Naughty Bits
14-11-2004, 10:42
With all the Monty Pythons out there... I wonder how many Benny Hill Fans there are as well. So to intoduce you to the wit of Benny Hill, here is one of his poems.
Fatricia and Feter
Poem
Ladies and gentlemen, 50 years ago Paul Finch, the famous short-sighted poet, typed his last poem on a machine which had been repaired by an equally short-sighted repairman. And he put the 'F' where the 'P' should be, and the he put the 'P' where the 'F' should be.
However, as it is his last poem, I thought you might like to hear it as it was originally written. Here it is then, Fatricia and Feter, the pinal foem of Faul Pinch. I think you'll like it.
Fatricia was just pipteen
When she pell in love with Fete,
He was pishing in the river,
With galoshes on his peet.
(He speaks first)
"Is the water deef here?"
"About pour inches," she reflies,
He fut his poot in pront of him,
And sank uf to his eyes.
As he struggled to the surpace,
Covered prom head to poot, in muck,
She said, "That's punny,
It only comes halp way uf my duck."
She noticed he was peeling paint
So she griffed him by the arm,
He said, "Are you rich?" She said, "No, I peed myself
With pood grown on my parm."
Years fassed by and handsome Fete
Lept town, and so did fretty Fat,
She joined the metrofolitan folice porce,
Her polks were froud of that.
One day as she was facing uf and down,
She heard a strange cry in the street,
Someone was flaying a piddle,
In the gutter, there stoof Fete.
She could tell by the look ufon his pace,
He was peeling broken-hearted,
He said, "I've lept my wipe, you know,"
She said, "I'd heard you'd... gone."
"Flease, flease, oh go away flease," he begged,
She answered him with smiles,
He said, "I've been in frison,"
She said, "I know, I've seen your piles."
He said, "At least I had pood in there
And over my head a roop,
Ip I'd have stayed much longer with all those men,
I'd have become a raving foop."
She held his hand as they were wed,
At the chafel of St. Fauls,
They honeymooned in Niagara,
And she held him by the palls.
They now have pour children,
And lipe for them is great,
You just can't fredict where it will foint,
That pickle pinger of pate.
Fatricia and Feter
Poem
Ladies and gentlemen, 50 years ago Paul Finch, the famous short-sighted poet, typed his last poem on a machine which had been repaired by an equally short-sighted repairman. And he put the 'F' where the 'P' should be, and the he put the 'P' where the 'F' should be.
However, as it is his last poem, I thought you might like to hear it as it was originally written. Here it is then, Fatricia and Feter, the pinal foem of Faul Pinch. I think you'll like it.
Fatricia was just pipteen
When she pell in love with Fete,
He was pishing in the river,
With galoshes on his peet.
(He speaks first)
"Is the water deef here?"
"About pour inches," she reflies,
He fut his poot in pront of him,
And sank uf to his eyes.
As he struggled to the surpace,
Covered prom head to poot, in muck,
She said, "That's punny,
It only comes halp way uf my duck."
She noticed he was peeling paint
So she griffed him by the arm,
He said, "Are you rich?" She said, "No, I peed myself
With pood grown on my parm."
Years fassed by and handsome Fete
Lept town, and so did fretty Fat,
She joined the metrofolitan folice porce,
Her polks were froud of that.
One day as she was facing uf and down,
She heard a strange cry in the street,
Someone was flaying a piddle,
In the gutter, there stoof Fete.
She could tell by the look ufon his pace,
He was peeling broken-hearted,
He said, "I've lept my wipe, you know,"
She said, "I'd heard you'd... gone."
"Flease, flease, oh go away flease," he begged,
She answered him with smiles,
He said, "I've been in frison,"
She said, "I know, I've seen your piles."
He said, "At least I had pood in there
And over my head a roop,
Ip I'd have stayed much longer with all those men,
I'd have become a raving foop."
She held his hand as they were wed,
At the chafel of St. Fauls,
They honeymooned in Niagara,
And she held him by the palls.
They now have pour children,
And lipe for them is great,
You just can't fredict where it will foint,
That pickle pinger of pate.