It’s just gotten silly.
Cop: Morning, Super!
Superintendent: Morning, Wonderful!
I’m a goner, major. Leave me, I’m … I’m not a complete man anymore.
Well, Mr. Anemone’s on the phone at the moment, but I’m sure he won’t mind if you go on in. Through here.
Walk away. Just ignore them.
I’ll do what I like, because I’m six foot five and I eat punks like you for breakfast.
Release the tiger!
Looks like a penguin.
'Course, Mrs. Essence flushed hers down the loo.
Well it’s only because you don’t brush my teeth.
Ooh! You rotten stinker, Tidwell!
This is your captain speaking… do not rush for the lifeboats … women, children, Red Indians, spacemen, and a sort of idealized version of complete Renaissance Men first!
Walk-out, eh?
Bumpkin Yeah. It started with the ‘Déjeuner Sur L’Herbe’ lot, evidently they were moved away from above the radiator or something. Anyway, the Impressionists are all out. Gainsborough’s Blue Boy’s brought out the eighteenth-century English portraits, the Flemish School’s solid, and the German woodcuts are at a meeting now.
I’m going upstairs, I can’t bear it.
Well, I can’t help noticing that, for someone who claims to say things in a very roundabout way, your last two answers have very little of the discursive quality about them.
Don’t you swear at my wife!
Dierdre.
Now, many of the medical profession are skeptical about my work. They point to my record of treatment of athlete’s foot sufferers - eighty-four dead, sixty-five severely wounded and twelve missing believed cured.
Well, can you hang around a couple of minutes? He won’t be long.
You haven’t given us time to hide!