Carrying forward the comedic momentum of the previous sketch, this Monty Python’s Flying Circus scene opens in what looks like an entirely ordinary place: a surgeon’s office. Everything appears neat, clinical, and reassuring—much like the psychiatrist’s office that came before it. Naturally, this sense of order doesn’t last long. Within moments, Monty Python dismantles it completely, escalating the absurdity to gleefully impossible extremes.
The patient, Mr. Notlob (played by Michael Palin), enters to the gentle melody of the children’s tune “We’re All Going to the Zoo Tomorrow,” an oddly cheerful backdrop that immediately creates an unsettling contrast. The surgeon (Graham Chapman) wastes no time declaring that surgery is required. When Mr. Notlob nervously asks about the risks, the doctor delivers a perfectly Python-esque reassurance: there’s nothing to fear—despite the operation being extremely dangerous and the patient’s life resting entirely in his hands.
As the procedure begins, warning signs pile up. The surgeon theatrically sharpens his scalpel and prepares to cut into the patient’s abdomen. Instead of encountering internal organs, however, the doctor is greeted by an unexpected guest—an intruder (Eric Idle) emerging from inside Mr. Notlob’s body. Before anyone can process this, the discovery becomes even stranger: a naked woman (Carol Cleveland) is found “living” inside the patient as well. What follows is a completely nonsensical argument in which these occupants are accused of failing to pay rent because the “flat” is unfurnished.
Despite lying on the operating table, Mr. Notlob angrily insists the doctor evict them at once. The surgeon, however, insists on following an absurd legal code, claiming he cannot remove anyone without a proper court order. As if things weren’t strange enough, an Indian man suddenly pops out of the patient’s abdomen, complaining about the noise and demanding everyone quiet down for the sake of the other “residents.”
The human body is no longer a medical subject—it has become a dysfunctional apartment building plagued by bureaucracy and tenant disputes.
Once an eviction order is finally obtained, the police arrive—entering directly through Mr. Notlob’s stomach to enforce it. One resident casually tells the officer to leave, prompting the officer to formally read the court order aloud. To heighten the parody of authority, another officer (Terry Jones) is instructed to release vicious dogs, a completely irrational escalation that has absolutely nothing to do with surgery, medicine, or logic.
The sketch is a textbook example of Monty Python’s surreal satire. It takes institutions meant to represent order—medicine, law, and social structure—and reduces them to meaningless, imaginative chaos. There is no traditional payoff, no explanation, and no resolution—just escalating absurdity stacked upon itself.
That refusal to make sense is exactly what gives the sketch its lasting power. By abandoning logic entirely, Monty Python created a form of comedy so bold and unpredictable that it continues to entertain, confuse, and inspire discussion decades later.
