(on the phone to Jamie) There is a glacier of shit at DoSAC! I need you over here, with a fucking blowtorch, right now!
Spinners and Losers
Nobody gives a shit if you got shafted by Malcolm.
I will never, ever forgive him for what he did to me.
Jesus, this isn't EastEnders! This is politics! We're all in the same plague pit, Cliff, there's no clean hands!
(Jamie's cell phone rings)
All right –
(answering the phone) Yeah?
Jamie! What's that sort of droning noise in the background, then?
Look, okay, here's a more positive approach, right, I'll try this. (reads from his speech)
It's a kind of boring, kind of low sort of droning, boring, kind of miserable whining, boring kind of, sort of boring noise going on?
Yeah, well, you've got it wrong, yeah?
Cliff fucking Lawton. Hey, nice. Was the Cillit Bang guy not available?
Fuck you. (hangs up)
... To put it simply, I'm back!
Oh fuck off, Cliff.
Sorry?
Fuck off! You're a busted flush! You're not gonna be Prime Minister, you're not gonna be anything, so fuck off.
This is your thing, isn't it? Everything has to be an absolute, everything has to be black and white! You know: 'I love you, fuck off!' There are lots of shades of grey, you know!
Oh, I know that, I'm looking at fifteen of them right now. See you later, no-mark.
You've got this bullshit Watford story covered, yeah?
Yeah.
You and I will have a little discussion later.
Yeah. I think Watford will get bumped by the fact that we're about to hand the nuclear codes to a guy who, every now and then, loses it so bad he needs satnav to find his own nipples.
What are you talking about?
Well, I just thought it was fair to let everyone know about the Tom rumours, you know. How the guy that's about to become Prime Minister chugs antidepressants like they're fucking Smints. How the Black Dog humps his leg and shits in his duvet every four months; I think that will bump the Watford walkout.
You've gone fucking psycho son, fucking psycho! (leaves) TWAT!
(answering his mobile) Hello.
Right, what's the plan?
Well, they don't have a plan.
Okay, well perhaps you should give them one.
Well, yes, fantastic, actually, Malc, because obviously I have a very suitable one tattooed on the underside of my scrotum, so why don't we use that –
Shut it, you're using up all the minutes on my 'talk till you get head cancer' tariff!
What do you think?
Hmm – To be honest, I was really hoping that was going to be shit, because I'm tired and I'd quite like to hit someone.
Are you in on this?
I'm not leaving it to you, eh? You couldn't organise a bum-rape in a barracks.
Au contraire.
What we're having here is a secret conversation, and I'm hoping that this time you can keep the fucking secret, because normally you're about as secure as a hymen in a South London comprehensive.
Yep, well done: that's offensive on a number of levels in a very concise way.
They've ditched Ballentine.
What? Already?
Yeah.
What the fuck is wrong with these people? I mean, what is this, potential leader speed dating? Right, who is standing?
I dunno.
Adam Kenyon (to another journalist working on a Ballentine story): Well, ditch that for a starter, get rid of her, I can't stand her fucking face.
You know, I think you should eat something.
Oh right, yeah! Eat something, that'd be right, wouldn't it? You know what, our coverage so far has either been wrong or guesswork, which was wrong. So all we have now is a story-shaped hole!
Seriously, your blood sugar's low.
Right.
Makes you very irritable.
No, what makes me very irritable, Angela, is having no fucking stories and having to fill an entire newspaper with just fucking prepositions!
And obviously if you do think about running with this pills story –
Yeah.
I will personally fucking eviscerate you, right?
Right.
And I mean, I don't have your education, I don't know what that means, but I will start by ripping your cock off and I'll busk it from there, okay?
Good, thank you, again.
Talk to you later.
Cheers. Bye bye now. (Hangs up. To Angela) He's a nice guy.
(to Terri and Robyn) Oh hey, Desperate Housewives, have you found out who's leaking yet?
