He has learned the first lesson on how not to be seen: Don’t stand up. However he has picked a very obvious hiding place.
Go clean your armour.
Democracy and humanitarianism have always been trademarks of the British Army.
There - poor Flopsy’s dead. And never called me mother.
Yes, you know: we find that nine out of ten British housewives can’t tell the difference between Whizzo Butter and a dead crab.
If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me? I am no longer infected.
Hm. I see. Well I think I may be able to help you. You see, your cat is suffering from what we Vets haven’t found a word for. His condition is typified by total physical inertia, absence of interest in its ambience - what we Vets call environment - failure to respond to the conventional external stimuli - a ball of string, a nice juicy mouse, a bird. To be blunt, your cat is in a rut. It’s the old stockbroker syndrome, the suburban fin de siecle ennui, angst, weltschmertz, call it what you will.
If we increase the size of the penguin until it is the same height as the man and then compare the relative brain size, we now find that the penguin’s brain is still smaller. But, and this is the point, it is larger than it was!
Yes, and you want me to hack a bit off.
Hindu, Taoist, Mormon spill theirs just anywhere,
But God loves those who treat their semen with more care.
Shut up. Now, let’s have a look at the sales chart. When you took over this account, Frog, Conquistador was a brand leader. Here you introduced your first campaign, ‘Conquistador Coffee brings a new meaning to the word vomit’. Here you made your special introductory offer of a free dead dog with every jar, and this followed your second campaign ‘the tingling fresh coffee which brings you exciting new cholera, mange, dropsy, the clap, hard pad and athlete’s head. From the House of Conquistador’.
It’s just gone eight o’clock and time for the penguin on top of your television set to explode.
Oh, you’ve no idea how the kids get taunted. Why, only last week Dirty Lying Little Two-Faced came running home from school, sobbing his eyes out, and our youngest, Ghastly Spotty Horrible Vicious Little is just at the age when taunts like ‘she’s a git’ really hurt.
Mr. Vernon: Hello, madam.
Mrs. Smith: Yes, you must have come about the…
Mr. Vernon: …finishing the sentences, yes.
Mrs. Smith: Well, perhaps you’d like to…
Mr. Vernon: …come through this way, certainly. Oh, nice place you’ve got here.
Mrs. Smith: Yes, well, we…
Mr. Vernon: …like it?
Mrs. Smith: Yes, we certainly…
Mr. Vernon: …do. Good. Now, when did you first start…
Mrs. Smith: …finding it difficult…
Mr. Vernon: …to finish sentences, yes.
Mrs. Smith: Well, it’s not me, it’s my…
Mr. Vernon: …husband?
Mrs. Smith: Yes, he…
Mr. Vernon: …never lets you finish what you’ve started?
Mrs. Smith: Quite. I’m beginning to feel…
Mr. Vernon: …you’ll never finish a sentence again as long as you live?
Mrs. Smith: Exact…
Mr. Vernon: …ly. It must be awful.
How much do you hate the Romans?
All right, I’m Louis XVI! Listen to me, smart-ass, when you’re the King of France, you’ve got better things to do than go around all day remembering your bloody number!
Well you can’t expect to wield supreme executive power just ‘cause some watery tart threw a sword at you. I mean, if I went around sayin’ I was an emperor just because some moistened bint had lobbed a scimitar at me, they’d put me away!
Well, I’ll give you the job, and the chair, and an all-wool ex-army sleeping bag … for the briefcase, umbrella, the pens in your breast pocket and your string vest.
Have the new paper clips arrived, Enid?
It’s Deirdre.