Oh, what a giveaway!
What’s brown and sounds like a bell?
Dung!
Look, you stupid bastard, you’ve got no arms left!
Welcome to the 127 th anul upper class twitt contest,
This is Gervase Brook-hamppster, whoes father uses him as a waste paper basket.
“Four hours to bury the cat?”
“Yes, it wouldn’t keep still.”
“Squad! CONFUSE… a CAT!”
There’s more to this redistribution of wealth business than meets the eye!
Arthur Wilson, right well look, I’ll call you Arthur Wilson one, and you Arthur Wilson two, just to avoid confusion.
Yes, I have!
Well, we’ll not risk another frontal assault. That rabbit’s dynamite.
Watkins, why did you join the army?
Well, I would destroy the lower classes, first with bombs and rockets destroying their homes and then when they run screaming into the streets, mowing them down with submachine guns. I know these views aren’t popular, but I have never courted popularity.
Telephone, Mr Hilter. It’s that nice Mr McGoering from the Bell and Compasses. He says he’s found a place where you can hire bombers by the hour!
I’m not supposed to go mad until 1896!
Top Hole, Bally Jerry, pranged his kite right in the how’s your father. Hairy blighter, dicky-birdied, feathered back on his Sammy, took a waspy, flipped over on his Betty Harper’s and caught his can in the Bertie.
Ah blow my nose at you, so-called “Arthur Keeeng”!
We are not… entertained!
Bring out your dead!
Stwike him, Centuwion!
Besides all that, what have the Romans ever given us? Nothing!