I have. It's Julius! He's just told me –
Wait, no, what – That – Julius?
Yeah.
Nicholson? That baldy PUSSY? Well, I tell you, if he thinks he's leaking now, wait to see him when I'm finished with him: he'll look like fucking Mel Gibson's Jesus! FUCK! FUCK, FUCK! FUCK!
Why don't I get something in? A man cannot live on Jaffa Cakes alone, obviously. I've tried.
Malcolm (to Ben): I'm just gonna go make some nuisance calls, I'll see you in about half a – Stop fucking blinking! Or I will take your optic nerve and strangle you with it. OK. You look after him, Ollie, OK? He's a very important man. Cock like a caber.
What's the news, just –
What?
Just tell me what the fucking news is and I'll put it on the front page. It's not like we're The Independent, we can't just stick a headline saying 'Cruelty' and then stick a picture of a dolphin or a whale underneath it. I mean, that's just fucking cheating, that's rubbish.
Well, what I'm hearing is Ben Swain.
Ben Swain?
Yeah.
Right, I literally don't know who he is. I'm not being stupid or anything, but I physically don't know who Ben Swain is. He could be the leader of the Special Boat Squadron –
Service.
The Special Boat Service or whatever it's fucking called, and this could be a massive coup.
Ben Swain is what I'm hearing.
The good news, however, is that the – well, the Tom wobble, it's over.
And so the –
That's great, isn't it?
Yeah! Why is – So what, he's not wobbling, he's – What does that mean?
Well, it means that all the rats are now returning to a very buoyant ship and they're playing deck tennis, so that's lovely, isn't it?
What does that mean for me, then?
I guess that means that you're standing in the chamber of the House of Commons with your big flaccid dick hanging out with a 'vote for me' sticker on the end.
But you said I had a chance! About half an hour ago you said I was in with a shot!
Don't fucking gi– Look, half an hour ago you were in with a shot! This is half an hour hence! We've fucking time-travelled, yes? We're in a weird and wonderful world, where everything is different. Maybe outside, the polar ice caps have melted. Maybe there's fucking robots knocking about and Davina McCall's the new Pope. Maybe, you can download rice! I want you right now to think about your future, okay? Think about what you are doing, get yourself back on the train to fucking Tomsville pronto, yeah? (walking out) Half an hour ago.
What's that, cricket? That's the English equivalent of sport, isn't it? No actual physical contact, just glaring.
Nicholson! NICHOLSON! The immigration shit. It was you, wasn't it? You mimsy bastard Quisling leak fuck!
Sorry, what are you talking about?
Yeah yeah yeah, you will be sorry, you inflatable cock. You fucking sold us out, didn't you? DENY IT!
Well, James, I can't deny something until I have the actual charge presented to me –
(impersonating Julius) 'Oh oh oh, the actual charge.' (normal voice) You mean apart from the charge you're gonna get when I clamp jump leads to your baldy bollocks? Okay, okay, okay! You, Julius Nicholson, being of sound mind, but with a body that looks like a giant sex toy, did knowingly do us up the shithole, by passing confidential information to the enemy! And I am gonna have your guts as a skipping rope, and your lungs sun-dried and turned into a little fucking waistcoat!
James, technically it was not a leak, because firstly it's not confidential infor–
Eat that prawn. Eat that fucking prawn.
I'm not eating prawns, Malcolm, I'm on – I'm just telling you –
Eat that prawn. (throws a slice of pizza at Julius) Eat a bit of fucking pizza.
Don't be stupid. Malcolm –
Eat another prawn. (throws a prawn)
Stop it!
(throws more food) Have some fucking chow mein!
Malcolm –
Here, stuff it in his fucking head! Stuff it in his big baby head!
(to Ollie, who has just returned with some cheese) Get that fucking cheese over there!
EAT THE CHEESE!
I don't want the cheese, stop it!
Go on, have some!
