Mr creosote

When Mr. Creosote eats a wafer-thin mint after eating the entire menu. The end result is an explosion, sending partially-digested food and flesh in every direction and then we see that Mr Creosote is still alive, despite his chest cavity being wide open. No wonder this is the only thing that has ever disgusted Quentin fucking Tarantino. Death. Mr. Creosote is a fictional character who appears in Monty Python's The Meaning of Life.Creosote is a monstrously obese restaurant patron who is served a vast amount of food while vomiting repeatedly. After being persuaded to eat an after-dinner mint, he explodes in a very graphic way. The sketch is the first part of 'Part VI: The Autumn Years' of the film. Campfires on desert and lava . From a photograph by J. M. Phillips Mr. Sykes Reflects Gloomily over the Grave of a Murdered Mexican,beside a Creosote Bush. From a photograph by J. AI. Phillips Organ-Pipe Cactus and young Giant Cactus THE PANORAMA OF THE DESERT 69 field, on the Sonoyta River, where I made one of the bestof my pictures. The Mr. Creosote sketch from Monty Python's The Meaning of Life went viral this weekend after director Quentin Tarantino was alleged to have said it's the only scene in film he was ever disturbed ... The Mr Creosote sketch is definitely beautiful, in its own repulsive way. Published 22 Jan 2020. Share this. Tags: Monty Python Mr Creosote Terry Jones The Meaning of Life. Most Popular. LWLies 86: The Shirley Issue – On Sale Now! Could you design a classic Rebecca film poster? Mr. Creosote is a fictional character in Monty Python's Monty Python's The Meaning of Life, played by Terry Jones. In the sketch, Mr Creosote dines at a French restaurant. The entrance of this morbidly obese middle-aged man is accompanied by ominous music and is followed by a short dialogue with the maître d', played by John Cleese: Creosote is then led to his table, and once seated starts ... mr creosote 19428 GIFs Sort: Relevant Newest episode 4, season 15, mr. burns, excellent, plotting # episode 4 # season 15 # mr. burns # excellent # plotting Mr. Creosote, played by Terry Jones in a makeshift “fat suit”, is the central character of the “The Autumn Years” segment of “Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life”. Mr. Creosote is a fictional character who appears in Monty Python's The Meaning of Life. He is a monstrously obese, rude restaurant patron who is served a vast amount of food and alcohol whilst vomiting repeatedly. Waiter to Mr Creosote: 'Finally, monsieur – a wafer-thin mint.' THE MEANING OF LIFE. Rex Features. Back to image Follow The Telegraph. Follow on Facebook Follow on Twitter ...

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2020.09.24 18:11 Boop108 György Pálfi’s Taxadermia

This article is illustrated with numerous film stills. If you would like to see the illustrated version click here.
https://medium.com/@36toesproductions/gy%C3%B6rgy-p%C3%A1lfis-taxadermia-181a1f574dc8?sk=6104aa1afa93f3e7ac4c6c0c5ac22fb1
After you recover from the shock of the opening scene you realize you will need to recalibrate your surrealism scale if you are going to get through György Pálfi’s Taxadermia. This isn’t going to just be weird or dreamlike, watching this film is going to take some fortitude, otherwise, how would you account for an opening scene where a man in a grimy, little shack, masturbates until, with a triumphant yell, he shoots a plume of fire out his penis.
Taxidermia is both beautiful and nauseating. It's a film of extremes that swings wildly in many directions. The camera reflects this in its movements. Suddenly the camera will start traveling in the most improbable, or even impossible directions. It passes through walls or under people, spinning in an impossible space. Its as though the screen we are watching is falling victim to the surrealism it is depicting.
There is a mind-bending scene where the floor of a room becomes something like a panel in a revolving door. It spins, and each time it flips over there is something new on the other side. We watch the changing sets and lose our orientation which turns the movie itself into a surreal object.
Pálfi made Taxidermia in 2006 in Hungary. I am sure that there is an entire layer of this film that I do not fully understand due to my limited knowledge of Hungarian history and politics. However, the film reaches much further than just a political allegory or parody. The primary engine of the film is the human body. Not just the shape of our physique but the blood, shit, vomit, semen, sweat, guts, and viscera of our existence. There’s sex and death and competitive eating.
The film centers around three men, each the son of the former. The first is Morosgovanyi, a libidinal, Caliban-like, perpetual masturbator. He’s the one whose penis shoots fire. He will hump anything, a hole in the wall, a pile of butchered pig parts, anywhere his member will fit. There are no cutaways or carefully cropped frames we see his penis plunge in and out of a hole in a shed until a rooster comes along and pecks it. A cock attacked by a cock.
When he is frantically humping the pig parts he fantasizes that it is an enormous corpulent woman screaming obscene instructions and encouragement. The editing flashes between the pig flesh, human flesh, butchery, fornication, masturbation, and close-ups of things that might be any of the above until you’re nauseous, confused, and ready to pass out.
Psychologist Harry Stack Sullivan once wrote about the boundaries we erect to differentiate between what he termed “the me” and the “not me.” Sullivan posed a simple experiment. Spit into a glass. Pause a moment, and then drink it back down. Many would recoil at the idea but Sullivan asks us to consider how arbitrary our reaction is. When the saliva is in your mouth it doesn’t bother you, but just a second later it is repulsive.
In Taxidermia, we are faced with all of our mortal productions. It's up to us to gauge our reactions. I giant mass of innards is both a repulsive horror, but as it steams in the cold it is also fascinating and even beautiful.
The U.S. Military has a division that weaponizes horrible smells. In their research, they found that the key to a truly intolerable stink is that it must have pleasant and attractive elements. It’s as if it has to be a bait and switch. You need to be intrigued or aroused before the hammer comes down.
Surrealist Merit Oppenhiem’s Fur-lined Teacup from 1936 plays with this dynamic as well. It is discordant and uncomfortable but it is also sexy and evocative. Similarly, in Taxedermia, there is a scene where two people are huddled outside in the snow. We watch their interaction, but it isn’t until halfway through the scene that we notice that the snowflakes falling around them are little white feathers. The accumulation on the ground, on their coats, and in their hair isn’t the pure white crystals we thought they were, they are something corporal and dirty.
Morosgovanyi’s son is Kalman an enormous hulk of a man born with a pigtail that we watch Morosgovanyi cut off in close-up while the baby Kalman wails. Morosgovanyi’s world was that of the peasants. A farm filled with mud and shit. Morosgovanyi’s son inhabits a bourgeois world of Soviet-style progress. To emphasize the irony of Soviet culture Kalman is a competitive eater. A communist country obsessed with production and efficiency stages a grotesque display of conspicuous consumption. We are treated to several scenes of Kalman methodically gorging himself as well as expelling such copious amounts of vomit that even Monty Pythons Mr. Creosote would cringe. The competitions are conducted with Soviet Flags and dancing girls. It's like some psychotic pageant. They eat giant gelatinous blocks of horse sausage or gallons of caviar out of a red trough-shaped like a Soviet star.
Kalman gets married and has a son, Balatony. When Balatony grows up he becomes a taxidermist. Just in case there is some bit of bloody, fatty, goo that Pálfi missed in the first two-thirds of the film, he manages to cover all his morbid bases in this last third. Even so, there is still a kind of poetic beauty in the madness. We watch Balatony prepare an orangutan for stuffing. It's disgusting and brutal but also compelling. Instead of flashing us a shockingly gory moment and leaving us to imagine the rest, the camera watches intently as Balatony separates the skin from the fat and facia. It gives us time to get used to what we are seeing and examine it.
Balatony is a very creepy and completely miserable man. When he is not stuffing animal carcasses he must administer to his aging father’s needs. Kalman has grown so fat he can no longer move. The relationship between the two men and what transpires in the last third of the film is truly jarring and bizarre. Some things are better off left to the viewer to discover on their own, but the father being immobilized by excessive consumption, and the son being enslaved to an ungrateful beast who longs only for its past glory sets up abundant metaphors about capitalism, communism, and the masses of people caught in-between.
Taxidermia uses the human body as its arena. It is the vehicle for discussing our motivations, our excesses, our attempts at control, our relationship to society, and the state. In his book Discipline and Punish, Foucault tracks the changing relationship between the body and the state. A relationship that begins as corporal, where punishment is meted out physically on the body, but changes to something more insidious where the state targets our minds instead of our bodies.
Public hangings and floggings made obvious the power dynamic of the state and its ability to control behavior through force. Foucault compares this to the modern age and the rise of the surveillance state where the power dynamic between the individual and the state is hidden by an internalized coercion. By imagining the eyes of our neighbors and coworkers upon us, by raising the specter of Big Brother the blunt violence of the past is replaced with the more insidious hegemony of a state-sponsored super-ego that sounds like our own voice.
Taxidermia depicts this dynamic but reminds us that the mind can not be separated from the body. The brain is an organ like any other. No matter how abstract our thoughts may be we are still bound by our material existence. Our body is what anchors us to reality like a boat with its anchor down and its engines spinning. We aspire to become many things but we are always still flesh and blood and vomit, and semen, and sweat, and urine, and tears, and all the other things we produce and either accept or reject.
Marx focused on humans as producers of objects. He wrote about factories and the means of production but our bodies are already in a constant state of production and consumption. All life must destroy life in order to maintain itself and through that destruction turn the life consumed into waste. Life eats life and shits out waste which is then eaten by other life.
To make life more palatable we try not to think in these terms. We essentially hide the truth away and sniff fine wine seeking out the notes of oak or pear instead of slurping down the rotten juice of dead grapes in order to feel the queasy joy brought on by having ingested poison. So too the state prefers its own illusions of humanity and egalitarian justice and masks its poison in rarefied ideals.
submitted by Boop108 to flicks [link] [comments]


