Do you have a copy of Thirty Days in the Samarkand Desert with the Duchess of Kent by A. E. J. Elliott, O.B.E.?
A duck!
Correct!
It’s only a model
Let’s try to avoid repeats, sportsfans.
Dinsdale was a gentleman, and what’s more, he knew how to treat a female impersonator.
Mr Wiggin Yes, well, of course, this is just the sort blinkered philistine pig ignorance I’ve come to expect from you non-creative garbage. You sit there on your loathsome, spotty behinds squeezing blackheads, not caring a tinker’s cuss about the struggling artist. (shouting) You excrement! You lousy hypocritical whining toadies with your lousy colour TV sets and your Tony Jacklin golf clubs and your bleeding masonic handshakes! You wouldn’t let me join, would you, you blackballing bastards. Well I wouldn’t become a freemason now if you went down on your lousy, stinking, purulent knees and begged me.
A nod’s as good as a wink to a blind bat.
And that, my liege, is how we know the Earth to be banana-shaped.
Ooh, ooh, ooh; want to learn how to defend yourself against pointed sticks, do we? Getting all high and mighty, eh? Fresh fruit not good enough for you, eh? Well let me tell you something my lad! When you’re walking home tonight and some great homicidal maniac comes after YOU with a bunch of loganberries, don’t come cryin’ to me!
Yes, I know it’s spelled Ramond Luxury-Yacht, but it’s pronounced Throat-Warbler-Mangrove.
Another repeat.
There. Flopsy’s dead, and never called me Mother.
I’m standing now by the crocodile pit where- AAAAAAHHHHH!
Ooo, ooo. “An hoop.” Pardon me, Mater, while I play the grahnd piahno!
So Mrs Teal… if you send us £15 by return post, please, and your husband Trevor, and your lovely children, Diane, Janice and Juliet need never know the name of your lover in Bolton.
Wot’s all this? The people called the Romans go to the house?
How shall we fuck off, O Master?
That’s a rather personal question, sir.
Look out there are Llamas!
Yes, we are all individuals!
I’m not!