Mr. Creosote

Mr. Creosote (Terry Jones), a grotesquely obese man, walks into a French restaurant. The maitre d' (John Cleese) greets him:

MAITRE D': Ah, good afternoon, sir! And how are we today?
MR. CREOSOTE: Better.
MAITRE D': Better?
MR. CREOSOTE: Better get a bucket. I'm gonna throw up.

The maitre d' motions to Gaston, a waiter:

MAITRE D': Ah, Gaston? A bucket for monsieur.

Gaston walks away with his arms in his sleeves. Cut to the maitre d' situating Mr. Creosote at his table. He slightly adjusts the position of the chair and table. After this, he snaps for Gaston, who is carrying the bucket. Gaston sets the bucket to the side of Mr. Creosote, who begins vomiting.

MAITRE D': Merci, Gaston.
MR. CREOSOTE: I wasn't finished.
MAITRE D': Oh, pardon. Gaston? (to Mr. Creosote) A thousand pardons, monsieur.

Mr. Creosote vomits again.

MAITRE D': Now, this afternoon, we have monsieur's favorite, the jugged hare. The hare is very high, and the sauce is very rich, with truffles, anchovies, Grand Mariner, bacon, and creme. (to Gaston) Thank you, Gaston.
MR. CREOSOTE: There's still more.
MAITRE D': Allow me.

The maitre d' grabs the bucket and hands it to Gaston.

MAITRE D': A new bucket for monsieur.

Gaston walks away with the bucket, leaving Mr. Creosote to vomit on the floor.

MAITRE D': And the cleaning woman.

At this point, several patrons begin looking at Mr. Creosote.

MAITRE D': Eh, maintenant, would monsieur care for an apertif or would he prefer to order straight away?

The maitre d' holds out the menu, which Mr. Creosote vomits into.

MAITRE D': Eh, today, we have, for appetizers... (He wipes off the menu and shakes his hand off) Excuse me, moules marinieres, pate de fois gras, beluga caviar, eggs benedictine, tarte de poireau - that's a leek tart - frogs' legs amandine, or oeufs de cailles "Richard Shepherd" - c'est à dire, they're little quail's eggs and a bit of pureed mushroom. It's very delicate, very subtle.
MR. CREOSOTE: I'll have the lot.
MAITRE D': A wise choice, monsieur! (He closes the menu) And now, how would you like it served, a la mixed up together in a bucket?
MR. CREOSOTE: Yeah. The eggs on top.
MAITRE D': But of course. Avec des oeufs, [?].
MR. CREOSOTE: Don't skip on the pate.
MAITRE D': Oh, monsieur, I assure you just because it is mixed up with all the other things, we would not dream of giving you less than the full amount. In fact, I will personally make sure you have a double helping. Maintenant, quelque-chose avoir something to drink, monsieur?
MR. CREOSOTE: Yeah. I'll have six bottles of Chateau Latour '45...
MAITRE D': '45...
MR. CREOSOTE: And a double Jeroboam of champagne.
MAITRE D': Bon. And the usual brown ales?
MR. CREOSOTE: Yeah. Now, wait a minute, I think I can only manage six crates today.
MAITRE D': Tsk, tsk, tsk. I hope monsieur was not overdoing it last night.
MR. CREOSOTE: Shut up.
MAITRE D': D'accord. Ah, the new bucket and the cleaning woman.

Gaston and the cleaning lady are next to the table, Gaston with the bucket and the cleaning lady beginning to wipe up the vomit. Mr. Creosote then vomits on the cleaning lady multiple times in a row. The maitre d' walks to another table.

MAITRE D': Is there something wrong with the food?
MALE PATRON: No, the food was excellent.
MAITRE D': Perhaps you're not happy with the service?
MALE PATRON: No, no, no complaints.
FEMALE PATRON: It's just that we have to go. I'm having a rather heavy period.

The two others at the table sigh and put their heads in their hands.

MALE PATRON: And, we, have, a, train-to-catch!
MAITRE D': Ah.
FEMALE PATRON: Oh, yes, yes, of course, we have a train to catch. And I don't want to start bleeding all over the seats.
MAITRE D': Madam?
MALE PATRON: Perhaps we should be going? (He moves his arms up and down)

Everybody gets up and begins to walk away.

MAITRE D': Ah. Very well, monsieur. Thank you so much. So nice to see you, and I hope very much we will see you again very soon. Au revoir, monsieur! Oh, dear. I've trodden in monsieur's bucket.

The maitre d' is standing on the bucket of vomit, with the cleaning lady next to him. He pulls his leg out of the bucket.

MAITRE D': Another bucket for monsieur.

Mr. Creosote leans over and vomits on the maitre d's leg.

MAITRE D': And perhaps a hose.

Cut to another patron in the restaurant, Max. He wretches a bit of vomit on his food.

MAX'S WIFE: Oh, Max, really?

Another patron at a different table hiccups and puts a napkin to his mouth, implying he also vomited.
* * * * * * * * * *
Cut to Mr. Creosote gorging on a pineapple, the stem sticking out of in his mouth but he lets go of his bite on it and his mouth leaks vomit. The camera pans out revealing that the fat, vomit-drenched, rich snob has truly gorged himself of several plates of food and bottles of expensive alcohol. The Maitre'd approaches him.

MAÎTRE D: And finally, monsieur, a wafer-thin mint.

MR. CREOSOTE: Nah.

MAÎTRE D: Oh, sir, it's only a tiny, little, thin one.

MR. CREOSOTE: No. Fuck off. I'm full.

MAÎTRE D: Oh, sir. Hmm?

MR. CREOSOTE: Heeh...?

MAÎTRE D: It's only wafer thin.

MR. CREOSOTE: Look. I couldn't eat another thing. I'm absolutely stuffed. Bugger off.

MAÎTRE D: Oh, sir, just-- just one.

MR. CREOSOTE: Meeeeh... all right. Just one.

MAÎTRE D: Just the one, monsieur. Voilà.

MR. CREOSOTE: [groaning]

MAÎTRE D: Bon appétit.

The Maitre'd takes off running off-screen. Mr. Creosote swallows the chocolate mint, but then suspenseful music builds up and he becomes worried.
Maitre'd jumps behind a row of potted plants, awaiting the inevitable outcome.
Mr. Creosote's belly begins to expand like a balloon, busting his shirt buttons and topples the table over. And then... KABOOM!
Gallons and gallons of used restaurant food and ludicrous gibs of blood and organs litter all around the place and get on a few remaining patrons!

Cut and pan out to reveal Mr. Creosote, now a giant, disemboweled husk of his former self, with nothing but his heart and a pocket watch still ticking inside his rib cage.

The remaining patrons scream and vomit in the chaotic background, while Maitre'd brings Mr. Creosote the tab.

MAÎTRE D: Thank you, sir, and now, here's ze check.