[upbeat rock music]
Oh, wouldn't it be so nice to have one of each?
Yeah, one common and one not common.
Oi, oi, saveloy!
Hello, Mummy, how you feeling?
Ready to drop?
Well, I am feeling a little...
- [balloon pops] - [yelps]
- George! - Did that do anything?
How's your waters, love?
Bless.
He can't wait for this baby to be born.
Too right.
I've got some serious heat on this.
The baby better come today or my accumulator goes tits up!
What is he talking about?
Listen, egghead, I had Hamilton to win the Grand Prix,
Villa to beat Liverpool 2-1,
and April the 22nd for the royal sprog!
How much have you bet on this?
I bunged some of these sparklers on it, didn't I?
Diamonds?!
You've not been stealing off Great-Granny again?
Nah, I got them somewhere else.
Mentioning no Hatton Gardens.
- Oi, oi. - Well, don't look at me!
The gambling gene's definitely from your lot.
- [laughs] - Bang to rights!
Come on, love, do your breathing.
[panting]
- [air horn wails] - [yelps]
[upbeat dance music]
[Narrator] So, Nicola left her light on for Ed.
Well, let's see if they hit it off
when we sent them to the Isle of Fernando's.
Let the bacon sandwich see the haggis.
Well, first of all, let me make it quite clear
that I'm not actually going to get into bed with Nicola.
His mouth says no, but his weird, goggly eyes say yes.
We're a perfect fit.
I love a man with a sense of humor.
I still believe we'll end up with a Labor majority.
Ha, oh, that is classic.
[laughs]
Oh, deary me.
It's all moving a bit fast for me.
I wish I was here with Natalie Thingy, that nice Welsh lady,
or, better still, that hen party from Chester.
Ooh.
I'm afraid Sturgeon's the only thing on the menu.
No likey.
[Narrator] So, will Nicola get nickerless?
or will Red Ed escape her bed?
Let's cut to the chase, are we gonna get it on or what?
It's a no from me.
Hell, no.
But if we did do the getting-into-bed thingy,
who would be on top?
I think we both know the answer to that, Ed.
I'm sorry, I'm just not ready for this.
I don't want to end up looking stupid.
- [groans] - [loud crash]
At least I tried.
[loud thud]
I'm afraid I've got some bad news, Jeremy.
Hit me with it.
Poor choice of words.
As a precautionary measure,
we're going to have to remove your tongue.
But I thought you said I didn't have cancer.
It's nothing to do with cancer,
it's just better for everyone.
Now come here!
Whoa!
[epic orchestral music]
I am a humongous fan of Star Wars.
I often find myself saying that Darth Vader line,
"I am your father."
And yours, and yours, and probably yours.
Bah!
Hello, this is Sky News.
I'm Kay Burley, poking the news with a stick until it cries.
[hisses]
With me is double Olympic champion Mo Farah.
So, Mo, what have you got to say for yourself?
Well, you know, I had to kick hard off the last bend,
but I finished strong...
You know very well what I meant.
I was talking about the latest atrocities
committed by IS in Iraq.
I'm sorry, what?
Oh, you're sorry?
Well, it's a little bit late for apologies now, isn't it?
What are you talking about?
You're a Muslim, aren't you?
- Yeah. - And your name's Mohammed,
- isn't it? - Just because I'm a Muslim
doesn't mean I support terrorism.
You heard it!
He said, "I support terrorism."
His words.
That's ridiculous!
Listen, I need to get back to my training camp.
Your training camp?
In Pakistan?
No, in America.
Look out, everybody, there's a shoe bomber on the loose!
[hisses]
Ah, man.
[Inspector] Just through here, Mr. Holmes.
- Wait. - Eh?
Not so fast, Inspector.
Moriarty has laid a booby trap for us.
How do you know?
From the faint smell of a candle
which was blown out 13 minutes ago,
together with these traces of mud
which can only be found in a certain pond in Ipswich.
That and the fact that Moriarty
always lays a booby trap for us.
- [loud clack] - [inspector screams]
Oh, I have been killed down dead!
[groans]
Inspector?
Put your weapon down or I will attack you with, uh, logic.
