BRIAN:
Aah.
PILATE:
Well, Bwian, you've given us a good wun for our money.
BRIAN:
A what?
[slap]
Aaagh.
PILATE:
This time, I guawantee you will not escape. Guard, do we have any cwucifixions today?
GUARD #1:
A hundred and thirty-nine, sir. Special celebration. Passover, sir.
PILATE:
Wight. Now we have a hundwed and forty. Nice wound number, eh, Biggus?
BIGGUS DICKUS:
Hm hm hm hm hm.
CENTURION:
Hail Caesar!
PILATE:
Hail.
CENTURION:
The crowd outside is getting a bit restless, sir. Permission to disperse them, please.
PILATE:
Disperse them? But I haven't addwessed them yet.
CENTURION:
Ah, no. I know sir, but--
PILATE:
My addwess is one of the high points of the Passover. My fwiend, Biggus Dickus, has come all the way fwom Wome just to hear it.
CENTURION:
Hail Caesar.
BIGGUS:
Hail Thaethar!
CENTURION:
You're not-- ah, you're not, uh, thinking o-- of giving it a miss this year, then, sir?
PILATE:
Give it a miss?
CENTURION:
Well, it's just that they're in a rather funny mood today, sir.
PILATE:
Weally, Centuwion? I'm surpwised to hear a man like you wattled by a wabble of wowdy webels.
CENTURION:
A... bit thundery, sir.
PILATE:
Take him away.
BRIAN:
I'm a Roman! I-- I can prove it, honestly!
PILATE:
And cwucify him well! Biggus.
CENTURION:
Ah, I-- I really wouldn't, sir.
PILATE:
Out of the way, Centuwion.
BIGGUS:
Let me come with you, Pontiuth. I may be of thome athithtanth if there ith a thudden crithith.
