Mr. I. Abelman, Mongoloid, Esq.: We have received via post your absurd comments about our trousers, the comments revealing, as they did, your total lack of contact with reality.
You blithering idiot!... You festering gumboil! You fleabitten fungus!
All morons hate it when you call them a moron.
You are the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.
The man is useless as nipples on a breastplate.
If you're looking for sympathy, you'll find it between (the s-word) and syphilis in the dictionary.
My dear, I don't give a damn.
How art thou, thy globby bottle of cheap, stinking chip-oil? Come and get one in the yarbles, if you have any yarbles, you eunuch jelly thou.
Sucks to your ass-mar!
What you're hired for is to help us — does that seem clear to you? To help us. Not to (eff) us up... to help men who are going out there to try to earn a living. You fairy. You company man.
If you had two bits in the worl', why you'd be gettin' two shots of corn with it and sucking the bottom of the glass. I know you guys.
Cecil Jacobs is a big wet he-en!
I do not like that Sam-I-Am!
Ah, no, young man, that is not enough! You might have said a thousand things... varying the tone... For instance... Aggressive: Sir, if I had a nose like that, I would amputate it!
A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-liver'd, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, superservicable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave...
She's not leaving me. Certainly not for a common swindler who'd have to steal the ring he put on her finger.
Barry, you're over thirty years old. You owe it to your mum and dad not to sing in a group called Sonic Death Monkey.
You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of the grave about you, whatever you are!
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make, It gives a chap the belly-ache.
...the others consisted of Ernest Harrowden, one of those middle-aged mediocrities so common in London clubs who have no enemies, but are thoroughly disliked by their friends...