The Thick of It

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The Thick of It is a British sitcom, satirising the inner workings of modern government, that finished its fourth (and final) series in October 2012. It stars Peter Capaldi as spin doctor Malcolm Tucker. See also In The Loop, a spin-off feature film.

Series 1, Episode 1[edit]

Malcolm Tucker: He's as useless as a marzipan dildo.

Malcolm Tucker: I've booked you in for the usual soapy tit wank farewell at No. 10.

Cliff Lawton: You've told the Lobby that I'm going?
Malcolm Tucker: Yeah. Sorry, Cliff.
Cliff Lawton: Minister.
Malcolm Tucker: Yeah, get used to 'Cliff'.

Malcolm Tucker: What did the Prime Minister actually say to you?
Hugh: He actually said this is exactly the sort of thing we should be doing.
Malcolm: SHOULD be doing. "Should" does not mean "yes".

Malcolm Tucker: You don't seem to understand that I'm going to have to have to mop up a fucking hurricane of piss from all these neurotics.

Hugh: I'm not quite sure what level of reality I'm supposed to be operating on.

Hugh: I want a new driver. Get me a new driver. I don't wanna see this guy ever again.
Glenn Cullen: On what grounds?
Hugh: Smiling! Inappropriate smiling! And smirking! Smiling and smirking! I don't wanna see that smile or smirk ever again, ok?

[Ollie and Angela are arguing. Tucker comes in]
Malcolm: Hi, Angela! Oh, like the hair, nice little corkscrews. How's it going?
Ollie: Fine. We were just talking about why Angela shouldn't do a big story on the big insidery piece, kinda day of spin, sort of spread in the paper...
Malcolm: Oh, I don't know. Maybe you should! Good idea!
[Malcolm leaves. Then comes back]
Malcolm: Oh, wait a minute! I know why she shouldn't! Because , you know, if she did that, she'd be dead. To me, to this department, to the government. And she'll never get another story, or even a fucking whiff of a story as long as she kept her sorry, hack bitch face lingering around Westminster, because I would call every editor I know - which, obviously, that's all of them - and I'd tell them to gouge her name out of their address books so she'd never even get a job on hospital radio where the sad sack belongs. That's what I'd tell her. But maybe you should tell her.

Series 1, Episode 2[edit]

Hugh: I work, I eat, I shower. That's it. Occasionally... I take a dump, just as a sort of treat. I mean, that really is my treat. That's what it's come to. I sit there and I think, "No, I'm not going to read The New Statesman. This time is just for me. This is quality time just for me." Is that normal?
Glenn: It's sad.

Malcolm: [on phone to Simon Hewitt] Fuck off back to your match reports, ya twat!

Hugh: He's calling me the political equivalent of the house wine at a suburban Indian restaurant.

Terri: We don't exchange insults with bloody Simon arsepipes titty-twat.
Ollie: Is that honestly the best swearing that you can come up with?
Glenn: 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: That's top swearing, Glenn, well done.
Ollie: Watch and learn.

Malcolm: Ok, this is what we're doing. I'm putting it about through a number of cronies that Hewitt's piece was a packet of bollocks; he did it as a favor to Cliff.
Ollie: Cliff being...
Glenn: Cliff Lawton.
Malcolm: Hugh's predecessor. He and Hewitt are as tight as arse cheeks.
Hugh: Are they now?
Malcolm: Fuck knows, but that's what we're saying. It's personal, it's backslapping, it's borderline homoerotic, and you are an innocent victim of a nasty media stitch-up.

Glenn Cullen: It is, as my dear old mother would have said, double wank and shit chips.

Malcolm: It's damage control, ok. We put out the story the way we want it before Hewitt fucks us up the bugle.

Hugh: How fucked am I?
Ollie: Well, you look awful, you look terrible. I mean, you often look quite bad, but...
Hugh: In terms of negative publicity. On the fuckometer, where am I?
Glenn: Oh, 12.
Ollie: Yeah. 12, say.
Hugh: Out of what?
Glenn: Er... 50.
Ollie: Oh. Mine was out of ten.
Hugh: Right, so I'm 24% fucked according to you [Points at Glenn], but according to you [Points at Ollie] I'm 120% fucked?

