Oh, I’m terribly sorry, my suit seems to be catching fire.
You stupid, interfering little rat.
Spam, spam, spam, spam, spam … spam, spam, spam, spam … lovely spam, wonderful spam …
I don’t like spam!
That’s just what Jesus said, sir!
Better get me a bucket.
Are you rolling your own jelly babies in there?
You silly sod! You got us all worked up!
Hello formicidophiles! Before the blood and guts that you’re waiting to see, let’s have a look at the anatomy of the little ant.
Bit lumpy …ah, no wonder, I was sitting on the cat.
Spammity spam!
On second thought, let’s not go there. It is a silly place.
There’s a proper psychiatrist to see you, Dr Rufus Berg.
Nobody expects the Span-- oh, bugger.
But our sales would plummet!
Well now that is thoughtful, Sturridge. Good man.
Mr Notlob, there is nothing wrong with you that an expensive operation can’t prolong.
Father Pierre, why did you stay on in this colonial Campari-land where the clink of glasses mingles with the murmur of a million mosquitoes, where waterfalls of whisky wash away the worries of a world-weary Whicker, where gin and tonic jingle in a gyroscopic jubilee of something beginning with J - Father Pierre, why did you stay on here?
Nipples rose dramatically during the morning but had declined by mid-afternoon, while teeth clenched and buttocks remained firm. Small’ dark furry things increased severely on the floor, whilst rude jellies wobbled up and down, and bounced against rising thighs which had spread to all parts of the country by mid-afternoon.
You’ll never take me alive, copper.