My sonic screwdriver scans for injuries, opens locks,
reverses the polarity of stars, repairs grouting,
and gets you out of a plot cul-de-sac.
But it's no weapon,
you great, stretched-out, Picasso-faced numpty.
Now, what are you doing in my show?
Piss off!
How dare you.
This is most emphatically my show that you are in.
And that, you over-educated crackhead,
is most emphatically bollocks.
There's just been a ridiculously overacted death.
'Ere, do you mind?
Which means it's an episode of Doctor Who,
you pudding-headed bampot.
Look, this investigation clearly needs a rude,
abrasive, borderline-autistic genius.
Who's clever but annoying, uncomfortable around women,
and hard to make friends with.
Sounds like a job for the Doctor.
No, Sherlock Holmes.
To solve this, you'll need lots of silly gimmicks.
For instance, I've deduced that in exactly 30 seconds,
a piece of metal is going to break off
from a nearby skyscraper and land exactly here.
My sonic screwdriver told me that hours ago,
you posh-gobbed Sassenach.
A-ha!
What if I was to tell you I'm not really dead,
that I'm half-Moriarty and half-alien,
and I plan to get rid of both Doctor Who and Sherlock
so that nothing can stop me from enslaving the Earth?
That's a totally ridiculous plot line.
Yes, it's utterly implausible.
[Both] Must be one of mine.
Oh, somebody kill me.
- [loud clunk] - [screams]
Told you.
[upbeat rock music]
- Kate? - Cara?
I've been thinking, how do we, like,
even know we're really here?
Like, you know, that we really, like, exist?
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.
That's, like, that's really deep, Cara.
Oh, wait, I know.
[camera snaps]
There we are.
That's me there.
Oh, that's me!
We do exist!
Oh, thank God!
Hooray.
[laughs]
- Whoa. - Crazy.
[Narrator] In a time of great austerity,
one man promised he could end suffering.
He was a prophet of profits.
Blessed are the rich, for we shall inherit the earth.
[Narrator] The Passion Of Osborne.
[cheering]
A modern retelling of the Book of Gideon.
Rise, and be healed of your deformity.
By the inherited power that surges through me,
I reclassify you as abled.
I take away your benefits.
Go and get a job.
- [loud thud] - [groans]
[Man] Jesus Christ!
No, but you're close.
George Osborne.
'Tis a miracle.
[Man] Miracle!
- Miracle! - It's a miracle!
[Narrator] He was a man with a vision.
If only I could turn water into wine,
I could put VAT on it.
[Narrator] And a message of love, tough love.
My family goes hungry.
All we can afford is five own-brand fish fingers
and two slices of Sunblest.
Let there be enough bread and fishes for everyone.
[crowd gasps]
It's the same as before.
[crowd groans]
I know.
But cut them up into tiny, tiny pieces
and chew them very, very slowly
and it'll feed your family for a whole week.
'Tis a miracle.
No, it's not.
He's a charlatan.
[Man] Charlatan, he's a charlatan!
- Charlatan! - Boo!
[Narrator] This spring, don't miss The Passion of Osborne.
You know, George,
I've a feeling we're gonna get crucified at the election.
There is a God!
[Narrator] Going soon.
[Narrator] Meanwhile, in Highgrove,
Chaz and Camilla are enjoying
their fifth bottle of organic wine.
[gurgles]
[chuckles]
Ooh, Chaz, look.
It's Game of Thrones.
Oh, please!
A bunch of deranged inbreds,
scrapping it out for the chance to rule over
an insignificant island of backwards, filthy peasants?
As if that would ever happen.
The nudity's good, though.
Ooh, come here, you.
[slurping]
[dog whines]
[loud honking]
Oh, I'm so sorry.
Ah, the Star Wars trailer looks fantastic.
High-tech drones killing people
in a land that's far, far away.
That's my kind of war!
[knocking]
Come in, but only if you're British.
[Woman] Two minutes, Mr. Farage.
Remember, Nige, if they don't like you,
it's the audience's fault.
Bunch of lefties.
Now, let's get into character.
♪ I'm just an ordinary bloke ♪
♪ I like a drink, I like a smoke ♪
♪ I'm proud to say I'm British through and through ♪
♪ I love pie and mash and kippers ♪
♪ I watch Top Gear in me slippers ♪
♪ I am down-to-earth ♪
- ♪ Like any one of you ♪ - Ahem.