Glenn: My gut still says no.
Malcolm: Yeah, well, substantial as they are, they've been outvoted.

Hugh: She's an actress.
Glenn: What do you mean?
Hugh: Well, I mean... No, there's no clearer way of saying it — she's an actress.

Malcolm Tucker: I'm good but I can't hold back the tide!

Series 1, Episode 3[edit]

Hugh: [Dictating a press release to Terri] "Following a successful report stage debate, Secretary of State for Social Affairs, Hugh Abbot, today announced, 'I'm the fucking daddy!'."

Dan Miller: If you're going to make an omelette, you're going to have to have some frank and honest discussion with the eggs.

Malcolm: [On the phone, about Abbot] Hi Tom, what can I do for you? ...Well, I didn't know what he was doing with his flat... No, I told him that fucking flat wou- ...But they're not running with this... No, well, I know, he- He's got an interview now with that Angela Heaney, you know, that twat bubble from the Standard... fuck, she's just gone to the Mail.

Malcolm: [To Ollie, talking about Angela Heaney] I'll just have to kill the both of you then, won't I?! That's a joke, by the way, not a very nice one, a nasty one, which masks a lot of very negative feelings about this fucking department.

[barely audible from our point of view, outside the glass office room]
Malcolm: They're running about your fucking flat. I fucking told you about that. Why the fuck didn't you talk to me about it YOU STUPID CUNT! How am I supposed to do my job if I don't know WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?! [Terri opens the door, making Malcolm's torrent of abuse audible] YOU'RE A FUCKING PRICK! AN ABSOLUTE CUNT, you understand that?!

Hugh: They should just clone ministers, you know, so we're born at 55 with no past, and no flats, and no genitals.

Hugh: [Sarcastically] What d'you want me to do? Resign?! [Sees the look on Malcolm's face] No! No. No, that is--I'm not doing that!
Malcolm: The way out for you is to--
Hugh: This is madness Malcolm. This desire for perfection, but I'm not perfect, I'm just a person right. I need to sleep, I need to eat, occasionally I need to take a dump. So, I mean, what's next? Do we put that on the evening news? On--on the front page? "Minister is disgusting defecation outburst". Molly Sugden at Number Ten: "Did you enjoy your shit, Mr Abbott?" They should just clone ministers, you know, so that we're born at 55 with no past, no flats and no genitals. Just a world of robots in a sort of--it's like a futuristic film. And you'd enjoy that wouldn't you? You'd be in your little space station surrounded by obedient androids, like that fucking brushed-aluminium Dan Miller cyberprick!
Malcolm: It is possible to have a good resignation, you know?!
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!

Ollie: I'm just the counter man in McDonald's. You're the clown running the shop. You're the one that they want to see strung up from a lamppost by his fucking wig.
Glenn: What does that make me?
Ollie: Ronald McDonald.
Glenn: Well, fuck off!

Malcolm: [To Ollie] Feet off the furniture, you Oxbridge twat. You're not in a punt now.

Hugh: I've missed my ideal resigning point. With every day I delay, it's another year before I can get back again. If I had resigned the day I was appointed, I'd actually be prime minister by now.

Series 2, Episode 1[edit]

Hugh: How long since you've had sex?
Glenn: That is between me and my internet service provider.

Hugh: That was quite funny.
Glenn: I didn't think it was funny.
Hugh: I'm an elected representative of the people. It was funny.

Hugh: Robyn, all events are regional. Everything that happens in the world has to happen somewhere. Do you see? Even JFK's assassination was a regional event. But it was also very important. Like this factory visit.

Jamie: Have you seen the Whip's numbers?
Malcolm: NOMFuP.
Jamie: What?
Malcolm: NOMFuP. N-O-M-F-P. Not My Fucking Problem. I quite like that. Did you like that? I'll use that quite a lot today.

Malcolm:Y'know what's worrying me? Is this dodgy?
Jamie: I dunno, the kid's firm was the second lowest bid. He says they never talked, what does it matter?
Malcolm: Well, you know me, I'm a man of principle. I like to know whether I'm lying to save the skin of a tosser or a moron.
Jamie: Probably a moron.

[Frankie has left a bag of crisps from the bin on Ollie's desk]
Ollie: Oh nice, very nice!
Ollie: When I met you this morning, I thought you were the nice Scot!

