The Pythons and Their Copyrights

By palin_fan

When Jo Rowling got the paper in the morning, she could hardly believe it. Front page proclaimed that she had ripped off Monty Python. With growing horror, she read the article and eventually threw it away in disgust. She realized she would have to tell her characters the news. They always hated speculation…

Taking a small machine that spewed smoke at random intervals, she blew it once, thus abruptly stopping the stream.

In a moment, Harry Potter appeared. “What’s the matter, Jo?” he asked. “We were just recovering from the plotline of the Half Blood Prince. Everyone seems very upset that Dumbledore died.”

“Sorry.” She winced. “I had to do that- you need to fight Voldemort on your own. But I have bad news. An Anne Elk- Miss Anne Elk- published an article- saying I copied from Monty Python.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “What’s the matter with that? We all know it’s not true.”

“Yes- but… you see… I’m more afraid for my safety,” she confessed, sitting down, ignoring the quizzical look Harry was giving her. “You see, I know the Pythons. And I know they love their copyrights, so if there’s one chance that I might have stolen it-”

At that moment, Jo could not talk, since the large glass window covering the north wall of her study cracked. Five men, clinging onto ropes, had valiantly tried to break the window, but failed miserably as they slid down to the ground.

“That,” she said. “That’s what I was afraid of. The Pythons are going to fight for their material, until they die or Terry Jones and John Cleese get into a fight and everyone abandons the idea in frustration.”

Harry’s eyes widened and together they sat down, miserably pondering what would happen to them.

John Cleese squinted his eyes, looking up from where they’d fallen. Michael Palin was leaning against a wall, piece of grass in his mouth, obviously just waiting for an idea to spring up. Terry Jones was spouting out ideas which John personally disagreed with… but for now he had to think of a good contrary position. Eric Idle lay stretched out on the grass, shaking his head ruefully while Terry Gilliam was trying to describe how if they could only try the swing again, only from further away, it could work, with huge arm gestures and lots of jumping up and down.

“Oh, shut up,” John finally said, making everyone grow silent. Michael looked at John pointedly, while Eric flipped over on his stomach and waited for him to speak. “I know we’re all in our sixties,” he began.

“Don’t remind me,” groaned Eric.

“And Monty Python has split apart. But, in this special case of someone stealing our rightful material, we must come together and get it back!” John declared, amidst many murmurs of agreement.

“You know,” Michael put in, “we didn’t have to storm her house. We could have just taken her to court, or something.”

John frowned. “You were the one who agreed with coming over here!”

Shrugging, Michael went on chewing the piece of grass.

“Fine,” he admonished and cleared his throat, preparing to go into the next part of the speech. “My plan is that we get as many lawyers as possible, and pay them to surround the house, until she gives up and coughs up the money.”

Terry Jones laughed. “That’s the stupidest idea, John. There’s no way that’ll happen. I say that we hire a helicopter, fly in, slide down onto her roof from a rope and go down through the chimney.”

Everyone stared at Jonesy, looking completely blank. He rolled his eyes. “Well, does anyone else have a BETTER idea?” he asked.

“My idea is better than yours- really, Terry, where on earth are we going to get a helicopter?”

“Where are we going to get all those lawyers, John?” shot back Terry, getting a bit angry.

“We could hire them.”

“You’re just afraid of going down on that rope!” Terry accused him.

“It’s dangerous!” protested John.

“I still think we should try the rope idea,” pressed Gilliam, pretending to be indifferent as he listened to the conversation. Michael shook his head and finally put in his bit.

“I honestly think we should just go home, and take her to court. There could have been a mistake, maybe she didn’t copy off us. And this way, we won’t be breaking and entering,” he suggested.

“Look, all those ideas are pure shit,” stated Eric, standing up. “The only one that’s really sensible at this point is Mike’s, and that involves not breaking in, which none of us want to do. Except Mike.”

“Eric’s right, this is ridiculous. The lawyer’s wouldn’t work, John; you’d end up spending more money on bribing them to come and swarm her house than the money you get from forcing her to sign the legal form!” Michael said, hoping to come to some conclusion.

John looked thoughtful before adding, “Well, it’s better than Jonesy’s. Do you really think we could fly in on a helicopter?”

For hours, the argument went on and on. John would attack Jonesy, Jonesy would attack John, and Terry would keep putting in the idea of ropes while Eric and Michael tried to say all the ideas were rather silly. Finally, it seemed the argument had worn itself out. All hope was lost. Until-

Eric was sick of listening to all the Pythons griping. It reminded him so much of when they’d been writing the T.V. show. Not a very pleasant experience, he recalled. Without even hearing the dying argument, he said, “That won’t work. I’ve told you already, I’m almost positive her roof doesn’t have a trap door leading inside.”

When Jonesy heard this, he sighed impatiently. “Well, we’ll never know until we try,” he pressed, sitting down.

Shaking his head, Eric’s gaze wandered around her house when he thought up an idea. A brilliant idea. “I have an idea,” he said slowly, beginning to be drawn into thought.

“Assuming it’s a sensible one?” asked Michael lightly, brushing a bit of dirt off his jacket sleeve.

“Don’t worry, it is. Actually, I think we should have thought of it earlier. What about going through the door?”

All the Pythons were silent. John started to speak up, but then went mum again. Finally, Michael seemed to say what all the rest were thinking.

“Well, that was ridiculously simple.”

Eric shook his head, brow furrowed. “No, not really. She’s not going to keep the door unlocked. And we already know she won’t open it to some angry Pythons.”

