Only 34 years and a day after the transmission of the sixth (and last) episode of the fourth (and last) season, I have been wonderfully surprised by the fourth season of Monty Python.
Much maligned in the literature . . . no, hang on . . . passingly slighted in at least one actual book . . . no, just a moment . . . sneered at by an over-medicated hack in the Personal Ads Section of one of the less reputable tabloids, the fourth season was first brought to my attention with the parenthetical "but they're not at their funniest"; and (while one understandably rues his absence from the fourth season) the ex-Python-ness of John Cleese was offered as the necessary reason for the downtick in the Amusement Index. Nor had I seen any episode from the fourth season on those infrequent occasions when I saw the Pythons on the odd late-night PBS broadcast. But even if we take for argument's sake the point that they're not 'at their funniest' in this fourth season, they're still, well, dashed funny. And I don't care who knows it.
Funny; a nice, woody sort of word. And no, I'm not taking this war seriously enough.