Leave it to Chief over at Freedom Dogs to sniff out the strong resemblence between would-be female suicide bomber Sajida Mubarak Atrous al-Rishawi and former Monty Python drag diva Terry Jones.
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Chief asked if the two might have been separated at birth, especially given the title of Jones’s latest book, “Terry Jones’s War on the War on Terror”, and left either a challenge or invitation for me (another Pythonophile) to offer my take.
It’s not surprising that Jones has written a book (several, actually) since he contributed to the troupe largely through writing and directing and took smaller but significant speaking roles (frequently in drag as one of the pepperpot housewives) when it came to performance. His characters aren’t as readily remembered as some of those created by John Cleese, Eric Idle, Michael Palin or Graham Chapman, but he had some good parts and good lines. As such, I think it’s best to review his book using some of his own words. Imagine the following promotional blurbs on the book jacket (like most of those who offer these mini-reviews in real life, I don’t feel as if I necessarily have to read the book itself; I mean, it’s not like I’m trying to summarize Proust or something).
As the Mom in the “Dead Bishop on the Landing sketch”: “Liberal rubbish! Whaddaya want with yer jugged fish?” (Alternatively, “Well, it’s got some rat in it.”)
As the peasant woman in “The Holy Grail”: “There’s some lovely filth over here!”
As Mr. Spreaders in the “Argument Clinic” sketch: “I’m sorry, it’s ‘being hit on the head lessons’ in here.”
As Mr. Creosote in “The Meaning of Life”: “BLEAUAARGHH!”
I’m guessing that inside the book Jones, in his best Sir Bedevere manner, builds a completely logical – and completely wrong – premise and conclusion (no, not Mrs. Premise and Mrs. Conclusion, they were played by John Cleese and Graham Chapman). I imagine it’s much like the following (minor alterations by me):
Scene 5
Liberals: A neo-con! A neo-con! A neo-con! We’ve got a neo-con! A neo-con!
Media #1: We have found a neo-con, might we burn him?
Liberals: Burn him! Burn!
Bedevere: How do you know he is a neo-con?
Media #2: He looks like one.
Bedevere: Bring him forward.
Neo-con: I’m not a neo-con. I’m a RINO!.
Bedevere: But you are dressed as one.
Neo-con: They dressed me up like this.
Liberals: No, we didn’t — no.
Neo-con: And this isn’t my nose, it’s a false one.
Bedevere: Well?
Media #1: Well, we did do the nose. But it could be true.
Bedevere: The nose?
Media #1: And the hat — but he is a neo-con!
Liberals: Burn him! Neo-con! Neo-con! Burn him!
Bedevere: Did you dress him up like this?
Liberals: No, no… no … yes. Yes, yes, a bit, a bit. Not that’s there’s anything wrong with that.
Media #1: He has got a wart.
Bedevere: What makes you think she is a neo-con?
Media #3: Well, he turned me into a newt.
Bedevere: A newt?
Media #3: I got better.
Media #2: Burn him anyway!
Liberals: Burn! Burn him!
Bedevere: Quiet, quiet. Quiet! There are ways of telling whether he is a neo-con.
Liberals: Are there? What are they?
Bedevere: Tell me, what do you do with neo-cons?
Media #2: Burn!
Liberals: Burn, burn them up!
Bedevere: And what do you burn apart from neo-cons?
Media #1: More neo-cons!
Media #2: Wood!
Bedevere: So, why do neo-cons burn?
[pause]
Media #3: B–… ’cause they’re made of wood…?
Bedevere: Good!
Liberals: Oh yeah, yeah…
Bedevere: So, how do we tell whether he is made of wood?
Media #1: Build a bridge out of him.
Bedevere: Aah, but can you not also build bridges out of stone?
Media #2: Oh, yeah.
Bedevere: Does wood sink in water?
Media #1: No, no.
Media #2: It floats! It floats!
Media #1: Throw him into the pond!
Liberals: The pond!
Bedevere: What also floats in water?
Media #1: Bread!
Media #2: Apples!
Media #3: Very small rocks!
Media #1: Cider!
Media #2: Great gravy!
Media #1: Cherries!
Media #2: Mud!
Media #3: Churches — churches!
Media #2: Lead — lead!
Arthur: A duck.
Liberals: Oooh.
Bedevere: Exactly! So, logically…,
Media #1: If… he.. weighs the same as a duck, he’s made of wood.
Bedevere: And therefore–?
Media #1: A neo-con!
And so on. Or, as Terry might say, as the Bishop, “Oh, you’re no fun anymore.”