[On mobile phone] Okay, okay, go ahead and print "unforeseeable." See when I tell your wife about you and Angela Heaney at the Blackpool conference, what would be best? An email, a phone call, what? Hey! I could write it on a cake with those little silver balls: "Your hack husband betrayed you on October the 4th and congratulations on the new baby." Yeah, maybe it's better to spike it. Yeah, okay, fuckity-bye!
[On mobile phone] I'm not holding any longer; what's he waiting for, a fucking sex change? NO, YOU RELAX! Get me fucking Brian! If you don't get me fucking Brian, I'm gonna come over there, I'm gonna lock you in a fucking flotation tank and pump it full of sewage until you fucking drown!
[To Simon Foster] In the words of the late great Nat King fucking Cole, unforeseeable, that's what you are.
We've got enough Pentagon goons to stage a fucking coup d'etat.
"Climb the mountain of conflict"? You know what you sounded like? You sounded like a fucking Nazi Julie Andrews!
Christ on a bendy-bus, Simon, don't be such a fucking faff-arse.
You sure you're working as hard as me? 'Cause I'm sweating spinal fluid here! I'm a fucking husk!
[to Simon Foster] You know, if I could, I'd fucking punch you into paralysis!
[to Sir Jonathan Tutt] Mr Ambassador, with your big baldy head, you are spoiling us!
[to Linton Barwick] You know, I've come across a lot of psychos, but none as fucking boring as you! I mean, you are a real boring fuck! Sorry, I know you disapprove of the swearing, so I'll sort that. You are a boring F-star-star-CUNT.
Chad: You couldn't write a paper that clashes more with the current climate if you were trying. And it seems like you almost were trying.
General Miller: This is the problem with civilians wanting to go to war. Once you've been there, once you've seen it, you never want to go again unless you absolutely fucking have to. [pause] It's like France.
Simon Foster: Have you come to insult me in a different timezone?
Malcolm Tucker: Karen Clark will want you to say that war is unforeseeable, and Linton Barwick will want you to talk about the "climb the mountain of conflict" line. You say nothing, okay? You stay detached, otherwise that's what I'll do to your retinas.
Simon Foster: Right, can I go to bed now, please?
Malcolm Tucker: No, no, no, no, no! You're gonna stay here, and you're gonna rehearse saying nothing!
Simon Foster: Am I being tortured?
Simon Foster: I don't want to have to read you the riot act here. But I am going to have to read you some extracts from the riot act. Like "Section 1, Paragraph 1: Don't leave your boss twisting in the wind, then burst in late, smelling like a pissed seaside donkey."
Toby Wright: Okay, okay, Simon, I was late for the meeting. I am sorry. But it's not like I threw up in there, is it?
Simon Foster: No, no, you're right. I'm being unfair. I should be thanking you for not throwing up. Well done! You're a star! And you didn't wet yourself, did you? You're in the right city. You didn't say anything overtly racist. You didn't pull your dick out, start plucking it and shouting "Willy Banjo!" No, I'm being really unfair. You'd got so much right... without actually being there for the beginning of one of the most important moments in my career. Thanks! You're a legend!
Malcolm Tucker: I'm sorry... I don't... This situation here... Is this it? No offense, son, but you look like you should still be at school with your head down a fucking toilet.
A.J. Brown: Your first point there, the offense? I'm afraid I'm gonna have to take it. The second point, I'm twenty-two, but it's my birthday in nine days. If it'd make you feel more comfortable, we could wait.
Malcolm Tucker: Don't get sarcastic with me, son. We burnt this tight-arsed city to the ground in 1814, and I'm all for doing it again. Starting with you, you frat fuck. You get sarcastic with me again, and I will stuff so much cotton wool down your fucking throat it'll come out your arse like the wee tail on a Playboy Bunny! I thought, I was led to believe I was attending the War Committee!
