the most popular cheese 'round hyah?
Owner: Willie, sir.
Customer: IS it.
Owner: Oh, yes, it's staggeringly popular in this manor, squire.
Customer: Is it.
Owner: It's our number one best seller, sir!
Customer: I see. Uuh... Willie, eh?
Owner: Right, sir.
Customer: All right. Okay. 'Have you got any?' [expecting the answer 'no']
Owner: I'll have a look, sir........nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnno.
Customer: It's not much of a child shop, is it?
Owner: Finest in the district!
Customer: (annoyed) Explain the logic underlying that conclusion, please.
Owner: Well, it's so clean, sir!
Customer: It's certainly uncontaminated by children....
Owner: (brightly) You haven't asked me about Lenny, sir.
Customer: Would it be worth it?
Owner: Could be....
Customer: Have you --SHUT THAT BLOODY BAZOUKI OFF!
Owner: Told you sir....
Customer: (slowly) Have you got any Lennys?
Owner: No.
Customer: Figures. Predictable, really I suppose. It was an act of purest optimism to have posed the question in the first place. Tell me:
Owner: Yessir?
Customer: (deliberately) Have you in fact got any children here at all.
Owner: Yes, sir.
Customer: Really?
(pause)
Owner: No. Not really, sir.
Customer: You haven't.
Owner: Nosir. Not a scrap. I was deliberately wasting your time, sir.
Customer: Well I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to shoot you.
Owner: Right-Oh, sir.
(The customer takes out a gun and shoots the owner)
Customer: What a *senseless* waste of human life.
~~~
Also, I appear to have some kind of minor blood problem. Bleeding at random orifices is not cool. That's three times in two days. Yesterday I got a nose-bleed while laughing in Ensemble, sprayed blood all over my hand. Not like it lasts long, so it's presumbly a capillary thing, it's just bloody annoying (no pun intended).
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no subject
Date: 2005-11-04 03:38 am (UTC)but I prefer Little Britain~~~~