Magic Shop Sketch

The Magic Shop
Based on The Cheese Shop Sketch from "The Instant Monty Python Record Collection"

(A customer walks in the door.)
Customer: Good Morning.
Owner: Good morning, Sir. Welcome to the National Spell Emporium!
Customer: Ah, thank you, my good man.
Owner: What can I do for you, Sir?
C: Well, I was, uh, sitting in the wizards' library on Thurmon Street just now, skimming through "Guide to Monsters" by Volo Geddarm, and I suddenly came over all arcanish.
O: Arcanish, sir?
C: Enchanted.
O: Eh?
C: I want to cast magic!
O: Ah, magic!
C: In a nutshell. And I thought to myself, "a little spell will do the trick," so, I curtailed my Geddarmian activities, sallied forth, and infiltrated your place of purveyance to negotiate the vending of some fearsome wizardry!
O: Come again?
C: I want to buy a spell.
O: Oh, I thought you were complaining about the minstrel!
C: Oh, heaven forbid: I am one who delights in all manifestations of the Terpsichorean muse!
O: Sorry?
C: 'Ooo, Ah lahk a nice tuune, 'yer forced too!
O: So he can go on playing, can he?
C: Most certainly! Now then, some spells please, my good man.
O: (lustily) Certainly, sir. What would you like?
C: Well, eh, how about Fireball?
O: I'm, a-fraid we're fresh out of Fireball, sir.
C: Oh, never mind, how are you on Lightning Bolt?
O: I'm afraid we never have them at the end of the week, sir, we get them from the scribe on Monday.
C: Tish tish. No matter. Well, stout yeoman, Shadow Blade, if you please.
O: Ah! They've beeeen on order, sir, for two weeks. Was expecting them this morning.
C: 'T's not my lucky day, is it? Aah, Chromatic Orb?
O: Sorry, sir.
C: Burning Hands?
O: Normally, sir, yes. Today, the wagon broke down.
C: Ah. Disintegrate?
O: Sorry.
C: Scorching Ray? Meteor Swarm?
O: No.
C: Any Cone of Cold, per chance?
O: No.
C: Flaming Sphere?
O: No.
C: Wall of Fire?
O: No.
C: Prismatic Spray?
O: No.
C: Melf's Acid Arrow?
O: No.
C: Chain Lightning?
O: <pause> No.
C: Polymorph?
O: No.
C: Cloud of Daggers?
O: No.
C: Ice Knife, Ray of Sickness, Sleep, Thunderwave, Witch Bolt?
O: No.
C: Stinking Cloud, perhaps?
O: Ah! We have Stinking Cloud, yessir.
C: (surprised) You do! Excellent.
O: Yessir. It's…ah…it's a bit stinky…
C: Oh, I like it stinky.
O: Well…It's very stinky, actually, sir.
C: No matter. Fetch hither the Stinking Cloud!
O: I…think it's a bit stinkier than you'll like it, sir.
C: I don't care how fucking stinky it is. Hand it over with all speed.
O: Oooooooooohhh…! <pause>
C: What now?
O: The cat's shredded it.
C: <pause> Has he.
O: She, sir.
(pause)
C: Vampiric Touch?
O: No.
C: Aganazzar's Scorcher?
O: No.
C: Circle of Death?
O: No.
C: Flesh to Stone?
O: No.
C: Sunbeam?
O: No, sir.
C: You…do *have* some spells, don't you?
O: (brightly) Of course, sir. It's a magic shop, sir. We've got—
C: No, no… Don't tell me. I'm keen to guess.
O: Fair enough.
C: Uuuuuh, Cloudkill.
O: Yes?
C: Ah, well, I'll have that!
O: Oh! I thought you were talking to me, sir. Mister Cloudkill, that's my name.

(pause)

C: Blight?
O: Uh, not as such.
C: Uuh, Power Word: Kill?
O: No.
C: Frost Fingers?
O: No.
C: Tasha's Hideous Laughter?
O: No.
C: Symbol?
O: No.
C: Finger of Death?
O: No.
C: Feeblemind?
O: No.
C: Melf's Minute Meteors?
O: Not *today*, sir, no.
(pause)
C: Aah, how about Magic Missile?
O: Well, we don't get much call for it around here, sir.
C: Not much ca—It's the single most popular spell in history!
O: Not 'round here, sir.
C: <slight pause> And what IS the most popular spell 'round hyah?
O: Chaos Bolt, sir.
C: IS it.
O: Oh, yes, it's staggeringly popular in this town.
C: Is it.
O: It's our number one best seller, sir!
C: I see. Uuh… Chaos Bolt, eh?
O: Right, sir.
C: All right. Okay. 'Have you got a copy?' he asked, expecting the answer 'no'.
O: I'll have a look, sir… nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnno.
C: It's not much of a magic shop, is it?
O: Finest in the district!
C: (annoyed) Explain the logic underlying that conclusion, please.
O: Well, it's so clean, sir!
C: It's certainly uncontaminated by spells….
O: (brightly) You haven't asked me about Erupting Earth, sir.
C: Would it be worth it?
O: Could be….
C: Have you —SHUT THAT BLOODY MINSTREL UP!
O: Told you sir….
C: (slowly) Have you got Erupting Earth?
O: No.
C: Figures. Predictable, really I suppose. It was an act of purest optimism to have posed the question in the first place. Tell me:
O: Yes sir?
C: (deliberately) Have you, in fact, got any spells here at all?
O: Yes, sir.
C: Really?
(pause)
O: No. Not really, sir.
C: You haven't.
O: No sir. Not a page. I was deliberately wasting your time, sir.
C: Well I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to kill you.
O: Right-O, sir.

The customer takes out a dagger and stabs the owner.

C: What a *senseless* waste of human life.