A.J. Brown: Yes, Assistant Secretary of State Linton Barwick asked me to brief you on the work of the Future Planning Committee.
Malcolm Tucker: I'm away. [as A.J.'s assistant walks in with coffee] Oh, and here we are. The fucking Vice President has also graced us with his presence. Give him a bottle of milk!
Malcolm Tucker: [On mobile to Judy] Where's the War Committee? I thought I was going to the War Committee.
Judy Molloy: Simon's going to the War Committee, I thought you were doing your one-to-one.
Malcolm Tucker: Just tell me where the fuck it's happening.
Judy Molloy: The State Department, seventh floor. Malcolm, do you like how I'm telling you what's going on where you are?
Malcolm Tucker: Let me tell you what's going on where you are, sweetheart. A certain vinegar-faced manipulative cow-bag is about to discover she's out of a fucking [Judy hangs up] job. Fucking hang up, haven't you, you fucking hoity-toity fucking—
Passer-by: Hey buddy, enough with the curse words, all right?
Malcolm Tucker: Kiss my sweaty balls, you fat fuck!
Simon Foster: I've got this covered. Go and find the next thing, talk to that Chad boy. The boy from The Shining. He knows things.
Toby Wright: Don't make me pump Chad!
Simon Foster: I am making you pump Chad. Go on, it'll be easy-peasy-lemon-squeazy.
Toby Wright: No it won't, it'll be difficult-difficult-lemon-difficult, that's what it'll be.
Malcolm Tucker: (to Barwick) Linton! Linton!
Linton Barwick: (turns around) Mr. Tucker, isn't it? Nice to see you again. (handshake)
Malcolm Tucker: Are you fucking me about?
Linton Barwick: (chuckles) Is there a problem, Mr. Tucker?
Malcolm Tucker: I've just come from a briefing with a nine year old child.
Linton Barwick: Oh, you're talking about A.J. He's one of our top guys. He's one of our brightest and best.
Malcolm Tucker: Yeah, well his briefing notes were written in Alphabetti Spaghetti. When I left I nearly tripped over his fucking umbilical cord.
Linton Barwick: Well I'm sorry that it troubles you that our people achieve excellence at such an early age. But can we just move on to what's really important? Now I understand that your Prime Minister has asked you to supply us with some, let's say "fresh", British Intelligence, is that true?
Malcolm Tucker: Yeah, apparently your fucking master race of highly-gifted toddlers can't get the job done...
Linton Barwick: All right.
Malcolm Tucker: ...between breast feeds and playing with their Power Rangers, so an actual grown-up has been asked to fucking bail you out.
Malcolm Tucker: You're being portrayed as the biggest twat in Northamptonshire, and that's going, son! I've got bigger fish to fry, believe me. I'm giving this to someone else. [shouts outside his office] Jamie!
Simon Foster: Ah, the crossest man in Scotland.
Jamie MacDonald: [enters the office] Well, if it isn't Humpty Numpty!
Simon Foster: What is this? Surround bollocking?
Jamie MacDonald: Hey, with all due respect I wasn't finished. If it isn't Humpty Numpty, sitting on top of a collapsing wall like some clueless... egg cunt. Now I'm finished.
Simon Foster: Hi, Jamie! This is Toby!
Toby Wright: Hi, I'm Simon's aide.
Jamie MacDonald: Toby, very nice to meet you, please, sit down. Right, that's enough all the fucking Oxbridge pleasantries!
Toby Wright: What's Oxbridge about saying hello?
Jamie MacDonald: SHUT IT, Love Actually! Do you want me to hole-punch your face?!
Malcolm Tucker: Right, I'm off to deal with the fate of the planet. Be gentle with them!
Jamie MacDonald: You know me, Malc, kid gloves, but made from real kids.
Malcolm Tucker: Haha. [leaves.]
Jamie MacDonald: Right. Butch and Gaydance, this wall story is playing badly, there's a cartoon in here of you as a walrus!
