My Dearest Graham

My Dearest Graham,

I’ve wrote this sketch as a suggestion for the season finale.  We’ve known each other since the Revue and have been working on our Monty Python series for three years now.  Together, we’ve brought a bit of light and humor to this often times dark and dreary world.  You’ve been a dear friend to me, but I need you to finally realize how I feel.


Alcoholic Partner Sketch (with laugh-track)

John Cleese (as himself)
Graham Chapman (as himself)
Policeman: Terry Jones

Cleese: Graham, we need to talk.
Chapman: If you must talk, make them jokes, for yours are worth enough to buy me another bottle.
Cleese: That’s what we need to talk about.  You’re a drunk.
Chapman: I was a drunk a couple of hours ago.  Now I’m a hungover.  (Chapman drops his head onto the table)
Cleese:  No.  I mean.  I don’t think I can work with you anymore, mate.
Chapman:  Speak up, Johnny.  There’s a horrible ringing noise in my ears.
Chapman: (lifts his head and rubs his temples) Christ, Johnny!  There’s no reason to shout.  Don’t you know my ears are sensitive right now?
Cleese: Graham.
Chapman: Aye.  I heard you.  And you think you’re so certain?
Cleese: I’m as certain as I think.
Chapman: Well in that case… Let’s have a drink. (pulls a flask and two shot glasses from inside of the wrinkled coat he slept in)
Cleese:  I won’t drink with you.
Chapman:  Well, if you won’t work with me, and you won’t drink with me, then you must duel with me.
Cleese; Duel with you?
Chapman:  That’s right.  Duel with me!  If you really quit, then you’re out of a job, and a man that doesn’t work and a man that doesn’t drink…  Well that sounds rather queer to me. AND I WILL HAVE NO SUCH BEHAVIOR IN THIS HOUSE! (Chapman pulls a conveniently hidden scabbard from inside his pants. Cleese does the same.  At the sound of their blades first clang, a policeman enters)
Policeman: I received a call about a domestic disturbance.
Chapman: This man won’t work with me anymore!
Cleese: This man means to run me though!
Policeman: Silence!  I’m taking both of you down town to sort this out.
(Chapman and Cleese sit side by side in a holding cell)
Chapman: Mate, I’m sorry for getting you thrown into jail, but are you really going to quit?
Cleese:  Yes, Graham.  I am.
Chapman:  Well, in that case… Let’s have a drink.  (Chapman opens his coat revealing another flask and the hilt of a scabbard protruding from his pants, both of which he has somehow managed to sneak in)
Cleese:  HELP! (Cleese runs forward and grabs at the jail cell bars while Chapman laughs maniacally in the background)

I wish you the best of luck with your future endeavors.  Stay funny.

Your Friend,

Curtis Stanford is the co-fiction editor for the minnesota review and assistant poetry editor for Silhouette.


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