Me, Doctor?
Sorry about this… pore pom pore… Normally we try and avoid these little pauses… longeurs… only dramatically he’s gone down to the basement, you see. 'Course, there isn’t really a basement but he just goes off and we pretend. Actually what happens is he goes off there, off camera, and just waits there so it looks as though he’s gone down… to the basement. Actually I think he’s rather overdoing it. Ah!
Spam!
You are a bloody milkman.
Me, Doctor?
Anarcho-syndicalism is a way of preserving freedom.
If God did not intend for us to eat animals, then why did he make them out of meat?
Splunge!
We were in the nick of time, you were in great peril.
Yogurt? Cream? Eggs?
Just one little wafer thin mint
Oh, shit - it’s Mr. Creosote!
Oh, well, uh, how’s about showing me the cutlery?
Um… well, Mr Chairman, it’s just that most of the members in Staffordshire feel… the whole thing’s a bit silly.
Don’t you shout at me, madam, don’t come that tone. Now then, I must ask you to accompany me down to the dairy and do some aptitude tests.
But I don’t want ANY Spam!
The mirror fell off… off the wall… it fell.
Not guil-cup.
Hullo fans. Begorra an’ to be sure there’s some fine badminton down there in Essex this afternoon.
Don’t come here with that posh talk you nasty, stuck-up twit.