Simon Foster: A walrus? I'm not fat, I don't even have a moustache. Fuck, they've given me tusks!
Jamie MacDonald: Wall-rus? Do you get it? Wall-rus. Wall-rus.
Toby Wright: Look, we called some builders, they didn't turn up when they said they would—
Jamie MacDonald: What did you expect?! THEY'RE BUILDERS! Have you ever seen a film where the hero is a builder? No! BECAUSE THEY NEVER FUCKING TURN UP IN THE NICK OF TIME!Bat-builder?! Spider-builder?! Huh?! That's why you never see a superhero with a hod!
Malcolm Tucker: General Flintstone? Was it you? Did you leak PWIP-PIP? I mean, I know you can't fire a gun, but can you use a fax?
General Miller: No, I didn't leak PWIP-PIP, I do everything up-front. I'm not like some creepy little gay mercenary who sneaks around doing other people's dirty work.
Malcolm Tucker: I'm doing my own dirty work. I'm doing my job.
General Miller: No, I think you are doing Linton's dirty work. You're his little English bitch and you don't even know it. I bet if I went to your hotel room tonight, I'd see you down on all fours, with little fish-nets on with him hanging out the back of you.
Malcolm Tucker: Oh, that's nice! That's really tough talk coming from the fucking armchair general! Why don't you put your feet up on the pouffe and go back to sleep, why don't you?
General Miller: Look, Tucker, you might be some scary little poodle-fucker back there in London, but out here you're nothing. You know what you look like? A squeezed dick. You've got a big blue vein running up the side of your head. See, that's where I'd put the bullet. Only I'd have to stand back, 'cause you look like you'd be a squirter.
Malcolm Tucker: Have you ever actually killed anybody, I mean really?
General Miller: Yeah.
Malcolm Tucker: What, falling asleep on someone? I mean, that doesn't count!
General Miller: [laughs] That's good! That's very good! How about you, pussy drip? Ever killed anybody?
Malcolm Tucker: Maiming is what I prefer. Psychologically.
General Miller: Well, why don't you try and maim me? I'll knock you so hard in the face you'll be shitting teeth.
Malcolm Tucker: Go ahead. I can see the headlines: "Peace-loving General Starts Fight at the UN, Swiss Intervene." I don't know, I'm no expert on spin, but that could hurt your career.
General Miller: Yeah?
Malcolm Tucker: Yeah. Now do excuse me, I've got work to do. [pause] Don't ever call me fucking English again.
[Malcolm walks off, leaving General Miller confused.]
Michael Rodgers: Suzy, well done. This is absolutely superb.
Jamie McDonald: [entering the room] Oi, horse of the year, was it you?
Suzy: Was what me?
Jamie McDonald: ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION! WAS IT YOU?!
Suzy: Was what me, Jamie? I—I—I have no idea what you're talking about.
Michael Rodgers: She can't answer the question, can she? Unless she knows what it is.
Jamie McDonald: You leaked Liza Wells' paper to the BBC, right? Now, tell me you leaked it.
Suzy: I—I didn't leak it.
Jamie McDonald: I know the leak came from in here. From this fucking fax machine right here.
Suzy: No, there's no— there's no way!
Jamie McDonald: [sliding the fax off the table] Do you see what I'm doing to this machine?
Suzy: Jamie, don't— [fax falls off the table] Jesus Christ! Fuck! Jamie! What the fuck?!
Jamie McDonald: [kicking the fax] Do you see how angry I am with the piece of office equipment that leaked this document?! Huh?!
Jamie McDonald: [kicking the fax] Can you even imagine how angry I am with the person who leaked it?! Can you?! Can you, huh?! Can you, Suzy?!
Michael Rodgers: Jamie, it was me.
Jamie McDonald: Oh, don't get all fucking Spartacus on us now!
Michael Rodgers: I leaked it.
Suzy: Michael, what are you doing?
