Monty Python and the Holy Grail – 40th Anniversary Shrubbery Sale

The thing I love about Facebook is connecting with people who have the same intellectual craving for fine movies, with a deep meaning of the origin of man and the universe.  Well, this is not one of those moments.  Let us take a perilously peril trip back (yes you must, none shall pass) forty years and relive silly places like Camelot, and conversations about coconut laden swallows and Knights of the round table.  Now that I’m living in Hawaii and know how heavy a migrating coconut can be, I don’t care about the air-speed velocity of any Sparrow, European or African, it is against the law of physics.

I’m not quite dead yet, but boy has 40 years flown, faster than a biting moose with a lead role in, “The Huge Molars of Horst Nordfink.”  When I married my wife with huge tracts of land and made her watch this glorious film, she looked at me as though I had visited the Castle Anthrax and been spanked way too many times by evil bad, bad, Zoot – Dingo’s identical twin sister.  My wife wouldn’t let me have just a little peril.

It took years, but she finally understood that life sometimes has to have its silly moments.  I grew up as a newt watching Monty Python on PBS using rabbit ears and tin foil to increase reception.  Once I took it off my head and placed it on the TV I saw episodes like the silly Olympics, silly job interview for chartered accountants wanting to be lion tamers and other classical moments. That rabbit is dynamite! As was the vicious Chicken of Bristol.

As I grew older I sat around drinking Chateau de Chassilier, eating ham and jam and spam a lot, and contemplating politics of autonomous collectives and anarchosyndicalist communes, and that power is not vested by some silly woman appearing from a lake, and that if you don’t vote for your king, it was a sham election.  But, you can always spot a King, because he doesn’t have shite all over him.  But if you hang around long enough you can witness the oppression inherent in the system.

From Holy Grail, it has been proven here in Hawaii that you can bypass fall and go directly to summer.  I have also proven that I’m getting better now and that my flesh wounds heal quickly.  I just recently learned what a “Pram” is and why anyone would push it alot. Yes, now that I am older I do fart in peoples general direction like a holy hand grenade of Antioch with a stench from the gorge of eternal peril. It is very perilous. Sometimes I get down on my Ni and saw lumber with a herring.  In the howls of the night I become a brave Sir Robin and run away, run away.

I do know that my name is Eddie, no wait, Edward and that my favorite color is red, I mean green.   If I hear an outrageous accent, then I must be near a person from France who might taunt me a second time with insults that my mother was a hamster and my father an elderberry, and they already have a grail sitting on the mantel looking pretty.  Oh those silly French!

There is much, much more to share, but it would be too perilous. Turns out they may play the movie on the big screen again and you are invited to bring coconuts if you like.  I may not be able to attend unless I find a nice, but not too expensive shrubbery, as a sacrifice.  So if you hear someone shouting in the middle of the night, “bring out your dead, bring out your dead” you will know I have found a shrubbery for a date.  I’ve learned a lot about life from this one very simply complex masterpiece of wit and slapstick. It is one movie you must pay close attention to or you will miss out completely in the revelry we cult-like followers share. If you see Roger the Shrubber, say hello to him for me, he’s quite a scruffy ruffian.

Perilously absurd?  You betcha! Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time-uh, you silly kaneggit pig-dog! Enjoy the opening credits and learn about Ralph the Wonder Llama! Can you say, “Ecky-ecky-ecky-ecky-pikang-zoom-boing?”