♪ But you really went to Dulwich ♪
♪ An expensive private college ♪
♪ Where the boarding fees are 30 grand a year ♪
♪ Then you went into the city ♪
♪ Where you know you made a pretty ♪
♪ Packet picking up a bonus ♪
- ♪ Every year ♪ - No!
♪ I'm just an ordinary guy ♪
♪ Who has to struggle to get by ♪
♪ Hardly got a pot in which to piss ♪
♪ I don't like foreign lingo ♪
♪ I like John, Paul, George, and Ringo ♪
♪ Poles and Romanians, I love to diss ♪
♪ I think foreigners are vermin ♪
♪ But, hang on, your wife's a German ♪
♪ I'm English to the core ♪
♪ That's just a show ♪
- Sod off! - ♪ I'll admit you've played ♪
♪ A smart game ♪
♪ But you've got a foreign surname ♪
♪ And your ancestors from France were Huguenot ♪
- No! - Yes!
- No! - Yes, mais oui!
♪ Hey, I'm just an ordinary man ♪
♪ Who's doing everything he can ♪
♪ To fight against corruption, greed, and sleaze ♪
♪ Even when I am in Brussels ♪
♪ I eat cockles, whelks, and mussels ♪
♪ I'm not like all those fat-cat MEPs ♪
♪ But what doesn't quite make sense is ♪
♪ You've been claiming your expenses ♪
♪ Maybe half a million quid over the years ♪
♪ You're abusing your position ♪
♪ Just like any politician ♪
♪ But it seems that no one's noticed ♪
[laughs]
Cheers!
♪ Da da da da da da, da ♪
♪ Da da da da da da, da da da ♪
I say, old bean, got any champagne?
Shut it.
[belches]
A boy band called Boy Band.
Genius.
Simon, why is your production company called Syco?
Okay, Amanda, well, it's Sy from Simon and Co from Cowell.
- Syco. - Right.
Sort of like SuBo and J-Lo?
- Yeah. - In that case,
I want to be called A-Ho.
You want to be called a ho?
Yes. No!
[laughs]
A ho.
Blimey.
That's definitely not right.
Amanda, darling, you are an A-hole.
That's it.
A-Hole.
Thank you.
I can't wait to tell Alesha.
Hey, Alesha Dixon, she can be A-Dick.
Booyakasha.
I'm Evan Davis.
Sort of like a gay Mitchell brother who reads the Guardian.
On tonight's not-at-all-dumbed-down Newz Nite,
I'll be having top-quality bants
with Green Party leader Natalie Thingy.
OMG, sick, LOL.
Natalie, some people are saying that for a political leader,
you aren't very good with figures.
Look, mate,
I just got confused in that Nick Ferrari interview.
And in the Andrew Neil interview.
Okay, so it's happened three times.
No, Ferrari and Neil, that's twice.
Twice?
You mean four times?
No, twice means two times.
Okay, I admit it, maths has never been my thirte.
You mean forte.
I don't need to listen to this.
This is the last time I come on BBC 9.
Taxi!
Uh, does anyone know my house number?
Shakaboom!
[Narrator] Still available to buy, Vladimir Putin 2015.
My sexy new calendar for women only
and not to be liked by men.
[Narrator] Check out April.
Ooh, I bet you'd like to get your hands on my weapon.
But are you man enough?
I mean, woman enough?
- [chuckles] - And don't miss June.
I like play tennis.
Is not girly sport, but real man's game.
Look at my firm grip on the shaft.
Ah, I couldn't find tennis ball.
[loud squeal]
So, I ripped off one of my own testicles.
- [loud splat] - New balls, please.
So, buy my sexy calendar now or I'll fly more bombers in.
You know I will.
[dramatic synthesizer music]
Looking for action, love?
Uh, will you talk dirty to me?
- [grunts] - [loud thud]
I'll talk dirty for you.
Sick as you like.
Filthy as a coal miner's neck.
Katie Hopkins?
What do you want, darling?
I'll say literally anything if the price is right.
Just bung us some cash and I'll puke you out
a gob-full of knee-jerk, pretend-angry drivel.
