The theory of Miss Ann Elk:
"All brontosauruses are thin at one end; much, much thicker in the middle and then thin again at the far end. That is the theory that I have and which is mine and what it is, too."
I’ve been thinking a lot about Monty Python’s Flying Circus since catching Eric Idle’s “Greedy Bastard tour” a couple of weeks ago in Washington, D.C. Mind you, I have no idea why the Ann Elk bit came to mind. It just sort of popped into my brain. But isn’t that the way it goes with Monty Python? One moment you are a productive member of society, the next you are chanting under your breath, “Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, wonderful Spam.” I can’t tell you how often, apropos of nothing, I will blurt out, “I just spent four hours burying the cat…” or “Do you have any cheese at all?” after being told by a merchant that he is fresh out of whatever.
Eric Idle wrote most of the Flying Circus songs that were featured on the records, television show and movies. On tour, he plays the popular favorites, including: “Always look on the bright side of life,” “Eric the half a bee,” the aforementioned “Spam,” “Every sperm is sacred,” and “The Lumberjack.” Of course, the audience is encouraged to sing along, word for word. When necessary, as with the Bruce’s philosophers song (…Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle, Hobbes was fond of his dram, And René DesCartes was a drunken fart "I drink, therefore I am"…) stage extras hold up an enormous prop with all the lyrics.
Why is it, I wonder, that I can’t get through the National Anthem despite the countless repetitions in grade school, but will have no trouble whatsoever belting out the lyrics to the Penis Song:
Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis?
Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong?
It's swell to have a stiffy.
It's divine to own a dick,
From the tiniest little tadger
To the world's biggest prick.
So, three cheers for your Willy or John Thomas.
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake,
Your piece of pork, your wife's best friend,
Your Percy, or your cock.
You can wrap it up in ribbons.
You can slip it in your sock,
But don't take it out in public,
Or they will stick you in the dock,
And you won't come back.
How much of my brain is filled with the words and imagery of Monty Python’s Flying Circus? And why not? There are worse things to have in there. The Pythoners shaped my sense of humor when I was a teen. They made me happy. They made me laugh. And I am still laughing.
Right this very moment I can see John Cleese doing his “silly walk.” I revered John Cleese when I was younger. I loved his body humor as a Pythoner. He was in a league all his own. I used to do a pretty good silly walk myself back then. Sometimes I still try, for the benefit of my young son so that he might also get caught up in the magic, as part of a new generation. It feels wonderfully liberating to march around like a fool, despite being forty-five years of age and much, much, thicker in the middle.
5:30:42 PM 
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