2020.09.24 18:10 Boop108 György Pálfi’s Taxadermia

This article is illustrated with numerous film stills. If you would like to see the illustrated version click here.
https://medium.com/@36toesproductions/gy%C3%B6rgy-p%C3%A1lfis-taxadermia-181a1f574dc8?sk=6104aa1afa93f3e7ac4c6c0c5ac22fb1
After you recover from the shock of the opening scene you realize you will need to recalibrate your surrealism scale if you are going to get through György Pálfi’s Taxadermia. This isn’t going to just be weird or dreamlike, watching this film is going to take some fortitude, otherwise, how would you account for an opening scene where a man in a grimy, little shack, masturbates until, with a triumphant yell, he shoots a plume of fire out his penis.
Taxidermia is both beautiful and nauseating. It's a film of extremes that swings wildly in many directions. The camera reflects this in its movements. Suddenly the camera will start traveling in the most improbable, or even impossible directions. It passes through walls or under people, spinning in an impossible space. Its as though the screen we are watching is falling victim to the surrealism it is depicting.
There is a mind-bending scene where the floor of a room becomes something like a panel in a revolving door. It spins, and each time it flips over there is something new on the other side. We watch the changing sets and lose our orientation which turns the movie itself into a surreal object.
Pálfi made Taxidermia in 2006 in Hungary. I am sure that there is an entire layer of this film that I do not fully understand due to my limited knowledge of Hungarian history and politics. However, the film reaches much further than just a political allegory or parody. The primary engine of the film is the human body. Not just the shape of our physique but the blood, shit, vomit, semen, sweat, guts, and viscera of our existence. There’s sex and death and competitive eating.
The film centers around three men, each the son of the former. The first is Morosgovanyi, a libidinal, Caliban-like, perpetual masturbator. He’s the one whose penis shoots fire. He will hump anything, a hole in the wall, a pile of butchered pig parts, anywhere his member will fit. There are no cutaways or carefully cropped frames we see his penis plunge in and out of a hole in a shed until a rooster comes along and pecks it. A cock attacked by a cock.
When he is frantically humping the pig parts he fantasizes that it is an enormous corpulent woman screaming obscene instructions and encouragement. The editing flashes between the pig flesh, human flesh, butchery, fornication, masturbation, and close-ups of things that might be any of the above until you’re nauseous, confused, and ready to pass out.
Psychologist Harry Stack Sullivan once wrote about the boundaries we erect to differentiate between what he termed “the me” and the “not me.” Sullivan posed a simple experiment. Spit into a glass. Pause a moment, and then drink it back down. Many would recoil at the idea but Sullivan asks us to consider how arbitrary our reaction is. When the saliva is in your mouth it doesn’t bother you, but just a second later it is repulsive.
In Taxidermia, we are faced with all of our mortal productions. It's up to us to gauge our reactions. I giant mass of innards is both a repulsive horror, but as it steams in the cold it is also fascinating and even beautiful.
The U.S. Military has a division that weaponizes horrible smells. In their research, they found that the key to a truly intolerable stink is that it must have pleasant and attractive elements. It’s as if it has to be a bait and switch. You need to be intrigued or aroused before the hammer comes down.
Surrealist Merit Oppenhiem’s Fur-lined Teacup from 1936 plays with this dynamic as well. It is discordant and uncomfortable but it is also sexy and evocative. Similarly, in Taxedermia, there is a scene where two people are huddled outside in the snow. We watch their interaction, but it isn’t until halfway through the scene that we notice that the snowflakes falling around them are little white feathers. The accumulation on the ground, on their coats, and in their hair isn’t the pure white crystals we thought they were, they are something corporal and dirty.
Morosgovanyi’s son is Kalman an enormous hulk of a man born with a pigtail that we watch Morosgovanyi cut off in close-up while the baby Kalman wails. Morosgovanyi’s world was that of the peasants. A farm filled with mud and shit. Morosgovanyi’s son inhabits a bourgeois world of Soviet-style progress. To emphasize the irony of Soviet culture Kalman is a competitive eater. A communist country obsessed with production and efficiency stages a grotesque display of conspicuous consumption. We are treated to several scenes of Kalman methodically gorging himself as well as expelling such copious amounts of vomit that even Monty Pythons Mr. Creosote would cringe. The competitions are conducted with Soviet Flags and dancing girls. It's like some psychotic pageant. They eat giant gelatinous blocks of horse sausage or gallons of caviar out of a red trough-shaped like a Soviet star.
Kalman gets married and has a son, Balatony. When Balatony grows up he becomes a taxidermist. Just in case there is some bit of bloody, fatty, goo that Pálfi missed in the first two-thirds of the film, he manages to cover all his morbid bases in this last third. Even so, there is still a kind of poetic beauty in the madness. We watch Balatony prepare an orangutan for stuffing. It's disgusting and brutal but also compelling. Instead of flashing us a shockingly gory moment and leaving us to imagine the rest, the camera watches intently as Balatony separates the skin from the fat and facia. It gives us time to get used to what we are seeing and examine it.
Balatony is a very creepy and completely miserable man. When he is not stuffing animal carcasses he must administer to his aging father’s needs. Kalman has grown so fat he can no longer move. The relationship between the two men and what transpires in the last third of the film is truly jarring and bizarre. Some things are better off left to the viewer to discover on their own, but the father being immobilized by excessive consumption, and the son being enslaved to an ungrateful beast who longs only for its past glory sets up abundant metaphors about capitalism, communism, and the masses of people caught in-between.
Taxidermia uses the human body as its arena. It is the vehicle for discussing our motivations, our excesses, our attempts at control, our relationship to society, and the state. In his book Discipline and Punish, Foucault tracks the changing relationship between the body and the state. A relationship that begins as corporal, where punishment is meted out physically on the body, but changes to something more insidious where the state targets our minds instead of our bodies.
Public hangings and floggings made obvious the power dynamic of the state and its ability to control behavior through force. Foucault compares this to the modern age and the rise of the surveillance state where the power dynamic between the individual and the state is hidden by an internalized coercion. By imagining the eyes of our neighbors and coworkers upon us, by raising the specter of Big Brother the blunt violence of the past is replaced with the more insidious hegemony of a state-sponsored super-ego that sounds like our own voice.
Taxidermia depicts this dynamic but reminds us that the mind can not be separated from the body. The brain is an organ like any other. No matter how abstract our thoughts may be we are still bound by our material existence. Our body is what anchors us to reality like a boat with its anchor down and its engines spinning. We aspire to become many things but we are always still flesh and blood and vomit, and semen, and sweat, and urine, and tears, and all the other things we produce and either accept or reject.
Marx focused on humans as producers of objects. He wrote about factories and the means of production but our bodies are already in a constant state of production and consumption. All life must destroy life in order to maintain itself and through that destruction turn the life consumed into waste. Life eats life and shits out waste which is then eaten by other life.
To make life more palatable we try not to think in these terms. We essentially hide the truth away and sniff fine wine seeking out the notes of oak or pear instead of slurping down the rotten juice of dead grapes in order to feel the queasy joy brought on by having ingested poison. So too the state prefers its own illusions of humanity and egalitarian justice and masks its poison in rarefied ideals.
submitted by Boop108 to TrueFilm [link] [comments]