Malcolm: You're worse than dead meat. I don't know what you're laughing at. You're too toxic to even feed to the vultures.

Malcolm: How much fucking shit is there on the menu and WHAT FUCKING FLAVOUR IS IT?!
Ollie: [on phone to his girlfriend] Malcolm? No, I'm in a Scottish restaurant, someone's complaining that they've underfried his Mars bar-- Yeah, of course it's Malcolm!

Malcolm: There is a difference between allowing someone's natural tittishness to come through, and just exploiting it through camera work here! You're sticking one tit moment on top of another tit moment. That wouldn't happen in real life.

Malcolm: Stats, percentages, international comparisons - information! E-mail them FUCKING WADS of information! And tell them they'd better get their heads around it before they put pen to paper, or I'll be up their arses like a fucking Biafran ferret, right? COME ON, UNLEASH HELL!

Hugh: I know this is what they think people like me think, so I hate thinking it, but I just find myself thinking that they're from a different fucking species. You know, with their t-shirts and weird trousers and tabards. Why do they wear clothing with writing on it? And why are they so fat?

Malcolm: [On the phone to Ollie] Have you sorted it, Ollie?
Ollie: It's not quite sorted just yet, Malcolm. It's difficult...
Malcolm: Shall I send Jamie over? Would you like that? You and Jamie and a rubber truncheon, locked in that fucking newsroom together.
Ollie: No, no!
Malcolm: Then make me happy. Bring me sunshine.
Ollie: Fine, I'll make you happy, Malcolm. [hangs up] Dickwad. [his phone rings again; he answers it] Oliver Reeder.
Jamie: [on phone] All right, shitbag, you done yet?
Ollie: I'm just in the middle of it right now!
Ollie: [hangs up] Fuck's sake!

[deleted scene]
Jamie: Oh, don't worry about Malcolm, he's about only half as scary as he thinks he is. Well, here, you can have this desk - it's free.
Ollie: Okay...
Jamie: Don't worry, she won't be coming back. Hey, Joe! Joe, this guy is your replacement! [very serious tone] I'm not fucking joking, by the way.
[Jamie moves around to the other side of the desk]
Jamie: Ollie, this is Frankie. Frankie, this is Ollie.
[Ollie extends his hand to Frankie. Frankie ignores it]
Jamie: Frankie, I don't know what happened, I somehow - you know those numbers I asked you for? I never found them on my desk. Maybe somebody stole them. Or, maybe, you're fucking me around. And if you fuck me around again, I'll tell you something: [laughs slightly] I am going to rip your fucking head off, and shit right down into your neck, [grabs Frankie's head] and then I'm going to stick your FUCKING head back on AND SHIT ON THAT!

Series 2, Episode 2[edit]

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

Hugh: Just thought you'd want to know as soon as possible. Terri's father... there's no news.
Malcolm: Oh, so you've come to talk about the reshuffle?

Malcolm: Don't take it personally.
Hugh: You're telling me she doesn't like me as a person. How else am I supposed to take it?

[Discussing Julius Nicholson]
Hugh: Can't we just kill him, shoot him?
Ollie: What about we just fire him at a wall from a cannon. Just a wall two feet away.
Glenn: I know, we force feed him with a mixture of garlic and Dettol in Cup-a-Soup.
Hugh: What about the old red-hot poker up the arse? Edward II?
[Julius walks in]
Ollie: I'd like to nail him to a tree through the head and watch lice slowly crawl over his body, eating off the flesh in a slow and painful death, [having already noticed Julius] but that rather bitter anomaly aside, most of the responses to the Warwick report press cuttings were pretty positive.

Hugh: [telling a joke at his party] And Julius, Julius Nicholson, says, ”I'm sorry but I think you'll find you're sitting in my seat.”
[No one laughs]
Hugh: And this was to God, as I mentioned in the setup. Anyway, have a lovely time. [to Ollie, whispering] A fiver if you set off the sprinklers.

Hugh: You saw me in there. I was swinging like a colostomy bag.

Hugh: Since when, Glenn, does the Secretary of State for Social Affairs have to find out from the fucking press that every morning at 8:30 I'm being fisted up to the gallbladder by a bald man?

