This animated collection by Roald Dahl features nine absurd tales illustrated by Quentin Blake, including a genius pig who discovers his purpose is to be eaten, a lion who reveals his true appetite, a scorpion that stings children, a spoiled boy who gets an anteater that eats his aunt, a child who sits on a porcupine and pays 50 guineas for removal, a flying cow who retaliates against a critic, a crocodile who eats children with specific preferences, a child who claims there's a person in his tummy, and a boy who rides a giant toad across England to France where he transforms into a snail to escape being eaten. The stories use absurdity and dark humor to explore themes of greed, consequences, and the unpredictable nature of life.
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Dirty Beasts by Roald Dahl | Full Animated ClassicAdded:
[music] >> Roald Dahl's Dirty Beasts >> [music] [music] [music] >> The Pig >> [music] >> In England once there lived a big and wonderfully clever pig. To everybody it was plain that piggy had a massive brain. He worked out sums inside his head. There was no book he hadn't read.
He knew what made an airplane fly. He knew how engines worked and why. He knew all this.
But in the end one question drove him round the bend. He simply couldn't puzzle out what life was really all about.
What was the reason for his birth? Why was he placed upon this earth?
His giant brain went round and round.
Alas, no answer could be found.
Till suddenly one wondrous night all in a flash he saw the light. He jumped up like a ballet dancer and yelled, "By gum, I've got the answer! They want my bacon slice by slice to sell at a tremendous price. They want my tender juicy chops to put in all the butcher's shops. They want my pork to make a roast and that's the part that'll cost the most. They want my sausages in strings.
They even want my chitterlings. The butcher's shop, the carving knife, that is the reason for my life."
Such thoughts as these are not designed to give a pig great peace of mind.
Next morning in comes Farmer Bland, a pail of figs within his hand, and piggy with a mighty roar bashes the farmer to the floor. Now comes the rather grizzly bit, so let's not make too much of it, except that you must understand that piggy did eat farmer Bland. He ate him up from head to toe, chewing the pieces nice and slow. It took an hour to reach the feet because there was so much to eat. And when he'd finished, pig, of course, felt absolutely no remorse.
Slowly he scratched his brainy head, and with a little smile he said, "I had a fairly powerful hunch that he might have me for his lunch, and so because I feared the worst, I thought I'd better eat him first."
>> [music] >> The lion.
>> [music] >> The lion just adores to eat a lot of red and tender meat.
And if you ask the lion what is much the tenderest of the lot, he will not say a roast of lamb, or curried beef, or deviled ham, or crispy pork, or corned beef hash, or sausages, or mutton mash.
Then could it be a big plump hen?
He answers, "No."
"What is it then? Oh, lion dear, could I not make you happy with a lovely steak?
Could I entice you from your lair with rabbit pie or roasted hare?"
The lion smiled and shook his head.
He came up very close and said, "The meat I am about to chew is neither steak nor chops.
It's you."
>> [music] [music] >> The scorpion.
You ought to thank your lucky star that here in England, where you are, you'll never find, or so it's said, a scorpion inside your bed.
The scorpion's name is Stingerling, a most repulsive, ugly thing, and I would never recommend that you should treat him as a friend. His scaly skin is black as black, with armor plate upon his back. Observe his scowling, murderous face, his wicked eyes, his lack of grace. Note well his long and crinkly tail, and when it starts to swish and flail, oh gosh, watch out, jump back, I say, and run till you're a mile away.
The moment that his tail goes swish, he has but one determined wish. He wants to make a sudden jump and sting you hard upon your rump.
What is the matter, darling child? Why do you look so tense and wild?
Oh, Mommy, underneath the sheet, there's something moving on my feet. Some horrid, creepy, crawly thing. Do you think it could be Stingerling? What nonsense, child, you're teasing me. I'm not! I'm not! It's reached my knee! It's going going up my thigh! Oh, Mommy, CATCH IT QUICKLY, TRY! IT'S ON It's on my BOTTOM NOW! IT'S OW! OW! OW!