2020.09.18 11:40 Rubia_cree Mr. Creosote (blue AWD) and the Model Y AWD (photo by keith_dorschner)

Mr. Creosote (blue AWD) and the Model Y AWD (photo by keith_dorschner) submitted by Rubia_cree to TeslaPorn [link] [comments]


2020.09.05 03:26 nintendonerd256 In Monty Python’s Meaning Of Life (1983), we see an obese man (Mr. Creosote) enter a restaurant, throw up a bunch, and eat until he explodes. This is a reference to my depression & coping after the divorce. Fuck you Debra, cheating son of a bitch!

In Monty Python’s Meaning Of Life (1983), we see an obese man (Mr. Creosote) enter a restaurant, throw up a bunch, and eat until he explodes. This is a reference to my depression & coping after the divorce. Fuck you Debra, cheating son of a bitch! submitted by nintendonerd256 to shittymoviedetails [link] [comments]


2020.08.23 19:37 senseless-violets Some very waffling Solstice Scents reviews

First Thoughts: TAT was very impressive. I often dither around when it comes to trying out a new perfume house since I'm in the UK and it can be painful getting smashed with international shipping, customs and handling fees for a handful of samples, then having said samples show up two months after ordering when the seasonal collection they're from has already been discontinued. Anyway, my SS order was placed on 29th July, dispatched the next day, apparently shot through customs too fast to be seen by the naked eye (no fees!), and was in my hands on 3rd August, completely thrashing my outstanding Alphamusk and Sixteen92 orders (we'll meet one day, sweet Resurrection order).
I ordered ten samples: Rose Custard Kulfi, Monastic, Conjure Dark, Sea of Gray, Scrying Smoke, Badlands, Casting Shadows, During The Rain, Covered Bridge, Scrying Smoke, Sirocco and Night Watcher. I've only reviewed my four favourites in-depth since I waffled on a bit.
Rose Custard Kulfi (Rosewater, saffron, cardamom, coconut, vanilla custard, caramelized sugar, dates, pistachios, lime zest)
Very sugary and almost metallic rose. Even though kulfi is a frozen dessert, this feels like an oddly hot sort of gourmand, which is probably the caramelised sugar coming through – this makes me think of a rose-scented crème brulee that's just been blowtorched and is still molten and glassy on top. There's also a very dense, dark sort of fruitiness from the dates, and the spices are very well balanced so that they enhance the rose and vanilla custard without taking over. If you like spiced, ultrasweet Indian desserts and confectionery you'll probably like it a lot (this reminds me very pleasantly of giving blood at a community centre run by Indian aunties who would bring in 3kg ghee buckets packed full of homemade sweets to perk the donors up a bit- vastly superior to a mint Club biscuit and a cup of lukewarm orange squash).
I like it, but I'm not sure if I will fullsize as the hot/sugary/metallic profile is a bit close to a couple of my niche favourites, PG13's Brulure de Rose (metallic/gourmand rose) and Strangers' Sangre Dulce (very sugary, feverish/delirious sort of floral/gourmand).
Monastic (Frankincense, fog, rose, myrrh, labdanum, spikenard, dust)
A very dry and sombre rose. In the best possible way, it sort of smells like a tomb – dust, stone, dessicated rose petals, resins, bitter dried herbs. I don't get any fog at all; it's extremely dry on me, and there's no sweetness left in the rose either. After a while, it comes across as a little musty, but in a way I actually quite like- if you love that dusty old antique shop or church smell, you'll probably like this. I'm considering full-sizing, but there are two spooky roses that I like and I probably only need one. The other is..
Conjure Dark (Amber, frankincense, sweet incense, smoke, dried rose petals, sandalwood, vetiver, woods, oud, vanilla)
Unfortunately, one thing I have noticed about Solstice Scents is that I often get a harsh, acrid note straight out of the vial, though perhaps this will calm down on ageing. Conjure Dark has this harsh note, but it does quieten down fairly quickly on the skin, and after that, it's all sweet, spicy rose incense. There's a lot of smoke, but it's very muted and soft like smouldering incense rather than a bonfire.
Overall, thus really reminds me of a goth club, albeit the idealised sort of goth club that a Poppy Z Brite character might visit rather than the kind that I have actually visited. Conjure Dark wouldn't sell pitchers of Cheeky Vimto or have sticky floors that would snare your New Rocks like a glue trap as you try to flee the dancefloor because the DJ just started playing Closer by Nine Inch Nails, and a creepy man who calls himself Angelus is hopefully sloshing over inside a latex shirt that he wears every week and hoses off never. Everyone in this hypothetical goth club would be beautiful and mysterious and wreathed in clove smoke rather than surrounded by visible stink-lines. Big fan, but will have to keep comparing it to Monastic to decide which I prefer.
Sea of Gray (Vanilla rain, saltwater, seaweed, ambergris, white amber, roasted seashells, white sandalwood, frangipani)
For some reason, I had the impression that this was a dank, hyper-realistic oceanic scent, but it's surprisingly very pretty. The vanilla is much more forward than I expected, and it's very soft, smooth, and a little bit salty. It reminds me of ice cream, which is probably why SoG overall reminds me of a muggy, overcast summer's day in a slightly shabby British seaside town as the season is winding down.
Oceanic elements are muted, but definitely there- I get salt spray and a dried, salty wood smell like walking on a pier, which is probably the roasted seashells coming through. Perfume equivalent of Morrissey's Every Day Is Like Sunday, in a pleasantly maudlin sort of way – like wandering down a pier with your headphones on while the sky is grey, the tide is in, no one in the world understands you, and you just lost all your money in the slot machines and only had enough change left to buy a Mr Whippy ice cream (which you didn't even get to eat; you were violently mugged by a seagull). Will probably full-size this one.
(Hide on the promenade, etch a postcard / How I dearly wish I was not here / In the seaside town / that they forgot to bomb / come, come come, nuclear bomb)
Because I've waffled on for ages, I'll just go with some quick thoughts on the rest:
Badlands: Wanted to love it, got a relentless blast of creosote that reminded me of the alarmingly orange coal tar soap at my granny's house. Had to scrub it off.
Sirocco: Nice facepowdery desert smell, but still getting that harsh creosote note and not enough spices.
Casting Shadows: Acrid at first, followed by pleasant, smoky burning leaves. Very warm and golden.
Scrying Smoke: Acrid at first, then smouldering incense. Nice, but a bit too similar to Conjure Dark
Covered Bridge: Smells like building a den in the woods. Damp and a little musty, but in an oddly pleasant way.
Night Watcher: There's no berries, but I definitely get a sweet, powdery berry note over a forest background.
During The Rain: Very realistic rainwater- minerally, untreated, but clean. Not as much petrichosoaked earth as I'd hoped for, but potentially a very interesting layering note.
submitted by senseless-violets to Indiemakeupandmore [link] [comments]


