Incident Reports

We can backspin it, Peter. It's good.

Ah, Peter. This is all pretty white-knuckle stuff, eh?

Assuming you can squeeze past the port and stilton? Shut the fuck up, you prancing shit.

Good. Could you fuck that to one side for the moment and concentrate on this? Thank you.

Slip into neutral for a moment here, Peter.

Oh, Christ, there's that fucking chop!

at the time or shits for saying so now.

But we've been here for three years and we've done fuck all.

We haven't done fuck all.

three iPads and their boss is a fucking dead guy!

And no smiling. Not even a wee fucking Anne Robinson, right?

Fuck! What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?

Oh, fuck, I don't know how to play this. Um...

No, there were other reasons. Fuck! Come on, let's go.

You are not a grandee, you're a fucking blandee.

No-one knew what the fuck you stood for. Political fucking mist.

By the way, women fucking hate you.

Because that will fuck the government, and it will fuck you.

So now, please, just fuck off back to your home, you headless frump,

fucking done it now, Malcolm.

Your piss will never fucking make it into my tent, because by some

unforeseen Nicola Murray-shaped fiasco, like every fucking Nicola

you'll end up blowing your own fucking stream

into your own fucking face. There's your golden handshake.

an apostrophe in 'it's'. Illiterate fuckers.

Fucking Dan! He's just a... He's basically just a bent dummy

with Malcolm's hand shoved up his arse. Fucking..!

No, I don't want fucking noodles!

I just... I just want a fucking break.

Fucking box.

Oh, yeah. This is your 'Get Out of Jail Free' card strapped to a fucking jet-pack.

Yeah, fucking perfect. He'll love it. Olly, look, I'm feeling very exposed here.

and the fucking pigeons are circling.

Still a fucking vegetable to you though, eh?

Fuck it. Why not? I'll do it.

You are a brilliant bullshitter.