ASSAULTING

I'm scaring you? I'm so sorry I'm fucking scaring you. I mustn't scare you, must I? I won't scare you, okay? I'll just explain what I'm going to fucking do to you. I'm going to take your bollocks, I'm going to fucking rip them off, I'm going to fucking paint eyeballs on them and I'm going to stitch them onto a fucking sock and use that as a mouthpiece.

I said one at a fucking time. Stand up. I'm telling you to fucking stand up, you sack of fucking come. Stand the fuck up! Fucking move, right! See that? Fucking play with that, right? Never mind your fucking toys. Play with that. Go and stand in that fucking corner. Stand over there, right? And do not move or I will perform a fucking living fucking autopsy on you with a fucking rusty spade and I'll have your kidneys for fucking cufflinks.

Linton, come here. - The intel your guys couldn't find. Yeah? l think that l am owed a massive, grovelling apology. A pleasure doing business with you. You know, l've come across a lot of psychos... but none as fucking boring as you. l mean, you are a real, boring fuck. - Sorry. I know you disapprove swearing. So, I'll sort that out. You are a boring F star-star cunt.

Listen, Mary Queen of fucking Shits. In the old days we would have just slit you up the middle like a fucking Cornish pasty. Hang your steaming entrails all around the Tower of fucking London. Catch you later, you fucking traitor.

This lift is - I mean it’s fucking huge! I mean this is bigger than some rooms; this is bigger than some people's flats. Oh, well that's great. That's fucking great. That's another fucking thing right there. Not only you've got a fucking bent husband and a fucking daughter that gets taken to school on a fucking sedan chair. you're also fucking mental! Jesus Christ, see you you are a fucking omni-shambles that's what you are. You're like that coffee machine, you know, from bean to cup, you fuck up.

Where's the war committee? l thought l was going the war committee. Just tell me where the fuck is it happening? Let me tell you what's going on where you are, sweetheart. A certain vinegar-faced, manipulative cowbag is about to discover that she's out of a fucking...job. Fucking hung up, haven't you? You fucking hoity-toity fucking. . . Kiss my sweaty balls, you fat fuck.

You are not a grandee, you're a fucking blandee. No-one knew what the fuck you stood for. Political fucking mist. No substance, no weight. You've got all the charm of a rotting teddy bear by a graveside. By the way, women fucking hate you. I can show you the polling. They think you come across like a jittery mother at a wedding. The best thing you ever did in your flat-lining non-leadership was call for an inquiry. Because that will fuck the government, and it will fuck you.