2020.08.22 05:33 PaoliBulldog 5x5 but not necessarily strong lifts

In 2013, I (53M) developed an abdominal diastasis ("mummy tummy"), which I'll likely have repaired surgically in a few weeks, along with a hiatus hernia that I've had for about five years.
Three years ago, I had to have an umbilical hernia repaired with mesh.
I've lifted weights off & on for 40+ years, including StrongLifts a few years ago, but I think my days of shooting for PRs are over, even after I recovery fully from my next surgeries. I don't want to risk undoing a lot of repair work by thinking I'm Popeye.
But I still believe resistance training is an essential part of old guy fitness -- just in moderation. And I like the 5x5 approach.
Anyone else contending with this slightly depressing new reality? Any suggestions on how to lift weights without exploding like an aged Mr. Creosote?
submitted by PaoliBulldog to Stronglifts5x5 [link] [comments]


2020.07.21 06:17 secretymology 1 Thing After Another...Literally Fed Up Now? Ready To Explode? Had Enough, But It Keeps On Coming...They’ll Keep Serving It Up Til We Stop Demanding More. Reduced To Consumers & “Useless Eaters”, I Think We All Know How This One Ends..At Least How They Would Like It To. Get Up - Leave The Table!

1 Thing After Another...Literally Fed Up Now? Ready To Explode? Had Enough, But It Keeps On Coming...They’ll Keep Serving It Up Til We Stop Demanding More. Reduced To Consumers & “Useless Eaters”, I Think We All Know How This One Ends..At Least How They Would Like It To. Get Up - Leave The Table! submitted by secretymology to conspiracy [link] [comments]


2020.07.03 04:54 jstrummer8 I think for the next [X amount] subscriber special, Babish should definitely do Mr. Creosote’s order from “Monty Python And The Meaning Of Life” 😈

I think for the next [X amount] subscriber special, Babish should definitely do Mr. Creosote’s order from “Monty Python And The Meaning Of Life” 😈 submitted by jstrummer8 to bingingwithbabish [link] [comments]


2020.06.16 15:56 RockinJ88 The Meaning of Life (1983) Nine hundred gallons of pre-mixed vomit containing vegetable soup, sweet corn, a bit of tomato, diced carrots, and Russian salad dressing were prepared for the infamous Mr Creosote sketch

The Meaning of Life (1983) Nine hundred gallons of pre-mixed vomit containing vegetable soup, sweet corn, a bit of tomato, diced carrots, and Russian salad dressing were prepared for the infamous Mr Creosote sketch submitted by RockinJ88 to MovieDetails [link] [comments]


