Polearm Shop Sketch

The Polearm 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 Polearm Emporium!
Customer: Ah, thank you, my good man.
Owner: What can I do for you, Sir?
C: Well, I was, uh, sitting in the public library on Thurmon Street just now, skimming through "The Prince" by Niccolo Machiavelli, and I suddenly came over all murderish.
O: Murderish, sir?
C: Homicidal.
O: Eh?
C: I want a weapon!
O: Ah, a weapon!
C: In a nutshell. And I thought to myself, "a little polearm will do the trick," so, I curtailed my machiavellian activities, sallied forth, and infiltrated your place of purveyance to negotiate the vending of some fearsome ironmongery!
O: Come again?
C: I want to buy a polearm.
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 weapons please, my good man.
O: (lustily) Certainly, sir. What would you like?
C: Well, eh, how about a trident?
O: I'm, a-fraid we're fresh out of tridents, sir.
C: Oh, never mind, how are you on pikes?
O: I'm afraid we never have them at the end of the week, sir, we get them from the armorer on Monday.
C: Tish tish. No matter. Well, stout yeoman, a lochaber axe, 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, halberd?
O: Sorry, sir.
C: Military fork?
O: Normally, sir, yes. Today, the wagon broke down.
C: Ah. poleaxe?
O: Sorry.
C: Ranseur? Lucerne hammer?
O: No.
C: Any partisans, per chance?
O: No.
C: Awl pike?
O: No.
C: Lance?
O: No.
C: Voulge?
O: No.
C: Fauchard?
O: No.
C: Fauchard fork?
O: <pause> No.
C: Glaive?
O: No.
C: Guisarme?
O: No.
C: Glaive-fork, glaive-guisarme, bill, bill hook, bill-guisarme?
O: No.
C: Voulge-guisarme, perhaps?
O: Ah! We have a voulge-guisarme, yessir.
C: (surprised) You do! Excellent.
O: Yessir. It's…ah…it's a bit long…
C: Oh, I like it long.
O: Well…It's very long, actually, sir.
C: No matter. Fetch hither the voulge-guisarme!
O: I…think it's a bit longer than you'll like it, sir.
C: I don't care how fucking long it is. Hand it over with all speed.
O: Oooooooooohhh…! <pause>
C: What now?
O: The beaver's eaten it.
C: <pause> Has he.
O: She, sir.
(pause)
C: Ox-tongue?
O: No.
C: Fauchard-guisarme?
O: No.
C: Sovnya?
O: No.
C: Ahlspiess?
O: No.
C: Corseque?
O: No, sir.
C: You…do *have* some weapons, don't you?
O: (brightly) Of course, sir. It's a weapon shop, sir. We've got—
C: No, no… Don't tell me. I'm keen to guess.
O: Fair enough.
C: Uuuuuh, bardiche.
O: Yes?
C: Ah, well, I'll have that!
O: Oh! I thought you were talking to me, sir. Mister Bardiche, that's my name.

(pause)

C: Menaulion?
O: Uh, not as such.
C: Uuh, naginata?
O: No.
C: Svardstav?
O: No.
C: Woldo?
O: No.
C: Brandistock?
O: No.
C: Jedwart stave?
O: No.
C: Yari?
O: No.
C: Bohemian Ear Spoon?
O: Not *today*, sir, no.
(pause)
C: Aah, how about a spear?
O: Well, we don't get much call for them around here, sir.
C: Not much ca—It's the single most popular polearm in history!
O: Not 'round here, sir.
C: <slight pause> And what IS the most popular polearm 'round hyah?
O: Spetum, 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… Spetum, eh?
O: Right, sir.
C: All right. Okay. 'Have you got any?' he asked, expecting the answer 'no'.
O: I'll have a look, sir… nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnno.
C: It's not much of a weapon 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 weapons….
O: (brightly) You haven't asked me about the Bec De Corbin, 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 a Bec De Corbin?
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 weapons here at all?
O: Yes, sir.
C: Really?
(pause)
O: No. Not really, sir.
C: You haven't.
O: No sir. Not a blade. I was deliberately wasting your time, sir.
C: Well I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to kill you.
O: Right-0, sir.

The customer takes out a sword and stabs the owner.

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