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Crowley loves Monty Python.
He had always loved their work for far too many reasons.
A group of blokes with clever jokes and silly ideas in a pure show of what was good in good old British humour - not that he was British himself.
Even Aziraphale enjoyed the group quite a bit, even though it took some convincing to have the angel watching any of Monty Python's works for the first time (nothing a box of 6 custard tarts wouldn't fix).
However...
There was one single work of the British comedy group that Crowley watched once, yes, but only once. Not because it triggered him - the whole ordeal the men were joking about had happened centuries ago and, of course, he wasn't over it completely yet, but he could laugh at parts of it.
No.
The problem was Aziraphale.
Satan curse that Tuesday in 1970 when he had sat the angel down so they could watch the newest episode of Monty Python's Flying Circus - no other than season 2 episode 2 - because, when Aziraphale noticed Crowley chuckling at the scene at first and then further inspected to make sure his somewhat sensitive demon would be okay with such...plans brewing on his mind. Aziraphale adopted a rather pesky habit of murmuring under his breath the quote whenever the minimal requirements for such a phrase to make sense were met.
For almost 28 years Crowley couldn't do the smallest thing such as swipe his finger on the cream of a cake and bringing it to his mouth to just have a little taste - after he made sure Aziraphale was nowhere near the backroom -, just for said angel to pop up behing him like a bad animaniacs conterpart and whisper 'Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.'
With the whole anti-Christ ordeal afterwards and...the circunstances of 2023 that shall not be named, some of their silly inside jokes had to make space for more serious matters, and, to the benefit of that little vein on Crowley's forehead that twitched every time Aziraphale pulled a Python on him, that joke was gave up on by the angel or, at the very least, forgotten.
However - because not even a now absolutely and tremendously retired demon could have nice things - it was somewhen during a Halloween party Crowley himself convinced Aziraphale on throwing in their abode in the South Downs, with all their humans and non-humans friends reunited, that he heard just the most tiny comment between Anathema, Muriel and Charlotte - a nice girl who worked in the town's bakery and whom Crowley had made friends with through the years, much due to the absurd amount of money he spent there buying all types of little treats for his angel.
The three little permanent nuisances (affectionate) in his life were talking animatedly over a bottle of gin (cocoa for Muriel. Little bird had been experimenting the last few years. Good for them) when Chalotte snorted into her glass before she murmured: "You find that humorous? Anathema, sweet thing, no offence, but American humour is the bottom of the bottom. I shouldn't be surprised that boyfriend of yours haven't shown you true British-ness. You don't know British culture until-'"And she started enumerating on her fingers. "You have watched or been annoyed by someone watching Doctor Who and getting very unhealthy obsessed with 9th, 10th, 11th or 12th. Fought an American over the superior 'The Office'. Either love the royalty or despise it like the plague. And you, at least, watching a full season of Monty Python."
At first, Crowley just kind of nodded to himself at the statement, agreeing silently. Personally, he would have added a few more criteria, that was all. But then his eyes focused towards the general direction he was already looking at - the kitchen, where Aziraphale was sipping some wine as he chatted with some gals he had made friends with at the rec center - and Crowley felt his blood freeze when Aziraphale's head snapped up and away from his focus on...was it Bea? Crowley could never tell. This town had far too many blonds to keep count. Anyway: Aziraphale's eyes found Crowley's, even though the shades, and Crowley saw the moment the old forgotten silly memory returned, Aziraphale's blue eyes sharpening the way they always did when the angel was plotting either something very stupid or very cleaver, and it took all his might not to down the whiskey he was slowly sipping right there and then.
So much for retirement.
Good luck with dropping a teaspoon on the floor after that one, old serpent.