(A large country house. A number of sportin' gentlemen dressed
in huntin' tweed and carrying shotguns come out, casually firing the
guns at random. They climb into a land-rover and drive off. Cut to
huntin' country. A line of beaters moves towards the camera; as they
do so several young couples leap up out of the undergrowth and run
away. Shots of hunters stalking their prey and shooting. One of them
breaks his gun into two pieces. Another fires into the air. An egg
lands on his head. Cut to two duelists (with pistols) and a referee
standing between them. They fire; the referee falls dead. A huntin'
gentleman fires into the air, falls over backwards; a young couple
get up from close behind him and run away. Another huntin' gentleman
is arguing defensively with a pilot who has just landed by
parachute. A hunter fires into some bushes; a Red Indian pops up and
runs away in alarm. They all return to the house, legs and arms
variously in plaster or bandaged. Two of them carry a pole between
them from which is slung a very small bird. The picture of the
outside of the house freezes and we pull back to reveal that it is a
photo on a stand, by which stands the knight in armor, expectantly
flexing his raw chicken. The floor manager comes up to him.)
Floor Manager: I'm sorry, we don't need you this week.
(Knight looks dejected, droops and slinks off, still holding
chicken. He walks past a hen house from wherein we hear a voice.)
Voice: And now for something completely different.