Series 2, Episode 3[edit]

Ollie: Who wants to go and watch bollockvision?
Hugh: "Bollockvision"?
Ollie: Mr. Malcolm Tucker, turning it all the way up to eleven, down in the lobby.

[The Department of Social Affairs has been renamed The Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship]
Glenn: So, Hugh, this new word, 'citizenship', did the PM tell you what it meant?
Hugh: Honestly, I think he was making up the reshuffle as he went along. I think we're lucky that 'citizenship' was the first thing that came to mind. Otherwise we could have been the Department for Social Affairs and Woodland Folk.

[Watching Malcolm shouting at another Minister]
Hugh: Oh, God. Poor Keith. Malcolm must fucking love this place. Four Ministers in one building. It's his dream. A one-stop bollock shop.
Glenn: Trouble is, we're gonna be getting some of that around now.
Hugh: I don't know which is worse; watching him slowly rumble towards you like prostate cancer or appearing suddenly out of nowhere like a severe stroke.

[Ollie, Terri and Robyn are viewing the new DoSAC building from their floor]
Ollie: Good place for a suicide isn't it? Long drop, appreciative audience.
Robyn: But what if you only broke your back? You'd be paralysed for life and you'd still be depressed about the thing that had been depressing you.
Terri: What are these hangy-down things?
Ollie: They're acoustic baffles. They stop it getting too echoey.
Robyn: So when you break your back, no-one can hear you scream?
Ollie: Well that is the sort of attention-to-detail you get in a PFI building.
[From the atrium, Malcolm's voice echoes throughout the building when he spots them]

[Ollie has made a joke about special needs kids]
Hugh: You just took a shit with your clothes on, Ollie.
Ollie: Why?
Hugh: Glenn's boy, Peter, he went to a special needs school.
Ollie: Oh.
Hugh: Yep.
Ollie: ...Glenn's had sex?
Hugh: God, you're such a prick, Ollie. There's more to life than drinks parties at the Foreign Office and having Nick Robinson's number on your fucking Blackberry.

Ollie: I had a girlfriend with special needs once, actually. [smiles smugly] Luckily, I was able to fulfill them.
Hugh: You're such a wanker, Ollie.

Hugh: Christ Malcolm, how do you appear out of nowhere in a building made entirely out of glass?
Malcolm: I'm a shape-shifter.

Hugh: It's going to be like sitting on a tea crate, having chicken shit sprayed all over me.

Miscellaneous Civil Servant: Can you stop swearing, please?
Malcolm: Oh, I'm really sorry, you won't hear anymore swearing from us, YOU MASSIVE GAY SHITE! FUCK OFF!

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

Hugh: I don't know what else can go wrong now. Unless the flexible energy system sets fire to my office and the puts it out by squirting liquefied human shit through the ceiling sprinklers.

Malcolm: Hey, I'm going to have a swear box installed on Monday.
Hugh: What?
Malcolm: Fucking joking, you twat! I'm on turbo.

Malcolm:: God, right, okay, well, seein' as you're not used to this, I'll go through it for you, okay? What happens at a press conference is this. A bunch of press people are gonna appear, they've 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 to keep your job, although you will forever be known as the Sweary Woman of Whitehall.

The Rise Of The Nutters[edit]

Ollie (referring to himself): Very powerful, very attractive sexually due to all this power-
Jamie: Ey, Poxbridge!
Malcolm: Hello!
Jamie: Hey, dickhead, Happy New Queer!
Malcolm: I'm really sorry, don’t be so offensive, I apologise for my friend’s behaviour. Did you have a nice Poofmas?

Ollie: Have you ever been to Australia?
Ben Swain: Nope, why would I want to go there? Full of people in khaki, squinting, it's just the world's largest collection of poisonous things.
Ollie: God yeah, if you want to hang around with poisonous snakes you might as well stay here!
[Nobody laughs]
Ollie: [Ironically] Throw a blanket on me, I'm on fire.

Jamie: [to Ben Swain, after his disastrous Newsnight interview] You don't deserve to live!