2020.06.11 16:44 m_bowker-brown d100 patrons for the players' tavern

The players meet in a tavern: theirs.
Each night they meet several new and exciting patrons who they must cajole for their gold and handle when they inevitably start causing trouble.
  1. Partridge Pickle - A compulsive gambler, several hundred GP in debt.
  2. Abel "Granny" Smith - A debt collector for the local thieve's guild, looking for Partridge Pickle.
  3. Oldfeather - A senile wizard who has forgotten where he left his arcane focus.
  4. Cribbs - A filthy trinket seller who has, among other things, a wizard's spellcasting focus.
  5. Cedric Childeater - A goblin noble, heir to the Childeater fortune.
  6. Tybalt Mendel - A very lost tabaxi pirate.
  7. One-eye Dafid - Is completely blind.
  8. Wifney - A fat dwarf man who only speaks a completely unknown language.
  9. Old Goat-bugger - A widower and a goatherd from over the way.
  10. Madame Blue - A finely dressed, well-speaking tiefling woman, always surrounded by attendants.
  11. Allan Horsehand - A man with a horse's hoof for a hand.
  12. Creosote Blakley - A young man who plays a fantastical game with an unusual deck of cards.
  13. Dean Kane - A no-nonsense, doesn't-play-by-the-rules detective on the hunt for a vampire.
  14. Jaques Robert - A pale, aloof wine drinker who only shows up at night.
  15. Beary Bearsson - A bear who has no money because he is a bear.
  16. Miss Bear - A bear-were, cursed with humanity every full moon. Only true love's kiss can break the spell.
  17. James Highwayman - The owner of a family road construction business.
  18. Edlund the blacksmith - His daughter has been taken by goblins and/or cultists and he needs adventurers to go rescue her.
  19. Pennyhaime - A well dressed, androgynous business person eager to make bargains with anyone for anything other than money.
  20. Lee Vens - A large pink dragonborn child, lost, looking for his mother.
  21. Claronette Vens - An enormous white dragonborn woman, looking for ber baby boy.
  22. Bentsy - A "value" cigar salesman who only ever smokes a pipe himself.
  23. Kelpie Dondervex - A dwarf suffering from a curse that prevents him from getting drunk or being poisoned. Unfortunately, he was blackout drunk when the curse was put on him, so he has no clue about where to begin removing it.
  24. Duncan St. Dakken - A young dewy-eyed adventurer looking to join his first adventuring party.
  25. Rick Danger Finney - A dwarf and extreme sports enthusiast. Danger is literally his middle name.
  26. Suid the Druid - Actually an Oath of Ancients Paladin, but that isn't as catchy, is it?
  27. Keegan Volt - A Wildmagic Sorcerer with amnesia and short-term memory issues.
  28. Jon the Revived - A common farmer who died of the plague. He came back though. Weird.
  29. Dylan Croup - Lucky halfling wizard with a knack for games of chance.
  30. Potty - A man with a large, beautiful egg hidden under his dark cloak.
  31. Endeavour 'Caprice' Bolton - An entrepreneur who lost everything to corporate espionage.
  32. Sue Donham - A writer. Also goes by Penny Amy and Monica.
  33. Hotstich - A man who can mend any injury with just a needle and thread, but he doesn't have a medical license (anymore).
  34. Medium Rare - A doddering old fortune-teller whose mind often wanders in the middle of a reading.
  35. Bricken - A chicken with a clay brick for a body. She lays miniature bricks instead of eggs.
  36. Andy Beltman - The greatest beltmaker there ever was.
  37. Big-eyes - A man with abnormally large eyes.
  38. Elander Cist - A man who works as a professional impersonator of a charismatic prince.
  39. Korf the Tentative - A barbarian who can't rage unless he's 100% sure that it's the right option.
  40. Gondo - The bravest hero you never heard of.
  41. Chorus Vyes - A performer who can play any instrument with real beauty, but is convinced he sounds terrible.
  42. Dette Blut - A gnome who believes he is just a very short elf and brings this up as often as he can.
  43. Lance Bighorn - A runaway groom.
  44. Lana Florenne - A would-be bride who is getting married in that lovely chapel on the coming solstice.
  45. Greedleby - A cutthroat goblin who recently lost his internship with a mad arcanist. Looking for work.
  46. Med Forsid - A demigod, but please don't tell anyone; religious fanatics are the worst.
  47. Buster Ghastly - You called?
  48. Miguel and Bernadine - The Tiefling Twins, The Mischief Makers of Malpink.
  49. Lolly Lorkham - A burger chef on holiday.
  50. Kettlebeard - An elf woman with a wiry, greasy black beard.
  51. Carlos Bead - A gnome in a (mostly) functional mechanical suit. u/sonofabutch
  52. Dassious Furwind - A half-elf ranger mourning the loss of his animal companion, a whole year after the fact. u/soonballoon
  53. Lord Cthulu - It couldn't possibly be him... right? u/sirkibblesnbits
  54. Dag mag'rum - An ugly, scarred, dumb-as-bricks orc with a heart of gold. He never parts form his enormous greatsword, twice his height. u/ThatGuyKegan
  55. Celophine - A middle-aged harpy who spends her time nursing her beer and complaining about the failings of the younger generation. Above all, though, she cares for the safety and wellbeing of her daughter. u/Moon_Dew
  56. Areanor - Celophine's daughter. A young harpy who works as an express courier. She is sweet as sugar, a hard worker, a perpetual optimist, and a hopeless romantic. u/Moon_Dew
  57. Sullivan McDonald - The 12-year-old son of Orwin McDonald. He's trying to obtain and smuggle out liquor on a dare from his friends. u/mythgirl
  58. Orwin McDonald - A local farmer who detests alcohol of any kind and has banned it from his house (with the exception of his wife’s cooking wine). He only comes to the tavern to socialise and give the missus a break from cooking every night. u/mythgirl
  59. Annie Larson - Age 11, she has a crush on Sullivan McDonald but is despised as a tattletale by him and his friends. u/mythgirl
  60. Brick-a-day - A man who, every day, inexplicably carries a different brick around. Also inexplicably, no one has bothered to ask why. u/mythgirl
  61. Ronald & Jorn - Shifty looking, rough-around-the-edges cousins who are in trouble more often than out of it. They'll do just about anything for a few gold, which they are secretly saving up for a pet monkey. u/mythgirl
