And now for something completely different.
He is packing it in and packing it up And sneaking away and buggering up And chickening out and pissing off home, Yes, bravely he is throwing in the sponge…
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‘BUT THERE LET US LEAVE THE ART CRITIC TO STRANGLE HIS WIFE AND MOVE ON TO PASTURES NEW’
“God, you turn me on when you’re angry, you ancient brute!" she now mysteriously deduces, forcing her sweetly throbbing tongue down my throat.
And now the ten seconds of sex.
And then the oral sex.
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.
That’s Mr. Kamikaze, the pilot, he’s very nice really, but make sure he stays clear of battleships.
[through gritted teeth] Not much fun in Stalingrad, no.
After lunch naughty things dipped sharply forcing giblets upwards with the nicky nacky noo. Ting tang tong rankled dithely, little tipples pooped and poppy things went pong! Gibble gabble gobble went the rickety rackety roo and …
Where is all this leading us?
Let us ride…to Camelot!
I want to have Raquel Welch dropped on top of me.
Are you saying I don’t know the difference between the War of the bloody Spanish Succession and the Thirty bloody Years War?
Any clues, eh? Oh, we don’t half talk posh, don’t we? I suppose you say ‘ehnvelope’ and ‘larngerie’ and ‘sarndwiches on the settee’! Well this is a murder investigation, young man, and murder is a very serious business.
Bring out your dead!
Ooh, England makes you sick. Best I can manage here is life imprisonment. It’s hardly worth coming in in the morning. Now, South Africa? You’ve got your cat of nine tails, you’ve got four death sentences a week, you’ve got cheap drinks, slave labour and a booming stock market. I’m off, I tell you. Yes, I’m up to here with probation and bleeding psychiatric reports. That’s it, I’m off. That’s it. Right. Well I’m going to have one final fling before I leave, so I sentence you to be burnt at the stake.
Did you say ‘abattoir’?
Not guilcup.
Now I’ve got to get into the fish tank and sing. “And did those feet in ancient times walk upon England’s mountains green…”