[A northern street. Dad is marching home. We see his house. A stork flies above it, and drops a baby down the chimney.] Catholic Dad: Oh Bloody Hell!
[Inside the house. A pregnant woman is at the sink. With a cry a new-born baby, complete with umbilical cord, drops from between her legs onto the floor.] Mother: Get that would you, Deirdre...
Girl: All right, Mum.
[The girl takes the baby. Mum carries on.] Catholic Dad: The mill's closed! There's no more work. We're destitute.
[His several dozen children murmur in dismay.]
Catholic Dad: Come in, my little ones. I've got no option but to sell you all for scientific experiments.
Catholic Dad: [singing] Every sperm is sacred,
Every sperm is great.
If a sperm is wasted,
God gets quite irate.

Catholic Daughter: [singing] Let the heathens spill theirs,
On the dusty ground.
God shall make them pay,
For each sperm that can't be found.

[Mr Blackitt making fun of the Catholics across the street and lecturing his wife about Protestantism.]
Mr Blackitt: Look at them, bloody Catholics, filling the bloody world up with bloody people they can't afford to bloody feed.
Mrs Blackitt: What are we dear?
Mr Blackitt: Protestant, and fiercely proud of it.
Mrs Blackitt: Hmm. Well, why do they have so many children?
Mr Blackitt: Because... every time they have sexual intercourse, they have to have a baby!
Mrs Blackitt: But it's the same with us, Harry.
Mr Blackitt: What do you mean?
Mrs Blackitt: Well, we've got two children, and we've had sexual intercourse twice.
Mr Blackitt: That's not the point. We could have it any time we wanted!
Mrs Blackitt: Really?
Mr Blackitt: Oh yes, and what's more, because we don't believe in that Papist claptrap, we can take precautions.
Mrs Blackitt: What do you mean... lock the door?
Mr Blackitt: No, no. I mean, because we're members of the Protestant Reformed Church, which successfully challenged the autocratic power of the Papacy in the mid-sixteenth century, we can wear little rubber devices to prevent issue.
Mrs Blackitt: What d'you mean?
Mr Blackitt: I could, if I wanted, have sexual intercourse with you,...
Mrs Blackitt: Oh, yes, Harry.
Mr Blackitt: ...and, by wearing a rubber sheath over my old feller, I could insure... that, when I came off, you would not be impregnated.
Mrs Blackitt: Ooh!
Mr Blackitt: That's what being a Protestant's all about! That's why it's the church for me! That's why it's the church for anyone who respects the individual, and the individual's right to decide for him- or herself. When Martin Luther nailed his protest up to the church door in 1517, he may not have realised the full significance of what he was doing, but... 400 years later, thanks to him, my dear, I can wear whatever I want on my John Thomas.
[He sniffs.]
Mr Blackitt: And, Protestantism doesn't stop at the simple condom! Oh, no! I can wear French Ticklers if I want.
Mrs Blackitt: You what?
Mr Blackitt: French Ticklers! Black Mambos! Crocodile Ribs! Sheaths that are designed not only to protect, but also to enhance the stimulation of sexual congress.
Mrs Blackitt: Have you got one?
Mr Blackitt: Have I got one? Uh, well, no, but I can go down the road any time I want, and walk into Harry's and hold my head up high and say in a loud, steady voice, "Harry, I want you to sell me a condom. In fact, today, I think I'll have a French Tickler, for I am a Protestant."
Copy quote link to Clipboard
  »   More Quotes from
  »   More Quotes from
  »   Back to the