MR.I:	Pint of lager.
B'MAN:	Yessir.
MR.I:	Fuckin' publicans, I know your game, knockin' off your rich bit of totty while your wife is upstairs doin' both sets of books while drinkin herself into an early grave.
B'MAN:	Pint of lager, £1.68 please
MR.I:	Fuckin' lager drinkers, drink ten pints of Stella, go to a footie match, shout fuckin' fascist abuse, act like hooligans and piss on the pitch, and pick on innocent frenchmen.
B'MAN:	Sir £1.68, please!
MR.I:	Firkin' French, want us to join bloody Europe, I’d fuckin give 'em a bloody good joinin', bloody smelly garlic frog leg eatin' cannibals.
B'MAN:	£1.68, your pint of lager
MR.I:	Lager, fuckin' lager
B'MAN:	But your drinkin' lager.
MR.I:	Bitter, fuckin' bitter drinkin' arseholes, go to rugby matches, communal baths, scrub each other down with hot soapy water, divin' between each others legs, I know their shitstabbing game.
B'MAN:	If you don't pay up now...
MR.I:	Fuckin' £1.68. Decimalisation, far better when we had the queens head on our money, at least you knew what country you were in.
B'MAN:	Thank you.
MR.I:	Fuckin' carpets, fuckin' carpet sellers, almost as bad as milkmen, knockin' on your door at all hours, just 'cause they want payin', and when your on your porch the sneaky buggers nipped round the back an' shagging your wife.
BLOKE 1:	Alright mate.
MR.I:	Fuckin' wives, spend all your money. Nag! Nag! Nag! Get pregnant, ruin your life, make you turn to drink, spend all your money...
BLOKE 2:	Allow
MR.I:	Fuckin' girlfriends, fall asleep on you during sex, tell all your mates you've got a small cock, always after new exciting positions. My big cock's ruined my life, can't do my zips up, can't find trousers to fit...men with big cocks all bastard, flaunting them around the men’s toilets, drivin' fast cars, all bastards.
BL.1:	Have a seat
MR.I:	People who drive too slow, bastards, you're going eighty miles an' hour outside a school, no traffic behind you and the cunts pull out an' slow down to twenty miles an hour. Bastards!!
BL 2:	How did your day go?
MR.I:	Dago, fuckin' adios! fuckin' dagos! fuckin' Spanish wop Italian bastards, eat all your paella then run away, fuckin cowardly Italian greasy fuckin' mafia bastards.
BL 1:	Er.. The skies gone a bit dark.
MR.I:	Dark! Dark!! fuckin' darkies, fuckin' fuzzy wuzzy, cotton pickin', hymn singing bastards. Black Christmas, didn't have a Welsh Christmas or a Scottish Christmas. fuckin' hill farming, sheep shagging, leek eating bastards!!
BL 2:	I wish you'd shut up!
MR.I:	IRISH! IRISH! Don't talk to me about the fuckin' potato eating, bomb blowin', semtex owning cunts.
BL. 1:	Will you just shut up!
MR.I:	MOTHER THERESA, MOTHER FUCKIN' THERESA! Old dried hairy arsed baboon. did a lot of good for me when i was growing up during the blitz in the eastend. Eastend of London, I’ll give them cheepy, chirpy, fuckin cockney bastards!!! I’ll give 'em apples and pears, frog an' toad. remember the war! war! war! fuckin' war!! fuckin' war!!! fuc.....
BL 1:	What happened?
BL 2:	It appears his brain has shut down.
BL 1:	What permanently
BL 2:	Perms fuckin perms! don't talk to me about fuckin' bi-sexual, camp, queer hairdressers...etc, etc,