>> [screaming] [laughter] [music] >> THE ANTEATER.
SOME WEALTHY FOLKS FROM USA who lived near San Francisco Bay possessed an only child called Roy, a plump and unattractive boy, half-baked, half-witted, and half-boiled, but worst of all, most dreadfully spoiled.
Whatever Roy desired each day, his father bought him right away. Toy motor cars, electric trains, the latest model airplanes, a color television set, a saxophone, a clarinet, expensive teddy bears that talked, and animals that walked and squawked.
That house contained sufficient toys to thrill a half a million boys.
As well as this, young Roy would choose two pairs a week of brand new shoes.
And now he stood there shouting, "What on earth is there I haven't got?
How hard to think of something new. The choices are extremely few."
Then added as he scratched his ear, "Hold it, I've got a good idea. I think the next thing I must get should be a most peculiar pet, the kind that no one else has got.
A giant anteater, why not?"
As soon as father heard the news, he quickly wrote to all the zoos. "Dear sirs," he said, "My dear keepers, do any of you have anteaters?"
They answered by return of mail, "Our anteaters are not for sale."
Undaunted, Roy's fond parent hurled more messages across the world. He said, "I'll pay you through the nose if you can get me one of those."
At last he found an Indian [music] gent.
He lived near Delhi in a tent, who said that he would sacrifice his pet [music] for an enormous price.
The price demanded, if you please, was 50,000 gold rupees.
The anteater arrived half dead.
It looked at Roy and softly said, "I'm famished. Do you think you could please give me just a little food?
A crust of bread, a bit of meat. I haven't had a thing to eat in all the time I was at sea, for nobody looked after me.
Roy shouted, "No no bread or meat. Go find some ants. They're what you eat."
The starving creature crawled away. It searched the garden night and day. It hunted every inch of ground, but not one single ant it found.
"Please give me food." the creature cried. "Go find an ant." the boy replied.
By chance, upon that very day, Roy's father's sister came to stay, a foul old hag of 83, whose name it seems was Dorothy.
She said to Roy, "Come, let us sit out in the sun and talk a bit."
Roy said, "I don't believe you've met my new and most unusual pet."
He pointed down among the stones where something lay all skin and bones.
"Ant eater!" he yelled.
"Go lie there yawning. This is my aunt.
Come say good morning."
Some people in the USA have trouble with the words they say. However hard they try, they can't pronounce a simple word like aunt. Instead of aunt, [music] they call it aunt. Instead of can't, they call it can't.
Roy yelled, "Come here, you so-and-so.
My aunt would like to say hello."
Slowly the creature raised its head.
"Do you mean that that's an aunt?" it said.
"Of course!" cried Roy. "And Dorothy, this aunt is over 83."
The creature smiled. Its tummy rumbled.
It licked its starving lips and mumbled, "A giant aunt? By gosh, a winner! At last I'll get a decent dinner.
No matter if it's 83, if that's an aunt, then it's for me."
Then taking very careful aim, it pounced upon the startled dame. It grabbed her firmly by the hair and ate her up right then and there.
Murmuring as it chewed the feet, "The largest aunt I'll ever eat."
Meanwhile, our hero Roy had sped in terror to the potting shed and tried to make himself obscure behind a pile of horse manure.
But Andy the came sneaking in, already it was much less thin, and said to Roy, "You little squirt, I think I'll have you for dessert."
>> [screaming] [music] [music] [music] >> The porcupine.
Each Saturday, I shout hooray, for that's my pocket money day.
Although it's clearly understood, I only get it when I'm good.
This week, my parents had been told that I had been as good as gold. So, after breakfast, 50p, my generous father gave to me.
Like lightning, down the road I ran until I reached the sweet shop man, and bought the chocolates of my dreams, a great big bag of raspberry creams.
There is a secret place I know, where I quite often like to go. Beyond the wood, behind some rocks, a super place for guzzling chocs.