Jamie McDonald: [about opera music playing in another room] Hang on, hang on, FOR A START, TURN THAT FUCKING RACKET OFF!
Suzy: Turn it off?
Jamie McDonald: IT'S JUST VOWELS! Subsidised, foreign fucking vowels! [turning the music off] The only reason you listen to this shit is because it's bad form to actually wear a hat that says "I went to private school!" So tell me now, right?! Who did you leak it to?
Michael Rodgers: I just sent it. I read it, I thought it was important—
Jamie McDonald: Good! Good! Fine! Fine! See that fax? Yeah? THAT is your career, and I think it might be fucked. But let's just check. [kicks the fax] Yeah, yeah, it's pretty fucked. Now, I hope you can play the spoons. Because, I mean, you're too old to go back to being a gentleman's fluffer, aren't you?!
General Miller: He's gay? 'Cause I've been saying that Gore Vidal line.
Karen Clark: He is gay.
General Miller: Guess I'd better stop saying that then.
Simon Foster: After the vote... I resign.
Malcolm Tucker: OH, FUCK OFF! RESIGNING?! HOW FUCKING IMPRESSIVE! RESIGN! THE HORSE HAS BOLTED, IT'S OUT THERE NOW! IT'S GETTING FUCKING SHOT!
Simon Foster: See you later, Malcolm.
Malcolm Tucker: I know it was you who leaked Linton's war committee.
Toby Wright: Oh, right... it wasn't?
Malcolm Tucker: "It wasn't?" That's what you're going to say when they come and slip a hood over your head and fly you off to Diego Garcia and carry out a cavity search?
Toby Wright: I don't actually recall. It was a very busy time.
Malcolm Tucker: That's better. Okay, I am putting you on a probationary period from today until the end of recorded time.
Toby Wright: All right.
Malcolm Tucker: Do you understand?
Toby Wright: Yes—
Malcolm Tucker: You're my guy now, right? I own you, you are my Kunta Kinte— go and get your fucking laptop!
[The UN pass the resolution]
Simon Foster: Yep. That's that then.
Toby Wright: Jolly good. "That's that then" is your line for the ages, is it?
Simon Foster: What?
Toby Wright: Well... "I remember the day that war was declared. I turned to the minister and he said 'That's that then. Anyone want a mint?'"
Simon Foster: Piss off, Toby.
[A newspaper is reporting the collapse of Simon's constituency's wall]
Simon Foster: God, how ridiculous! And that's news, is it?
Malcolm Tucker: It's not ridiculous. It's not ridiculous at all. [beat] You're fired.
Simon Foster: What?
Malcolm Tucker: Over the wall. [Points at the paper] I mean, that's just not tolerable.
Simon Foster: It's a fucking wall, Malcolm.
Malcolm Tucker: Look, The Telegraph has a cartoon of you teetering on the Great Wall of China. Suggesting that you're the only political fuck-up visible from space. Look at this! No-one could survive this! The PM's very clear about this; you're sacked. Over the wall.
Simon Foster: No!
Malcolm Tucker: Yes!
Simon Foster: You haven't--you haven't even spoken to the Prime Minister!
Malcolm Tucker: I--I--I have.
Simon Foster: You fucking haven't! I've been standing here right in front of you!
Malcolm Tucker: I have spoken to the Prime Minister. Whether it has happened or not is irrelevant, it is true! And he was very clear; you've got to go.
Simon Foster: [Laughs nervously] If you think I'm going quietly, Malcolm, you've made a mistake.
Malcolm Tucker: Well, if you want to try and turn this into some anti-war protest, expect to hear your "Mountain of Conflict" soundbite everywhere: from ringtones to fucking a dance mix on YouTube. And I will marshal all the media forces of darkness to hound you to an assisted suicide. [Simon stands, stunned and terrified] Right-oh, let's just go and draft your "Dear Prime Minister, just a quick note to say thanks for giving me the sack" letter.