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Malcolm: Listen mate I'm really, I'm really sorry right. I'm gonna have to fucking go to fucking Ruislip and fucking snap the thumb and forefinger off of every single person I see who I think resembles the kind of wanker that would be walking around in this day and fucking age with a name like fucking Tim! Malcolm Tucker: Listen, you know what I've got at the back of my fucking filing cabinet?! And they are screaming: "You gave me this fucking disease! " And every corner that I turn, there's another threat, Terri: hacks! And they're slaughtering us, Terri, THEY ARE FUCKING SLAUGHTERING US, AND THEY WANT MY FACE FOR A FLANNEL! I used to be the fucking Pharaoh, Terri, I used to be the fucking Pharaoh! You take a carrot, you stick it up his fucking arse, followed by the stick, followed by an even bigger, rougher carrot. If you don't give me his fucking number, do you know what I'm gonna have to do? Cheese and onion fucking crisp packets, that contain my living, breathing, fucking brain! Don't you apologise, don't you fucking apologise, you don't need to apologise. And there are people there, they're fucking screaming at each other. (To Emma) And it is over, you self-serving, crypto-fascist, horse-loving, posh, weekend at daddy's, vacuous nothing! But I'll start by ripping your cock off and I'll busk it from there. Malcolm: Well half an hour ago you were in with a shot! Maybe, outside, the polar ice caps have melted, maybe there's fucking robots knocking about and Davina Mc Call's the new Pope! I want you, right now, to think about your future, okay? Get yourself back on the train to fucking Tomsville, yeah? "Malcolm: Tomorrow, from broadsheets to wank rags, I want pages one, two and three to be a profile of Tom looking like a fucking political colossus. And I am going to have your guts as a skipping rope!
Julius: You've done some pretty awful things to me in my time, but this takes the bloody biscuit. Because you don't get in this room without bending the rules. And to show people their knickers, to show people their skidmarks, and then complain to OK! The exchange of private information - that is what drives our economy. You're not even fucking Manchester's top Malcolm Tucker tribute band. Malcolm fucking left the building fucking years ago! Then you're gonna have to fucking swallow this whole fucking life and let it grow inside you like a parasite, getting bigger and bigger and bigger, until it fucking eats your insides alive and it stares out of your eyes and tells you what to do! What you're going to see is a masterclass in fucking dignity, son. Stewart: You know, I've spent ten years detoxifying this party.
Hear today's narrated book, listen to the letter, vocabulary, and sounds of the day, hear a weekly chapter book, and lots more!
So whether youre just starting to read or learning English as a second language, come in, put your feet up, and have fun!
I promise that I will never call an 8-year-old girl a cunt again. Maybe I should understand yobbos, or not even call them yobbos. You know, Tom's lot, they're never going to want me, are they? (makes boxing motions) Okay, Oliver, wipe away the pre-cum. Malcolm Tucker: Of course you wouldn't know that, 'cause the only people who know that right now are Mrs. If this gets into the press, I would know they came from you.
In that you will say "I'm really fucking sorry for sounding like a hairy-arsed docker after twelve pints. Malcolm: (walking in) I love it, I love it - it's the pre-match sparring for the big Super Gayweight Title Fight, eh?
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And you'll keep the party in opposition until Daniel Radcliffe is advertising walk-in baths in the fucking Peoples Friend. That's—that's why I'm here to say, I call you up—app, I... Which—Malcolm: The one about the fucking hairdresser, the space hairdresser and the cowboy. His father's a robot and he's fucking fucked his sister. Malcolm: (on the phone) Sam, hi, listen, can you do me a favour? Yeah, have them delivered to her home this evening with a card that says; "Sorry you had to go, but let's face it, you are a fucking waste of skin". Malcolm: (to Nicola) You are not a grandee, you are a fucking "blandee". Now, please, just fuck off back to your home, you headless frump, and prepare for your column in Grazia. Everybody in this room has bent the rules to get in here. We've come to the point where there are people, MILLIONS of people, who are quite happy to trade a kidney in order to go on television! Neither do I, but how dare you come and lay this at my door! Which is the result of a political class, which has given up on morality and simply pursues popularity at all costs. Glenn: You, Fergus, when you asked me to join you, all you had was your principles, but over the last two years, you've bent like a human fucking palm tree, swaying to the guff of these six-toed, born-to-rule pony-fuckers! Ollie: So the Leader of the Opposition is going to be filmed at a police station at the exact moment that his Head of Communications is being arrested? Okay, great, great, so that's a sack full of face-chewing rats, thank you very much. But you are not me, Ollie, and you never will be me. Tucker, son, and you are no Malcolm Fucking Tucker. I give you eighteen months before you're a washed out, weeping alcoholic. This job has taken me in every hole in my fucking body! You can't know Malcolm, because Malcolm is not here! I'm gonna leave the stage with my head held fucking high, right? "No friends, no real friends, no children, no glory, no memoirs..." Well, fuck them.