When I arrived, I quickly found a comfy-looking little mound, quite clean and round and earthy brown, just right, I thought, for sitting down.
Here I will sit all morning long and eat until my chocs are gone.
I sat. I screamed.
I jumped a foot.
Would you believe that I had put that tender little rump of mine upon a giant porcupine?
My backside seemed catch on fire. A hundred red-hot bits of wire, a hundred prickles sticking in and puncturing my precious skin. I ran for home. I shouted, "Mom, behold the prickles in my bum."
My mom, who always keeps her head bent down to look, and then she said, "I personally am not about to try to pull those prickles out. I think a job like this requires the services of Mr. Myers."
I shouted, "Not the dentist, no! Oh, mum, why don't you have a go?"
I begged her twice, I begged her thrice, but grownups never take advice.
She said, "A dentist very strong, he pulls things out the whole day long."
She drove me quickly into town, and then they turned me upside down upon the awful dentist's chair, while two strong nurses held me there.
Enter the dreaded Mr. Myers, waving a massive pair of pliers.
"This is," he cried with obvious glee, "a new experience for me.
Quite honestly, I can't pretend I've ever pulled things from this end."
He started pulling one by one, and yelling, "My oh my, what fun!"
I shouted, "Help!" I shouted, "Ow!"
He said, "It's nearly over now. For heaven's sake, don't squirm about. Here goes, the last one's coming out."
The dentist pulled, and out it came, and then I heard the man exclaim, "Let us now talk about the fees. That will be 50 guineas, please."
My mother is a gutsy bird, and never one to mince a word.
She cried, "By gosh, that's jolly steep!"
He answered, "No, it's very cheap. I tell a woman, can't you see that if it hadn't been for me, this child could go another year with prickles sticking in her rear?"
So, that was that. Oh, what a day, and what a fuss.
But, by the way, I think I know why porcupines surround themselves with prickly spines.
It is to stop some silly clown from squashing them by sitting down.
Don't copy me, don't be a twit.
Be sure you look before you sit.
>> [music] >> The cow.
>> [music] >> Please listen while I tell you now about a most fantastic cow.
Miss Milky Daisy was her name. And when aged 7 months she came to live with us, she did her best to look the same as all the rest.
But Daisy, as we all could see, had some kind of deformity. A funny sort of bumpy lump on either side above the rump.
Now, not so very long ago, these bumpy lumps began to grow. And three or maybe four months later, I stood there, an enthralled spectator.
These bumpy lumps burst wide apart, and out there came, I cross my heart, of all the wondrous, marvelous things, a pair of golden silver wings.
A cow with wings? A flying cow? I'd never seen one up to now.
Oh Daisy, dear, can this be true?
She flapped her wings and up she flew.
Most gracefully she climbed up high. She fairly whizzed across the sky. You should have seen her dive and swoop. She even did a loop-the-loop. Of course, almost immediately her picture was on live TV, and millions came each day to stare at Milky Daisy in the air. They shouted, "Jeepers, creepers, wow! It really is a flying cow." They laughed and clapped and cheered and waved, and all of them were well-behaved.
Except for one quite horrid man who traveled from Afghanistan.
This fellow, standing in the crowd, raised up his voice and yelled aloud, "That silly cow, hey, listen, Daisy, I think you're absolutely crazy."
Unfortunately, Daisy heard quite clearly every single word.
"By gosh," she cried, "what awful cheek.
Who is this silly foreign freak?"
She dived, and using all her power, she got to 60 miles an hour. "Bomb's gone," she cried. "Take that," she said, and dropped a cow pat on his head.
>> [music] [music] >> The crocodile.
>> [music] >> No animal is half so vile as Crocky-Wock the crocodile.
On Saturdays, he likes to crunch six juicy children for his lunch, and he especially enjoys just three of each, three girls, three boys.
He smears the boys to make them hot with mustard from the mustard pot, but mustard doesn't go with girls. It tastes all wrong with plaits and curls. With them, what goes extremely well is butterscotch and caramel.
