I got a bit tired of seeing all the continued bumper-sticker manifestations of the Wellstone personality cult (HE'S DEAD, GET OVER IT), found an existing transcript of the Dead Parrot Sketch, and did things to it:
Dead Senator Sketch
Michael Palin (?)
A customer enters a pet shop pushing a large leather chair with a dead Paul Wellstone in it.
Mrs. Clinton: Hello, I wish to register a complaint.
(The owner does not respond.)
Mrs. Clinton: Hello, Miss?
Owner: What do you mean "miss"?
Mrs. Clinton: I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint!
Owner: We're closing for lunch.
Mrs. Clinton: Never mind that, sir. I wish to complain about this senator which I purchased not half an hour ago from this very boutique.
Owner: Oh yes, the, uh, the Minnesota Swede...What's, uh...What's wrong with him?
Mrs. Clinton: I'll tell you what's wrong with him, sir. He's dead, that's what's wrong with him!
Owner: No, no, 'e's uh,...he's resting.
Mrs. Clinton: Look, sir, I know a dead senator when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now.
Owner: No, no, he's not dead, he's, he's resting! Remarkable senator, the Minnesota Swede, isn't, it? Beautiful haircut!
Mrs. Clinton: He doesn’t look the slightest bit Swedish. He's stone dead.
Owner: Nononono, no, no! He's resting!
Mrs. Clinton: All right then, if he's resting, I'll wake him up! (shouting at the chair) 'Hello, Senator Wellstone! I've got a lovely fresh National Health Care Plan for you to vote on if you show...
(owner hits the chair)
Owner: There, he moved!
Mrs. Clinton: No, he didn't, that was you hitting the chair!
Owner: I never!!
Mrs. Clinton: Yes, you did!
Owner: I never, never did anything...
Mrs. Clinton: (yelling and hitting the chair repeatedly) HELLO PAULLY!!!!! Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine o'clock alarm call!
(Takes Wellstone out of the chair and thumps his head on the counter. Stands him up and watches him fall to the floor.)
Mrs. Clinton: Now that's what I call a dead senator.
Owner: No, no.....No, he's stunned!
Mrs. Clinton: STUNNED?!?
Owner: Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was waking up! Minnesota Swedes stun easily, ma’am.
Mrs. Clinton: Um...now look...now look, sir, I've definitely had enough of this. That senator is definitely deceased, and when I purchased it not half an hour ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement was due to it being tired and shagged out following a prolonged speech.
Owner: Well, he's...he's, ah...probably pining for the north woods.
Mrs. Clinton: PINING for the NORTH WOODS?!?!?!? What kind of talk is that?, look, why did he fall flat on his back the moment I got him home?
Owner: The Minnesota Swede prefers keeping on it's back! Remarkable senator, isn’t he, ma’am? Lovely haircut!
Mrs. Clinton: Look, I took the liberty of examining that senator when I got him home, and I discovered the only reason that it had been sitting in his chair in the first place was that he had been NAILED there.
Owner: Well, of course he was nailed there! If I hadn't nailed him down, he would have stood up and gone VOOM! Feeweeweewee!
Mrs. Clinton: "VOOM"?!? Sir, this man wouldn't "voom" if you put four million volts through him! He's bleeding demised!
Owner: No, no! He's pining!
Mrs. Clinton: He's not pining! He’s passed on! This senator is no more! He has ceased to be! He’s expired and gone to meet his maker! He’s a stiff! Bereft of life, he rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed him to the chair he'd be pushing up the daisies! His metabolic processes are now history! He’s off the twig! He’s kicked the bucket, He’s shuffled off his mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleeding choir invisible!! THIS IS AN EX-SENATOR!!
Owner: Well, I'd better replace him, then. (he takes a quick peek behind the counter) Sorry ma’am, I've had a look 'round the back of the shop, and uh, we're right out of senators.
Mrs. Clinton: I see. I see, I get the picture.
Owner: I got a slug.
Mrs. Clinton: Pray, does it talk?
Owner: Nnnnot really.
Mrs. Clinton: WELL IT'S HARDLY A BLOODY REPLACEMENT, IS IT?!!???!!?
Owner: N-no, I guess not. (gets ashamed, looks at his feet)
Mrs. Clinton: Well?
Owner: It leaves a trail of slime.
Mrs. Clinton: Yeah, all right.