The rest nodded in agreement. “So how are we going to get in?” asked Gilliam, looking at the expansive house.

“That’s where I might have a solution…”

“I don’t even want to know why you had old women’s clothing with you, Eric,” grumbled Jonesy, taking a pinching high heel off. “Like to dress up as a pepper pot in the afternoon?”

Rolling their eyes, the Pythons pushed Jonesy closer to the door. “Just remember- do it like you did thirty six years ago,” advised Terry Gilliam.

“She’ll know who I am!” cried Jonesy, but it was too late. The Pythons had already rung the doorbell and thrown themselves into a nearby bush, waiting.

Rowling peered through the keyhole, expecting to see five men angrily shaking their fists at her. But instead, there was only an old lady, dressed in a smart little cap with wisps of gray hair escaping.

“Oh! Hello,” began Jonesy, wondering where on earth to go from there. “Err- I was just looking at the lovely begonias-”

Rowling arched an eyebrow. “I don’t have begonias.”

“Oh dear! Well, my mistake. What a lovely arear! Is that made of real wood?” He leaned forward to tap at the house. “Well! I must be off then- I had a wonderful time. Your house looks very nice.” Apparently she wasn’t getting the hint to let him IN. Looking in vain through the window; he spotted a statue of an elephant. He could elaborate off that. “Is that an elephant over there?” He pointed at the object.

Looking a bit confused, Rowling answered, “Yes…”

“Well! I have to say that I collect elephants like that,” he started, beginning to get into the charade. “One of my hobbies. You know, my Dennis likes to say, ‘Mary, you get those elephants out of here,’ and I say, right back, ‘Well than you go stick your antique wood shavings up your arse!’” At that point, Terry let forth a screechy sort of laugh that made Rowling jump back.

“Terry Jones,” she began, “get off my property- now.”

“How’d she know it was me?” asked Jonesy, unwrapping the scarf from his neck. The Pythons were all deep in thought, just on the outskirts of her backyard, pondering. What could they do next?

Jonesy stuffed the costume into Eric’s bag, and then did a double take. Gumby outfits… a pepper pot assemble… the Spanish Inquisition cloaks…? “Eric, why do you have all these costumes in here?” he said slowly, turning toward the relaxing Python.

He shrugged. “You never know when it might come in handy,” he replied.

Go figure. Jonesy repositioned himself on the grass and began to think up new ideas. “We could dress up as Gumbies… Rowling could be so startled by the bricks that she lets us in,” suggested Gilliam, looking over into the costume bag.

“No, no.” John dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “She’ll be able to see through our disguises. What we need is someone she’ll trust.”

“Someone she’ll open her door to,” added Terry Gilliam, eyes drifting toward Michael.

“Someone friendly and nice and who would never break in…” mused Jonesy, coughing something that sounded like ‘Mike.’

Eric began to sing a song that sounded like the Penis Song- (Not the Noel Coward song,) but with the words slightly altered. “Isn’t it awfully nice to have a Mike? Isn’t it frightfully good to have him here?”

Michael, finally noticing the looks and gestures, began to shake his head. “No, no, I couldn’t. If she won’t let Terry in, why would she let me?”

“Because you’re rational and sane!” cried Terry Gilliam.

Was there any way he could wriggle out of this? Looking hopefully at the other Pythons, his face fell as they all had an eager gleam in their eyes.

“Fine- I’ll do it. But don’t expect her to let me in,” he warned them, beginning to take a step toward her house. They all nodded.

Michael paused at the door, a bit hesitant. He shouldn’t be doing this- but here it goes anyway… Ringing the doorbell, he waited patiently as he heard Rowling come to the door, give peeks through the keyhole, then disappear. Well, that’s that. She didn’t open the door to him.

Turning to leave, he felt a sinking in his stomach when the door opened. Bugger. He’d been hoping to get out of this.

Putting on a smile, he extended a hand. “Hello, I’m Michael Palin-”

“I know. Now come inside, quickly!” Rowling pulled him inside and shut the door forcibly, just before the Pythons began to crowd at the open door. She sunk down into a chair, hand on forehead.

Michael, a bit confused, sat down likewise, and uncomfortably watched in silence.

“I didn’t copy off you,” she said finally. “I really didn’t. I don’t know how to convince the others though- I was sure you’d listen, but the rest…”

“It’s quite alright. But I’m sure they’ll listen if you talk to them-” he lied, but Rowling silenced him.

“I know they won’t. And you do too. They’d be too busy shouting at the top of their lungs, accusing me…”

“I would not!” protested Eric, half his body stuck through the window. Michael’s eyebrows shot up and Eric shrugged. “They’re back to fighting again. I couldn’t stand it- so I took matters into my own hands. I don’t think they’ll notice I’m gone for a while. So, you didn’t copy off us?”

Rowling shook her head. “No, I never did- you’ve got to believe me!”

“I do. No one in their right mind would purposely copy off Python, in fear of having their house ransacked and being murdered mysteriously in the night,” explained Eric, successfully getting into the room.

“I think murder in the night is taking it a bit too far, Eric,” commented Michael, smiling a bit.

“Maybe. But that’s not our problem, at the moment. It’s more, ‘How on earth are we going to convince John and Jonesy that Jo’s innocent?’” said Eric, sitting down on the couch.

This question had them stumped as they all sat down, pondering. Finally, Rowling brightened before turning to them all. “I have a plan,” she whispered.

To Chapter 2 ->