SCENE: A bar in the seventies. Behind the bar, Eric Idle is polishing glasses. Enter Terry Jones.
Jones: I'd like a cocktail please, bartender.
Eric: Of course, sir, might I reccommend a peanut colada.
Jones: Oh, a pina colada! Yes, yes, I like them, and walking in the rain, ha ha.
Eric: PEANUT colada, sir. Like a pina colada but with satay sauce. Delicious.
Jones: Oh, er no, perhaps something a bit sweeter?
Eric: Maybe an Edwyn Collins?
Jones: An Edwyn Collins? What's that?
Eric: You take a Tom Collins and add orange juice.
Jones: No, no, drier than that
Eric: An old fascist, sir?
Jones: Is that like an old fashioned?
Eric: Not really, sir. You rub a tall glass in nationalist rhetoric and then smash it over the head of the nearest communist.
Jones: No, no, I want a drink.
Eric: A margerita: tequila, lime and margarine, chilled to the consistency of runny lard. Very popular around here, Sir.
Jones: No, look -
Eric: A margetini?
Jones: No!
Eric: A singapore slinky! Gin, benedictine and cherry brandy served in a huge metal spring. It's had them snaking drunkenly down the stairs in Raffles since 1893.
Jones: Look, all I want is a refreshing aperitif, no peanut drinks or margerine or giant metals springs.
Eric: A line punch, then sir?
Jones: Line punch? What's in it.
Eric: Er, well, that's the end of the sketch, sir. Line punch, punch line. Do you see?
Jones: Ah. (pause) So, no chance of a drink, then?
Eric: Sorry, sir, sketch is over. (shrugs) Sorry.
[cue hilarious Gilliam animation]
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