  62. Old Bill - An old, settled down fighter whose tales of the 'old days' get less and less funny the deeper he is in his cups. u/Vote_for_Knife_Party
  63. Rex the Wise - Possibly the world's smartest barbarian. Used his adventuring money to establish a trading company to deal with his homeland. u/Vote_for_Knife_Party
  64. Lowaxa - A young elven mage who sees taverns as a great place to recruit subjects for her potion experimentation. u/Vote_for_Knife_Party
  65. Trixie - One of a group of doppelgangers posing as the same lady of the night, who occasionally kill and replace clients if they have something that they want. u/Vote_for_Knife_Party
  66. The Red Flag Band - A crew of mercenaries who train militia and guard corps, often by staging mock attacks. u/Vote_for_Knife_Party
  67. Charming Theodore - He's a spy. Everyone knows he's a spy. Could talk the pants off the statue of a saint and has every ounce of gossip in town despite the fact that everyone knows not to run their mouth around him. u/Vote_for_Knife_Party
  68. The Bait - Some days he's a local fop, others he's an out of town yokel who doesn't know his ass from a gutter. One time he was even a runaway princess. Every single day he's an agent of his thieves' guild, ready to stab the hell out of anyone who needs it. u/Vote_for_Knife_Party
  69. Derek - An awakened sheep who is always accompanied by the permanently drunk Sid. He prefers to keep his sentient status hidden, although it’s obvious which of the pair is the brains of the operation. u/Sobek6
  70. Wolf - A large dog looking for a warm fire to fall asleep next to. u/JPreadsyourstuff
  71. Sunul Vaharis - An elderly man with a sitar, struggling desperately to remember the only song he ever learned. u/JPreadsyourstuff
  72. Granger - A one-armed dwarf-veteran who insists he knows the location of a magic axe (that can only be wielded in the left hand). u/JPreadsyourstuff
  73. Jenny - A beautiful peasant girl who's waiting for her betrothed to come back from a quest. u/JPreadsyourstuff
  74. Sir Willard - A once-knight of a sacred order struggling to forgive himself for the death of his only charge. u/JPreadsyourstuff
  75. Dwar-Gnom - A gnome standing on a dwarf’s shoulders, with this strange configuration hidden by a large coat. The gnome speaks with a fake voice and frequently references being “an adult” and doing adult things like “having a job”, “taking care of the kids”, and “doing stuff in the bedroom”. Both dwarf and gnome are well above the legal drinking age and have no obvious reason for their “disguise”. u/MightyMrFish
  76. Dwarnom - (Pronounced exactly the same as above) A gnomish painter that stands on stilts and wears a large coat that hides the stilts. He speaks with a fake voice and frequently references doing adult things, like “going to work”, “watching the kids”, and “playing in the bedroom”. He wears stilts to make it easier to paint walls and the like. He too is well above the legal drinking age. u/MightyMrFish
  77. Orm Greatbeard - A dwarf sporting what he calls a 'greatbeard.' It's an average beard. u/settlerking
  78. Bryn - A merchant's daughter with a knack for languages. u/Mike_in_San_Pedro
  79. Latatie Mungi - An antisocial girl in a dark cloak who is unaware of the intimidating figure she cuts from the back corner. u/killllllllllmeeeeee
  80. Apollo the cat - A well-groomed, friendly cat who definitely belongs to a noble. u/killllllllllmeeeeee
  81. Turg - Is trying to learn to read and count, starting with the menu. u/killllllllllmeeeeee
  82. Socks - A man in orange robes who claims he is traveling to the moon. u/killllllllllmeeeeee
  83. Karbonkel - A firbolg 'trader' whose best goods are mushrooms, various dried fruits, and small gemstones. u/Gemini720
  84. Sconesy Cider - A vicious tavern food critic with a secret weakness for very spicy food. u/stu_dog
  85. Feldor Sweetgrass - A desperate halfling looking for safe haven. He claims to have been framed for the theft of a rare and valuable item. u/ravi95035
  86. 'Archy' Archibald Daines - Clearly a noble slumming it; all of his 'pauper rags' are monogramed with the letters 'AD.' u/ravi95035
  87. Elleron Daines - A handsome young man of good breeding and dress who is clearly out of his depth, looking for help to destroy an enormous blue diamond before it can be used to unleash great evil upon the land. u/ravi95035
  88. Officer Tomalaak - A dragonborn policeman/ guard. He's on leave, but still keeps an eye out for suspicious activity. u/LucidCookie
  89. Beth - An ridiculously old woman who might just be immortal. Carries a ton of gold and who knows what in her purse. u/LucidCookie
  90. Trefit - A goblin brewer trying to sell drinks to the tavern who always raises the price instead of making a deal. u/LucidCookie
  91. Pigeon - An ugly castaway kobold who works for the post, despite being less than average in intelligence. u/LucidCookie
  92. Goose - Malevolent, plump goose. u/LucidCookie
  93. Troy - A drunk, bumbling thief. u/LucidCookie
  94. Norha - A kindly basketweaver with a pegleg, in which she hides a springloaded deathspike. u/primeathos
  95. Sir Notanorc - A knight who is definitely not an orc in disguise. u/godzilor_122
  96. Sir Edmund Antonius - A monocled, moustached general in his medal-adorned military dress who only drinks the finest dwarven brandy. u/CptnAlex
  97. Jameson Dupree - A has been celebrity tiefling who tells whoever sits next to him stories of his rise to fame, no matter if they care or not. u/hemx123
  98. The Fantastic Magico! - A children's entertainer\illusion wizard that just takes his tricks a little too far. u/mackam1
  99. Grimshade Brothers - Oni, an older goblin, and Gnasher, a younger troll, are a pair of mercenaries. Oni likes to haggle, boast & flirt with ladies. Gnasher likes eating, drinking, and chewing on his stuffed toy piggy. u/Jarek86
  100. Captain Weatherall - A staunch 'human,' and a pirate talking, whiskey drinking mad man with a peg leg, a hook hand and a grudge against the Kraken (he refers to it as Ol' Feller) that took his limbs. He captains the vessel The 7 Legged Octopus and is the only captain crazy enough to go into the rough seas during storm season. HOWEVER, Captain Weatherall is secretly a Halfling, he has all four limbs, and dresses up in ridiculous sea captain garb to disguise the fact his ex-wife cursed him to have two human length limbs. u/Timmyd-93
submitted by m_bowker-brown to d100 [link] [comments]


