Glenn Cullen: This is a bucket of shit. If someone throws shit at us, we throw shit back at them. We start a shit fight. We throw so much shit back at them that they can't pick up shit, they can't throw shit, they can't do shit.
Hugh Abbot: That's top swearing, Glenn, well done.


Hugh: A good resignation? Well, I'm looking forward to how you're gonna sell this to me!
Malcolm: Look, people really like it when you go just a bit early! You know; steely jawed, faraway look in your eyes! Before you get to the point when they're sitting round in the pub saying "Oh, that fucker's got to go!", you surprise them! "Blimey, he's gone! I didn't expect that! Resigned? You don't see that much anymore! Old school! Respect! I rather liked the guy! He was hounded out by the fucking press!" How about that, eh? What a way to go!

N-O-M-F-P. Not My Fucking Problem

Malcolm: Come the fuck in or fuck the fuck off.
Hugh: Well I'll come the fuck in then.

: I categorically did not knowingly not tell the truth. Even though unknowingly I might not have done.



 God, right, ok well, seen as you're not used to this, I'll go through it for you, ok? What happens at a press conference is this - a bunch of press people are gonna appear, they got things called cameras and microphones and mobile phones and hangovers and bad breath. Then you are gonna walk out and you're gonna read from what we call a "prepared statement". In that you will say "I'm really fucking sorry for sounding like a hairy arsed docker after twelve pints. I promise that I will never call an 8 year old girl a cunt again. Can we now just draw a line over this and fucking move on? Thank you". Everybody goes home and then we wait and we see what happens. The best case is you get keep your job, although you will forever be known as The Sweary Woman of Whitehall.

Glenn:The thing is, and please Ollie correct me here if I’m wrong.
Ollie:I will certainly do that.

Malcolm: That's the sort of thing the press will throw at you. I mean you step out of line they'll be all over you like a pigeon on a chip, you know? Is that your chair?
Nicola: Oh God yes, it's cool isn't it. It's got lumbar support.
Malcolm: Bin it. People don't like their politicians to be comfortable. They don't like you having expenses. They don't like you being paid. They'd rather you lived in a fucking cave.
Nicola: Ok, fine. So what should I be sitting on? Should I just get an upturned KFC bucket?
Malcolm: A fucking normal chair, right. Not a fucking massive vibrating throne.


: What's up with you? You look like you've shat a lego garage.


christ alive what a kunt


never easy fucking never easy


you fucking pissbag

FUCK'S SAKE! JESUS CHRIST! Well, now we've got another fuckin' adjective to add to fuckin' 'smug' and 'glum', haven't we? 'FUCKIN' RETARDED!' Jesus Chri-- Do you not think it would be germane to check who you're talking to? IT'S A FUCKIN' NEWSPAPER OFFICE! IT'S NOT A FUCKIN' SANATORIUM FOR THE FUCKIN' DEAF, IS IT? ARE YOU SO DENSE?! AM I GONNA HAVE TO RUN AROUND SLAPPING BADGES ON PEOPLE WITH A BIG TICK ON SOME AND A BIG CROSS ON OTHERS SO YOU KNOW WHEN TO SHUT YOUR GOB AND WHEN TO OPEN IT?! JESUS CHRIST! OH, BUT THAT'D PROBABLY CONFUSE YOU AS WELL, WON'T IT? THAT'D BE TOO CONFUSING, YOU'D SEE THE CROSS AND GO 'OH, FUCK, X MARKS THE SPOT! I'D BETTER TELL THIS LITTLE PERSON ABOUT THE PRIME MINISTER'S FUCKING CATASTROPHIC ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION!' Oh, but not to worry, not to worry. You've sent fuckin' Ollie over there to deal with it. FUCKIN' OLLIE! HE'S A FUCKIN', HE'S A FUCKIN, KNITTED SCARF, THAT TWAT! HE'S A FUCKIN' BALACLAVA!

Malcolm Tucker: This is a Lock-Down!
Nicola Murray MP: Oh come on, we're not in a prison drama are we?
Malcolm: We are in a prison drama. This is like The Shawshank Redemption, only with more tunneling through shit and no fucking redemption.


Nicola: For fuck's sake, Malcolm!
Malcolm: Shouldn't that be "Of fuck's sake"?
Nicola: What?
Malcolm: Can I just quote it to you? "The Prime Minister is the right man for the moment"
Nicola: Yeah, that's what you told me to say.
Malcolm: Of the moment! I said Of the moment! There is a huge difference between me saying "Nicola, I'd like to go for a walk with you" and "Nicola, I'm going to make a hat out of your entrails."

Malcolm Tucker: [responding to Terri's accusations of being wrong] How fucking dare you? Have you any idea of the amount of pressure that has been exerted on my skull, huh? It feels like my brain has been fucking emptied into little packets, into fucking crisp packets. Cheese and onion fucking crisp packets that contain my living, breathing fucking brain.
Terri Coverley: Malcolm, I'm really sorry. I...
Malcolm Tucker: And these crisp packets, cheese and onion, smoky bacon, have been stomped on. They've been fucking stomped on! Ben, fucking Nicola...

Unthink the unthinkable. You can't even cope with thinking the thinkable

 "You're supposed to be a civil servant, not a fucking playgroup assistant."
"She's an idiot. I know she's in the cabinet, but look, that's like being disabled at a football match, yeah? I mean, she's very close to the action but hardly likely to score a goal