It's such a super marvelous treat when boys are hot and girls are sweet. At least, that's Crocky's point of view. He ought to know, he's had a few.
That's all for now. It's time for bed.
Lie down and rest your sleepy head. Shh, >> [snorts] >> listen.
What is that I hear, galumphing softly up the stair?
Go lock the door and fetch my gun. Go on, child, hurry, quickly, run. No, stop, stand back, he's coming in. Oh, look, that greasy, greenish skin, the shining teeth, the greedy smile. It's Crocky-Wock the crocodile.
>> [music] >> The tummy beast.
One afternoon, I said to Mommy, "Who is this person in my tummy?
He must be small and very thin, or how could he have gotten in?"
My mother said from where she sat, "It isn't nice to talk like that.
It's true, I cried, "I swear it, Mommy, there is a person in my tummy.
He talks to me at night in bed. He's always asking to be fed.
Throughout the day he screams at me, demanding sugar buns for tea.
He tells me it is not a sin to go and raid the biscuit tin.
I know quite well it's awfully wrong to guzzle food the whole day long, but really I can't help it, Mommy, not with this person in my tummy."
"You horrid child," my mother cried, "admit it right away you've lied. You're simply trying to produce a silly, asinine excuse. You are the greedy, guzzling brat, and that is why you're always fat."
I tried once more, "Believe me, Mommy, there is a person in my tummy."
"I've had enough," my mother said, "you better go at once to bed."
Just then, a nicely timed event delivered me from punishment.
Deep in my tummy, something stirred, and then an awful noise was heard. A snorting, grumbling, grunting sound that made my tummy jump around. My darling mother nearly died. "My goodness, what was that?" she cried.
At once the tummy voice came through. It shouted, "Hi there, listen, you. I'm getting hungry. I want eats. I want lots of chocs and sweets. Get me half a pound of nuts. Look snappy or I'll twist your guts." "That's him! I cried. He's in my tummy. So, now do you believe me, Mommy?"
But Mommy answered nothing more.
For she had fainted on the floor.
>> [music] >> The Toad and the Snail >> [music] >> I really am most awfully fond of playing in the lily pond.
I take off shoes and socks and coat and paddle with my little boat.
Now, yesterday, quite suddenly, a giant toad came up to me.
This toad was easily as big as any fair-sized, fattish pig.
He smiled and said, "How do you do?
Hello, good morning. How are you?"
His face somehow reminded me of Mommy's sister, Emily.
The toad said, "Don't you think I'm fine? Admire these lovely legs of mine.
And I am sure you've never seen a toad so gloriously [clears throat] green."
I said, "So far as I can see, you look just like Aunt Emily."
He said, "I bet Aunt Emily can't jump one half as high as me. Hop on my back, young friend," he cried. "I'll take you for a marvelous ride."
As I got on, I thought, "Oh, blimey. Oh, deary me. How wet and slimy." "Sit firmly on my back," he said. "That's right. I'm going to jump, so hold on tight."
He jumped. Oh, how he jumped. By gum, I thought my final hour had come. My wretched eardrums popped and fizzed. My eyeballs watered. Up we whizzed. I clung on tight. I shouted, "How much further are we going now?"
Toad said, his face all wreathed in smiles, "With every jump, it's 50 miles."
Quite literally, we jumped all over from Scotland to the Cliffs of Dover.
Above the cliffs we stopped for tea, and Toad said, gazing at the sea, "What do you say we take a chance and jump from England into France?"
I said, "Oh dear, do you think we ought to? I'd hate to finish in the water."
But Toad, you'll find, don't give a wink for what we little children think. He didn't bother to reply. He jumped. You should have seen us fly, we simply soared across the sea, the marvelous Mr. Toad and me.
Then down we came, and down and down, and landed in a funny town.
We landed hard, in fact, we bounced.
"We're there, it's France," the Toad announced.