2020.06.09 18:04 YouRatBastard Mr. Creosote

Mr. Creosote submitted by YouRatBastard to Chonkers [link] [comments]


2020.06.07 05:33 _freakoffherleash_ A very long, wine drunk death and floral review ft. my boyfriend

So, not long ago I ordered what is probably an insane amount of samples from death and floral. They all came in the mail the same day, so my boyfriend u/doejersey and I tested them all together.
Disclaimer: We were pretty wine drunk. Most of these were only sniffed from the bottle, some of them were on skin. I’ll be wearing them one by one over the course of the next few weeks to really give them all a fair try :) For future reference, we call my pet ferret the weasel. Also, for those of you into astrology and what not... yes, Mr. doejersey is the most Gemini of Gemini’s, lol.
Customer service was great and I love many of these scents. Highly recommend to anyone that hasn’t jumped on the death and floral bandwagon yet!!
~~~ The wolf only needs luck to find you once: Crisp forest night air, lunar musk, large drifting oakwood trees, the musky scent of a trailing shadow
Me: Light and spicy, almost dreamlike in the way it feels. It’s not too strong, just like a waft of spice on a cool breeze in a forest. It leans more masculine to me but I think anyone could really pull it off.
Him: Like spicy deodorant. Like if I got original old spice? But not hot spicy, more like baking spicy. Nutmeg or coriander? ~~~ Swamp elixir: Soft Honeysuckle and mossy oak trees blended with water lilies and sparkling pink lemonade
Me: Smells kind of green when I apply it right away, but mellows down to that lovely (not sour) pink lemonade. Kind of of reminds me of a plump succulent plant for some reason even though they have no scent. I love this one, definitely wearing it tomorrow and possibly getting FS!
Him: Light and airy, fresh. Like plant matter but not grass clippings. Also kind of waxy and soapy. ~~~ Nothing rusts in the desert, the air is full of ghosts: Pink cactus flowers and sweet grass with notes of warm rain and woody dry vanilla
Me: I LOVE this one. Initially smells like a flower shop to me, brings back memories of walking into small flower shops that were packed to the brim in NYC. So sad this is limited edition, I’ll have to FS for sure.
Him: Like eucalyptus, but also kind of waxy. Not offensive at all and I think a lot of people will enjoy it. Like an airy prickly pear. I revoke the eucalyptus actually. ~~~ A living warmth, and a picture of death: Peppery flowers and herbs, hay and old roses, musky cloves, a sharp glint of metal and worn leather
Me: Definitely peppery but also kind of cold. Interesting, probably not something I would wear though.
Him: I’ve smelled this before but I can’t place it. I don’t know. It’s got this weird spice to it, but I don’t know what to call it. Allspice? Nutmeg? (After telling him the notes, he has an epiphany: “CLOVES!!! It was the cloves!!”) ~~~ That first morning moment: Cozy blend of lavender and chamomile tea, with notes of white amber and soft cotton
Me: Clean laundry! A nice one for when you just want to smell fresh, but gently.
Him: This is another one of those airy ones. This one has managed to get into my brain. I know what this is but I can’t remember the words. It’s kind of piney? Either piney or like a spruce or some kind of conifer tree. Like standing next to a sappy kind of tree. ~~~ The taste of almost summer: Orange dreamsicle ice cream and soft tuberose blended with pink cotton candy and lavender
Me: Orange creamsicle for sure! Very sweet, basic, probably hard to dislike even if it’s not your favorite to wear. It feels happy.
Him: Like orange Vanilla Coke. I don’t like this one. ~~~ Lay me in the earth, and from my fair and unpolluted flesh let violets spring: Milky baby deer skin, soft fur musk, warm earth, oak trees, floral forest floor moss
Me: I think I’m anosmic to something in this, I’m getting a gentle waft of powdery violets but that’s it. It’s very, very faint.
Him: I’m definitely getting the floral stuff. Hmm. Not entirely pencil eraser, but I smell pencil eraser in this. But the cheap one, not the Ticonderoga. ~~~ At this point, the weasel has jumped onto my vanity and is attempting to swipe a bottle. She likes the soft plastic toppers. ~~~ Decomposing roses for a decomposing romance: Rose, white musk, vanilla, pink peppercorn, honeysuckle
Me: I really thought this would be my favorite and the most wearable for me, but nope. I’m getting strong decomposing roses (nailed that scent!) and it dries down very, very powdery on me.
Him: hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. It’s like a weird flower. Powdery? A sweet musk? Are there different kinds of musk? Kind of offensive but also kind of good, I like it more than I probably should. He flops entirely backwards onto the bed and sighs. “Like trying kombucha for the first time. I kind of dig this one.” After an hour, he says he is weirdly very attracted to this. Lol. ~~~ The secret of wives and widows: A dark and mysterious blend of Arabian sandalwood, luscious vanilla, orchids and southern night air, white tea in a fine cup of China held by a figure with long painted nails
Me: Sandalwood and vanilla, yup. It’s not bad but also seems to dry a bit powdery on me (I think it’s just my skin lol). Will give this another try on it’s own since we’ve already sniffed so much.
Him: A very tiny amount of cherry? Or some kind of tangy fruit. And then it sort of mellows out into an airy laundry kind of smell. Also sweet. ~~~ We stopped for coffee in the red wood forest: Roasted Colombian coffee beans, giant looming red-wood trees in a shady and damp forest mixed with black cardamom, ginger, cinnamon, and woody amber
Me: nope nope nope. I think it could maybe dry down well but that smell out of the bottle is really rough.
Him: Out of the bottle right away: burning hair. On skin: Mellows down to something earthy. Now I’m getting citronella candle. Side note: he likes it a lot when it mellows out. Said he’s getting a nice nature smell without “that old spice lumberjack shit”, whatever that means lol. ~~~ Two cups of tea, a summer monsoon, and me and you: Rain on cracked soil, wet creosote, a swelling monsoon, desert cedar, black tea
Me: This is weird, something in this makes some strange scent connection in my memory and I feel nauseated. I don’t think it’s bad at all.. not sure why this is happening to me. I don’t know what it reminds me of.
Him: Really flowery. I think my mom grows these or has grown them before. A straight up roundhouse kick of flowers to the nose. ~~~ Our last brunch together was on a beach as dead as you are now: Salty ocean waves and seaweed, briney morning air, the last bites of a half eaten desert
Me: A very interesting combination of salty and sweet. Sweeter than I expected, actually.
Him: Like a fruity bubblegum. It’s like grapes, but not fake Concord grapes. More like a white grape. ~~~ She poisoned the strawberries: Fresh picked strawberries, the musk of a scorned lover, cold sparkling champagne.
Me: Yup, strawberries and champagne. Pretty.
Him: Like a strawberry dessert. ~~~ The blues are all the same: Smooth vanilla Cognac, aged barrel wood, and sticky honey
Me: Getting all of the notes here, so pretty much what I expected. I’m not big on gourmands but if you are - this is for you!
Him: A chocolate covered weasel. Maybe with some toasted almonds. Like a weasel covered in nuts and chocolate. ~~~ The sweater we buried you with is hanging in my closet: A luscious blend of three different vanillas, resinous ambers, Arabian sandalwood, a soft cashmere sweater
Me: I like this a lot! The vanilla isn’t sweet at all, kind of dry with a gentle swirl of spice. Vanilla is usually hard for me so this is a game changer!!
Him: Not the fruit part of wine, but like the alcohol part. Also a BAM of vanilla up front and it kind of mellows out afterwards. ~~~ Mountain cats will come to drag away your bones: Pepper, Laurel Leaf, Wood, musk, tobacco, Amber, fresh mountain air
Me: This is another favorite of mine. I agree that it’s very different, kind of airy and spicy. Inoffensive and easy enough to pull off.
Him: Ok I think he’s really wine drunk now because I just heard “masublurgphssh” like an attempt at a sentence in one word. He says “mmmmmmm. I’m having a hard time with this one to be honest. It’s kind of foreign. It’s definitely sweet. I think it’s good. Why is this one so hard for me? It doesn’t trigger anything, I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything like this.” ~~~ Things we’ve learned: The more he initially dislikes a scent at first, the more he seems to love it once it dries down. Except for the taste of almost summer, he still isn’t a fan of that one, which was a surprise to me.
Overall I’m so impressed with this brand and what it has to offer, I’ve found some new favorites and we had a great time doing this!! The sample vials are adorable as heck.
Hope you all enjoyed ❤️
submitted by _freakoffherleash_ to Indiemakeupandmore [link] [comments]


2020.05.31 16:20 Thotome Oh shit, it’s Mr. Creosote

Oh shit, it’s Mr. Creosote submitted by Thotome to montypython [link] [comments]


2020.03.17 13:14 futurarmy Mr Aragorn II Elessar Creosote (r/LOTRholygrailmemes xpost)

Mr Aragorn II Elessar Creosote (LOTRholygrailmemes xpost) submitted by futurarmy to lotrmemes [link] [comments]


2020.03.17 03:45 futurarmy Mr Aragorn II Elessar Creosote

Mr Aragorn II Elessar Creosote submitted by futurarmy to MontyPythonMemes [link] [comments]


2020.03.17 03:42 futurarmy Mr Aragorn II Elessar Creosote

Mr Aragorn II Elessar Creosote submitted by futurarmy to LOTRholygrailmemes [link] [comments]