I'm like Jeremy Clarkson with a vagina.
Full of wasps.
- [glugging] - [man groans]
- [loud thud] - [cat screeches]
Okay, for a tenner, I'll give you a bit of my Sun column
and say something like, all migrants are cockroaches.
We should set fire to their boats.
Oh, that's filthy.
[cat mews]
Oh, my God.
Cat piss and nettles.
Got to stoke the boiler.
For a hundred pounds, I'd give you a Loose Women Special,
and say something like, hey, rape's not so bad.
Sometimes, it can be relaxing and refreshing.
Or, if you gave me 500 pounds,
I'd do you a full-blown Newsnight,
denounce Islam, then set fire to Malala's headscarf
and punch her in the tits.
Oh, you're sick.
Have you seen her monobrow?
Come on, love, just because you've been shot in the head,
doesn't mean you can't work a pair of tweezers.
How can you say that?!
I know, I'm the best.
Stop, I'll give you a thousand pounds.
A grand?
Wow, what do you want me to say for that?
Nothing, just shut your bloody gob, you parasite!
[mumbling]
[epic orchestral music]
It's great to see Harrison Ford back at the age of 72,
and I, for one, think he makes a perfectly convincing
space cowboy and is in no way too old for the job.
Right, time for my nap.
- [snores] - [loud thud]
[upbeat dance music]
Hello, and welcome to Embarrassing Bodies.
If you're a fan of excruciating embarrassment,
you're in for a treat, as on tonight's show,
we've got Labor leader Ed Miliband.
Hi there.
Now, what's the problem?
It's my skin.
Oh, excellent, so, what is it?
Lesions, pustules, weeping sores?
No, I just don't feel comfortable in it.
My skin just doesn't fit.
See?
Nothing about me fits.
I'm just wrong.
What I need is a version of me that's like me,
but completely at ease in their own skin.
Are you gonna call your brother or shall I?
Ow.
[upbeat synthesizer music]
I never thought I'd say this, but it's a no from me.
[siren wailing]
Name?
It's TV's Paul Hollywood.
The Prince of Pastry, the Don Juan of Dough.
You're not on the guest list.
Look again.
Paul Hollywood.
The Romeo of the Rolling Pin.
Eyes that can simultaneously weigh up
an ounce of icing sugar and reverse a hysterectomy.
[chuckles]
Nope.
I'm sorry, you're not coming in.
Come on.
You know later, when your husband's asleep,
I'll be haunting your dreams, like a sexy baking ghost.
For one, I'm not married.
Ooh, a bit forward.
Sorry, I'm taken.
Paul Holly-would, Paul Holly-can't.
Although, Paul Holly-might,
if you let me explore your inner sanctum.
I'm giving you 10 seconds to leave.
Oh, I love it when you're bossy.
10, nine...
Is he doing his chef-with-the-biggest-rolling-pin
- act again? - [Paul chuckles]
Come on, Paul, stop embarrassing yourself
and let's get you home for tea.
Tea?
Cheeky.
I'll be chef if you play mother.
- [loud thud] - [groans]
Right in the rock cakes.
- [groans] - [loud thud]
[upbeat rock music]
Hello, campers.
On a jam-packed show tonight, we've got,
oh, he's a Right Honorable Member, Ed Balls.
Hello.
Stargazy, salt-and-pepper, super-boffin Brian Cox.
- All right? - And, ooh, get this one,
we've only got His Royal Highness himself, Prince William!
- Hi. - So, coming up
we've got Cox, Balls, and Prince Willy!
Cox, Balls, and Willy.
Cox, Balls, and Willy!
- Cox, Balls, and Willy! - [steam whistling]
Cox, Balls, and Willy!
[loud boom]
Cox, Balls, and Willy.
Ha, never mind the trailer, I've seen the whole movie.
I hacked the movie studio computer.
Mm!
Anyway, I don't like Star Wars
because the evil empire never wins.
[upbeat orchestral music]
- [loud crash] - Woo-hoo!
- [loud thud] - [loud crash]
Whoops, oh, no matter, it's only Maggie's ashes.
[laughs]
Ah, Boris, thanks for dropping by.
Oh, sorry I'm late.
Engineering works on the old zip-wire.