He said, "You must admit it's grand to jump into a foreign land. No boats, no bicycles, no trains, no cars, no noisy airplanes."
Just then we heard a fearful shout.
"Oh heavens above," the Toad cried out.
I turned and saw a frightening sight. On every side, to left, to right, people were running down the road, running at me and Mr. Toad, and every person, man and wife, was brandishing a carving knife.
It didn't take me very long to figure there was something wrong.
And yet how could a small boy know, for nobody had told me so, that Frenchmen aren't like you or me, they do things very differently.
They won't say yards, they call them meters.
And they're the most peculiar eaters.
A Frenchman frequently regales himself with half a dozen snails.
The greedy ones will gulp a score of these foul brutes and ask for more. In many of the best hotels the people also eat the shells. Imagine that, my stomach turns. One might as well eat slugs or worms, but wait, read on a little bit, you haven't heard the half of it. These French go even more agog if someone offers them a frog.
You'd better fetch a basin quick in case you're going to be sick.
The bits of frog they like to eat are thighs and calves and toes and feet.
The French will gobble loads and loads of legs. They chop off frogs and toads.
They think it's absolutely ripping to guzzle frogs legs fried in dripping.
That's why the whole town and their wives were rushing us with carving knives.
They screamed in French, "Well, I'll be blowed. What legs there are upon that toad. Chop them, skin them, cook them, fry them.
All of us are going to try them."
"Toad," I cried, "I'm not a funk, but ought we not to do a bunk? These rascals haven't come to greet you. All they want to do is eat you."
Toad turned his head and looked at me and said, as cool as cool could be, "Calm down and listen carefully, please.
I often come to France to tease these crazy French who long to eat my lovely tender froggy meat.
I am a magic toad," he cried, "and I don't ever have to hide. Stay where you are. Don't move," he said, and pressed a button on his head.
At once there came a blinding flash and then the most almighty crash. And sparks were bursting all around and smoke was rising from the ground.
When all the smoke had cleared away, the Frenchman with their knives cried, "Hey, where is the toad? Where has he gone?"
You see, I now was sitting on a wonderfully enormous snail.
His shell was smooth and brown and pale, and I was so high off the ground that I could see for miles around.
The snail said, "Hello. Greetings. Hail.
I was a toad. Now I'm a snail.
I had to change the way I looked to save myself from being cooked."
"Oh, snail," I said, "I'm not so sure.
I think they're starting up once more."
The French were shouting, "What? There's snail. Oh, what a monster. What a whale.
He makes the toad look titchy small.
There's lovely snail meat for us all.
We'll bake the creature in his shell and ring a loud the dinner bell. Get garlic, parsley, butter, spices. We'll cut him into 50 slices. Come sharpen up your carving knives. This is the banquet of our lives."
I murmured through my quivering lips, "Oh, snail, I think we've had our chips."
The snail replied, "I disagree. These greedy French, they'll not eat me."
But on they came. They screamed, "Yahoo!
Surround the brute and run him through!"
Good gracious, I could almost feel the pointed blades, the shining steel. But snail was cool as cool could be. He turned his head and winked at me and murmured, "Au revoir, farewell." And pulled a lever on his shell.
I looked around. The snail had gone.
And now who was I sitting on?
Oh, what relief, what joy! Because at last I'd found a friend. It was the gorgeous, glamorous, absurd, enchanting roly-poly bird.
He turned and whispered in my ear, "Well, fancy seeing you, my dear."
Then up he went in glorious flight. I clutched his neck and hung on tight. We fairly raced across the sky, the roly-poly bird and I, and landed safely just beyond the fringes of the lily pond.
When I got home, I never told a solitary single soul what I had done or where I'd been or any of the things I'd seen.
I did not even say I rode upon a giant jumping toad, cuz if I had, I knew that they would not believe me anyway.
But you and I know well it's true.
We know I jumped. We know I flew.
We're sure it all took place, although not one of us will ever know.
We'll never, never understand why children go to wonderland.
>> [music] [music] >> Woo!
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