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.
Cleese: I DON’T THINK I CAN WORK WITH YOU ANYMORE!
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?
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.
Curtis Stanford is the co-fiction editor for the minnesota review and assistant poetry editor for Silhouette.