2020.03.02 10:01 TweetArchiveBot Unathi Kwaza RT from Mark Singleton: @Unathi_Kwaza The exact opposite of efficiency: a bloated govt. eating its own carcass. The Monty Python skit Mr. Creosote comes to mind.

Unathi Kwaza RT from Mark Singleton: @Unathi_Kwaza The exact opposite of efficiency: a bloated govt. eating its own carcass. The Monty Python skit Mr. Creosote comes to mind. submitted by TweetArchiveBot to LibertyRSA [link] [comments]


2020.02.29 18:26 duddersb Book 2 Cormoran/Robin recap (I don’t own any of this)

The Silkworm
His assistant - tall, curvaceous, with a clear, brilliant complexion and bright blue-grey eyes - scrutinised him over her coffee cup. ‘You look terrible.’
It would ease her home life considerably if Matthew could be brought to share her opinion of Cormoran Strike, to like him, even admire him. Robin was optimistic: she liked both of them, so why could they not like each other?
Little though the unknown accountant might believe it, Strike was grateful for Matthew’s mere existence, and for the sapphire and diamond ring that shone from Robin’s third finger. Matthew sounded like a dickhead ... but he imposed a useful barrier between Strike and a girl who might otherwise disturb his equilibrium. Strike had not been able to guard against warm feelings for Robin, who had stuck by him when he was at his lowest ebb and helped him turn his fortunes around; nor, having normal eyesight, could he escape the fact that she was a very good-looking woman. He viewed her engagement as the means by which a thin, persistent draught is blocked up, something that might, if allowed to flow untrammelled, start to seriously disturb his comfort.
She was unusual in her lack of criticism, or critical silence; the only female in Strike’s life who seemed to have no desire to improve or correct him.
So she was marrying in seven weeks time ... Strike experienced a sudden, crazy urge to call his divorcing brunette client ...
’Well, I’d like him there,’ she said, which, at last, was honesty. She wanted to tug the working life that she had never enjoyed so much closer to the personal life that currently refused to meld with it; she wanted to stitch the two together in a satisfying whole and to see Strike in the congregation, approving (approving! Why did he have to approve?) of her marrying Matthew.
Robin was looking miserable and Strike, wondering what had passed between them while he had been gone, felt sorry for her. ‘Robin says you’re a rugby player,’ he told Matthew, determined to make an effort.
Strike had somehow made her see Matthew through his eyes.
She knew that if Strike had genuinely liked Matthew, he would never have been as definitive as ‘nice bloke’.
He only knew that she was the one person he wanted to talk to about what had happened ...
A familiar frustration and anger towards the men in her life had her in its grip - to Matthew, for failing to see why her job mattered to her so much; to Strike, for failing to recognise her potential. (But he had called her when he had found the body ... She had managed to slip in a question - ‘Who else have you told?’ - and he had answered, without any sign that he knew what it would mean to her, ‘No one, only you.’)
Strike started and looked up. Robin was standing there in her trench coat, her face pink, long, red-gold hair loose, tousled and gilded in the early sunlight streaming through the window. Just then, Strike found her beautiful.
They’ll postpone the wedding. He did not want to feel glad about it.
Only when he had put it to his ear and heard Leonora Quine did he realise that he had been hoping it would be Robin.
She lifted onto the table a small basket covered in cellophane, adorned with ribbon and containing Cornish food and drink: beer, cider, sweets and mustard. He felt ridiculously touched.
Robin took their empty glasses back to the bar for refills without asking; Strike felt very fond of her as she set another pint in front of him.
What infuriated her was that Strike, who of all people should have understood, could not see in her what so obviously burned in him.
Strike grinned. At times of tension, her Yorkshire accent became more pronounced: he had heard ‘boogger’.
Something about her job, her decision to stay with Strike, about Strike himself, had introduced a rogue element into their relationship, something threatening and new ...
Strike’s pre-emptive rejection of her concern sat like a wall between them and to her sympathy was added a twist of resentment that he would not let her in to that tiny degree. When had she ever fussed over him or tried to mother him? The most she had ever done was pass him paracetamol ... Strike knew himself to be unreasonable, but the awareness merely increased his irritation.
His antipathy to discussing his leg had been dissolved by warm coffee, by their discussion and by her practical thoughts for his comfort. ‘Couldn’t get the bloody prosthesis on. My knee’s swollen to hell: I’m going to have to see someone. Took me ages to get sorted.’ She had guessed as much, but appreciated the confidence.
Strike could not look away from her calm profile; her eyes were again fixed on the road, her hands confident and relaxed on the wheel.
She was suddenly livid. The long, cold journey, Strike eating all the food, his surprise that she could drive properly, her relegation to the kitchen with Chard’s servants and now this -
‘You’ve got a lot of aptitude for the job,’ said Strike, ‘but you’re getting married to someone who hates you doing it.’
’I wouldn’t be where I am now if I hadn’t had you,’ said Strike. ‘Nobody was ever more grateful than me for a temping agency’s mistake. You’ve been incredible, I couldn’t have - don’t bloody cry, that family’s gawping enough already.’ ‘I don’t give a monkey’s,’ said Robin into a handful of paper napkins and Strike laughed.
She felt shaken but elated. She had not been mistaken: Strike had seen in her what he possessed himself.
They were burying Mrs Cunliffe, her future mother-in-law, but she had chosen to drive off into the snow with Strike ...
Strike had been with Charlotte sixteen years, on and off, and the job had broken them. She did not want to lose Matthew. Why had she done this; why had she offered to drive Strike?
She could not stop herself grinning at Strike’s look of stunned admiration.
Strike could see it even if she could not: the condition of being with Matthew was not to be herself.
He did not like to be explicit about how recognisable he thought her, even with her red-gold hair piled under a beanie hat. She was very good-looking.
Grateful for the effect of cheap brandy and to Robin’s particular combination of clear-headedness and warmth, Strike parted from her with many thanks half an hour later. Robin travelled home to Matthew in a glow of gratification and excitement, looking more kindly on Strike’s theory as to the killer of Owen Quine than she had done before ... but mainly because she felt particularly warm towards her boss after the shared interrogation.
But he could not disappear to Cornwall without seeing her.
‘Tea?’ She knew how he liked it: the colour of creosote.
She laughed, delighted. ‘Thank you. Thank you!’ ’Most women would’ve expected flowers.’ ‘I’m not most women.’ ‘Yeah, I’ve noticed that,’ said Strike, taking a chocolate biscuit.
’Well, merry Christmas, partner.’ The idea of a hug hovered briefly in the air, but she held out her hand with mock blokeyness, and he shook it. ‘Have a great time in Cornwall.’ ‘And you in Masham.’ On the point of relinquishing her hand, he gave it a quick twist. He had kissed the back of it before she knew what had happened. Then, with a grin and a wave, he was gone.
submitted by duddersb to cormoran_strike [link] [comments]


2020.01.22 23:14 reverendjesus “I shall think of him exploding.” - John Cleese, saying he’d most remember Terry Jones as Mr. Creosote.

“I shall think of him exploding.” - John Cleese, saying he’d most remember Terry Jones as Mr. Creosote. submitted by reverendjesus to u/reverendjesus [link] [comments]


2020.01.22 19:31 CLAP_ALIEN_CHEEKS John Cleese on Terry Jones: "I shall remember him as Mr Creosote. He is so funny in it and it's one of the funniest things we did."

John Cleese on Terry Jones: submitted by CLAP_ALIEN_CHEEKS to videos [link] [comments]


2020.01.22 18:15 rje_power R.I.P Terry Jones (played Mr Creosote)

R.I.P Terry Jones (played Mr Creosote) submitted by rje_power to AbsoluteUnits [link] [comments]


2020.01.22 16:54 joetravers Mr. Creosote from Monty Python's Meaning of Life (Terry Jones)

Mr. Creosote from Monty Python's Meaning of Life (Terry Jones) submitted by joetravers to videos [link] [comments]


Monty Python - Mr Creosote - YouTube Monty pythons, Mr creosote, Full version, - YouTube Terry Jones on playing Mr. Creosote in Monty Python's THE ... Monty pythons, Mr creosote, Full version - YouTube Monty Python - Mr Creosote - YouTube

Mr Creosote High Resolution Stock Photography and Images ...

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  4. Monty pythons, Mr creosote, Full version - YouTube
  5. Monty Python - Mr Creosote - YouTube

Teil 6 aus Monty Pythons Meisterwerk 'Der Sinn des Lebens' mit der berühmten Szene mit Mr. Creosote. Originaltitel: The Meaning of Life (1983) Mehr Slapstick... The person who thought of this, must of had a sick sense of humour, its only wafer thin, John Cleese is the waiter to the enormous Mr Creosote who arrives at the resturant feeling sick. He fills several buckets with sick, before ordering everythi... Terry Jones talks about make-up artist Chris Tucker and the creation of Mr. Creote for Monty Python's 'The Meaning of Life' (1983). And it includes The Penis Song