"Late! You think this entry, written in the blood of a rare and extinct bird, perfectly written in long loopy letters, is LATE!" Cleese looks to his left and right. "How late is it then?"
The man who was in charge of the competition rubs his eyes and tightens the cord of his dressing gown, how did this man find him he wonders. He pulls his hand up to show the man his fingers as he demonstates how late his entry is. "About what, one, two, three, four, nearly five months late. We've already announced a winner, go home - it's five in the morning."
"Yes, I can read the time, are you suggesting I am an imbecile!"
"No sir, not at all, it's just very early."
"I can see that, do you think I'm blind?"
"No sir, I think you may be straying from the point."
"Straying from the point! Straying from the point! He he thinks I'm straying from the point!" Cleese looks again to his left and right. "I thought this competition was put here to help the common man!"
"Yes, it was put here to help the common man."
"Are you saying i'm common! Not good enough for this competition am I then?" Cleese turns his back to the man in the dressing gown. "I guess I'll take my entry to someone who appreciates art!"
"I never said you were common."
"I quite clearly heard you say so."
"I never said so."
"There you said so just then."
"I did not."
"Let me see this entry then."
"Don't copy me, you're not a parrot."
"Because you'll remember it and forge it as your own, and you don't have the feathers."
"No I won't"
"Yes you will, you copied what I said!"
"Yes, but that's different."
"I can't see how!"
"Look! Let me see." The man pulls the paper out of Cleese's hand. He mutters as he reads the piece.
"It says, I quote, 'I am the greatest and this competition is a farce.' Well, care to explain?"
"Yes, it says that."
"And why did you write it?"
"Because it represents the stuggling of humanity."
"The stuggling of humanity?"
"Don't copy me!"
"It says you're the greatest!"
"See, you siad I'm the greatest."
The man in the dressing gown bites the inside of his lip and calms himself down.
"Well, where's my prize seeing as I'm grestest, as judged by you of course." Cleese turns around and the man in the dressing gown pulls a lever to his right.
"Here." And the gowned man smiles.
A sixteen tonne weight falls on Cleese.
"Well, it was good." The be-gowned man says to the camera. "But it was wrong, it should have read - 'This competition was a farce'. Oh well."
The man closes the front door on the deceased Cleese under the weight.