Anyway, what can I do for you?
Well, the thing is we've commissioned some research
and, apparently, for some reason, people don't like us.
And yet, incredibly, Boris, they seem to like you.
Really?
Gosh, shucks, and other insincere protestations.
Our research has found that
while people don't like rich bullies and don't like clowns,
when you put the two together,
you can apparently get away with it.
Huzzah!
We need you to show us
how to get away with being truly terrible.
Well, you just need to use your natural charm and wit.
Okay, plan B: clown school.
So, chaps, say you've wimped out of a debate
and everyone thinks you're a gutless jellyfish.
Could happen, could happen.
What level of japery would deflect
everyone's attention from that?
Oh, I know.
Spinny tie.
Not bad, Cammers, not bad.
Everyone loves the spinny tie,
but this is a real stinker of a PR disaster,
so can we do better?
Ooh, ooh, ooh, custard pie?
No, that's for minor faux pas.
Is it this?
- [firework whistling] - [all whimpering]
- (groans - (loud splat)
[loud thud]
Correct!
Ah, well done, Cammers.
Set off some fireworks and fall backwards
into a nearby houseplant or hedge.
Well, that's just about covered it.
Must be off on the old zip-wire.
I was meaning to ask,
why do you have a zip-wire set up to Number 10?
Forward planning, old boy.
Forward planning.
[Narrator] Vladimir Putin calendars,
still available in all good Russian shops.
Unlike fresh fruit.
[Narrator] You'll love August.
For next holiday, I go to Isle of Man.
Is manly place for manly men.
I plan to spend a couple of nights in Douglas, [chuckles]
which is the capital.
[Narrator] And there's also December.
Or is there?
Boom!
There might never be another December.
[laughs]
Just kidding.
No, I'm not.
So, hurry, get your copy of Putin calendar,
while world lasts.
[Narrator] Calendar not available in Eastern Ukraine,
because there is no such place.
It's part of Russia.
Is true.
Knowing wink.
[door clacking]
- Oi! - Eh?
What the hell's going on?
Don't worry, everything's under control.
He's burgling your house,
but I'm here as a moderating influence.
He's taking my things!
I know, but not as many things as he would have taken
if good old Cleggy hadn't been on his case.
- [whistles] - [chuckles]
- Lovely. - But, but how did he get in?
Well, he couldn't get in on his own,
so I gave him a helping hand.
He's robbing me blind!
Ah, well, watch this.
Okay, stop now.
That's quite enough.
Piss off.
- [loud slap] - [groans]
If you're lucky, you'll get another five years of this.
I'm so excited.
As a young boy and aspiring astrophysicist,
I would gaze at the stars from my bedroom window
and think about Princess Leia's baps in that metal bikini.
Amazing.
[Narrator] You join us today for this historic ceremony.
It is rare indeed for a Royal to acknowledge
that the passage of time means they can no longer
properly perform their state duties
and must hand the mantle onto the younger generation.
Yes!
At last!
Not me.
- Philip! - Oh.
Yeah, shut up, you jug-eared buffoon.
Let the little leek-muncher get on with it.
[Narrator] Thank you, I suppose.
And His Royal Highness Prince Philip now prepares
to hand over the ceremonial stick of office,
along with the title Offender of the Realm
to his successor, Jeremy Clarkson.
My, what a massive knob.
And so's the thing he's holding.
Oh, he's good, isn't he?
Yeah.
Do you swear to travel the world
and racially insult everybody you meet,
no matter how old, infirm, or defenseless they are?
I do, you slitty-eyed plate-smasher.
Do you swear to swear?
I fucking do.
And finally, do you swear to embarrass your family
and bring disgrace on the nation?
I do indeed, you doddery old moussaka.
You offensive fuzzy-haired git!
- [loud clunk] - [groans]
You're a worthy successor.
Oh, you just hit me for no good reason.
You're my kind of guy.
Then I hereby name thee Offender of the Realm.
May you forever disgust all liberal broadsheet readers.
Congratulations, Mr. Clarkson.
I'm surprised you didn't go with Katie Hopkins.
How did you choose?
Hm, eeny, meeny, miny, moe, catch a...
Don't push it.
[upbeat rock music]