(throwing food at Julius) EAT THE CHEESE! EAT THE FUC–
(being pelted by Malcolm and Ollie) This isn't funny, this is an expensive suit! James, just –
Fuck!
What the fuck are you doing, mate? (runs out of the door)
Hey hey hey, right!
EAT THE FUCKING CHEESE! (chasing after Julius) EAT THE CHEESE, NICHOLSON!
Fucking hell! Fuck! Jesus. I'm not a joke, okay? All right? Hello? I am a man! I am a man, you know? You know?! This... THIS...! THIS IS MY LIFE! I'M A HUMAN BEING, AND ALL THIS IS MY LIFE! And it's collapsing in front of me! You know, Tom's lot, they're never gonna want me, are they? And fucking Hugh, now he – Jesus Christ, this is all...! I AM A MAN! And –
I know, listen –
No you don't –
I do!
I'm irrelevant! No no, go away, I'm irrelevant, I'm irrelevant, I'm irrelevant.
Glenn, Glenn, Glenn –
FUCKING HUGH JUST WANTS TO SPEAK TO TINKY WINKY?! WELL, FUCK TINKY WINKY! FUCK YOU, TINKY WINKY! Auf Wiedersehen Pet, the party's over, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road! WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT HITLER?! WELL, HE HAD A MOUSTACHE AND HE LIVED OVER THERE! FUCK US ALL!
Malcolm (receives an alert on his phone): Oh, I've been summoned to the breakfast meeting, to talk to Tom about this morning: some details about Claire Ballentine, maybe; Geoff Holhurst; young Benjamin here.
Fuck you very much, you unscrupulous bastard.
Scruples? Scruples, what are they? Is that those low-fat Kettle Chips? OK people, wake up and smell the cock! Hey Ben, next time that you wanna stab Caesar, make sure you're not holding a fucking plastic spoon.
(The Mail are revealing that Ben Swain was racist to a cleaner)
I've been leaking for 27 years, I know how it's done, I leaked it!
You don't leak! Well not from the mouth, anyway.
You fucking shut up. At least this is Hugh's Glenn. All that you are, mate, is fucking Ben's Glenn.
(deleted scene)
Guardian Online, right?
Yes.
I notice they got Tom to do the questionnaire.
What, trying to make himself look more like a human being and less like a calculator with Aspergers? What does he say?
'When were you happiest?' 'At the birth of my son.'
Bollocks, he wasn't even at the birth of his son. Actually no, he was in an all-night sitting of the Communications Bill, fast asleep. And his sister-in-law woke him with a text.
'What was the last CD you bought?' 'The Scissor Sisters'. (Glenn laughs.) And do we believe him? 'Which living person do you most admire?'
Er, well that's tough. Nelson Mandela?
Correct! I think you just press F5 for that one, to be absolutely honest with you. 'How do you relax?' 'Cannabis and wanking'?
He hasn't.
No of course he hasn't, you idiot, 'Listening to opera'.
Oh, right.
While wanking.
(deleted scene)
Why tonight of all fucking nights, why tonight?
Oh well, that's easy: Tucker's Law. 'If some cunt can fuck something up, that cunt will pick the worst possible time to fucking fuck up because that cunt's a cunt.' I've got that embroidered on a tea towel at home.
Series 3, Episode 1
(It's Cabinet Reshuffle Day in the British Government, and Malcolm Tucker has got his finger on the trigger.)
Ed! Get Tom Rudd in. Now. We're offering him Northern Ireland, the lucky sod.
I think he's expecting to be offered Transport.
Well, tell him he's taking the bus to George Best airport, right?
(on his cell phone) He’s making Paul Remington a Cabinet Minister. Remtard Remington. I mean the guy is an epic fuck-up. He’s so dense that light bends around him.
Come on people, let’s get going here! I’ve got a to-do list that’s longer than a fucking Leonard Cohen song!
These quotes come from Wikiquote's The Thick Of It pages and are available under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License.