Stuart: Just wondering whether you're fully conversant with the new line. Whether you're really up to speed?
Peter: Well, I don't know, am I? Because I get people stopping me in the street and saying "Are you still for locking up yobbos?" and I say "Yeah, of course we are!" and then I think 'Are we?' because maybe I missed a memo from you. Maybe I should understand yobbos, or not even call them yobbos. Call them young men with issues around stabbing

Malcolm: Have you ever travelled like, a hundred miles per hour, head first, through a tunnel full of pig shit? Because that's what's gonna happen to you tonight with Paxman, unless! listen to us.
Jamie: He will eat you up, sick you out and grout his fucking wet room with you.

Jamie: [During Ben Swain's Newsnight interview] The cameramen are laughing.

Malcolm: Pull it. Puncture his life belt. Pull it, give him the signal. If he shits I'll give you 500 quid.

Phil: [commenting on Ben's interview] This is like watching a lion rape a sheep--in a bad way!

Peter Manion: [reading a comment on his blog] You've always got such a pained expression. Do you take it up the chutney?

[Ben Swain walks in after his disastrous Newsnight interview]
Malcolm: Oh, here he is! Dead man walking!
Jamie: [impersonating Ben Swain's voice] "I--I really wish you wouldn't keep saying that--errr--I--errr...!" [in normal voice] I mean what's your favourite band? blink-182?

[alternate/deleted scene]
[Ben Swain walks in]
Malcolm: Oh, hey, oh here he is! The walk of shame!
Jamie: You never told us you had epilepsy, of the eyes! Was that a sweat or were you crying?
Malcolm: Have I seen you on the telly?
Ben: Yeah, Blockbusters, 1991, I got a gold run.
Malcolm: I have to say, I have never seen anyone sweat so much in my entire life. And I've been in a sauna with Pavarotti! I mean I know politicians and hot air are supposed to go together, but I've never actually seen one vaporise!
Ben: Can I get you two fellows a drink?
Malcolm: I'll have some orange juice, yeah.
Ben: Jamie?
Jamie: Yeah, I'll have a pint of 'Fuck right off and die, you miserable fucking tosser'. Do they do that in here?
Malcolm: He's a wee bit disappointed.
Jamie: We'll get you on Newsround next time. You reflected badly on me, and I don't like that.
Ben: Oh, come on, Jamie. Look, why don't I get you a drink, and I'll--
Jamie: DO YOU WANT A FUCKING SPLINTER GLASS FACIAL?! I'm not pretending to hate you here, I actually fucking hate you! I'm not playing a fucking game! Fuck off!
[Jamie walks off]
Malcolm: He trained as a priest.
Ben: Really? That's fantastic. I'd confess everything to him.

[Ollie's girlfriend has stolen his policy idea]
Malcolm: Your fucking girlfriend. Jesus Christ...
Jamie: You should have dumped that mad bitch ages ago.
Ollie: I would've done, she is mad! She's a mental woman! But you two kept telling me to go out with her in case I found anything out!
Jamie: Oh, and what did you find out? That you've been leaking intelligence to them?! You're the fucking shittest James Bond ever! You're David fucking Niven!

Malcolm: The story isn't me, Glenn, okay? Nobody is interested in me and I would be pleased if you would remember that, okay?
Glenn: You sure you don't want Hugh and me to come back? We could give you some cover.
Malcolm: Hugh is not coming back. It would look like we're panicking and we're not panicking. But I need you back here fucking ASAP, to let them know that we're not panicking!
Glenn: So you want me to interrupt my holiday, in a panic, so Hugh doesn't have to interrupt his holiday and look like he's panicking?
Malcolm: You get back here! I wanna see you popping a bollock for me!
[Jamie walks in to Malcolm's office showing a newspaper; the headline on the front page reads "Silly Tucker"]
Jamie: Have you seen this?
Malcolm: No, I haven't seen that. I'm the senior press guy for the government of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. No, I don't read the newspapers. That's fucking news to me!
Jamie: Alright. What are we doing?
Malcolm: What are we doing? Fuck all, we're not doing nothing because I am not the story here!
Jamie: Well, you kind of are the story, Malc. I mean, they spelt your name right and everything.

Ollie: Malcolm, you're bullying me and... y'know...
Malcolm: How dare you. How dare you! Don't ever, ever call me a bully. I'm so much worse than that.

Peter: [to Jamie] Oh sorry, do I know you? Don't you work for somebody famous? Malcolm Hamish McDeath?
Jamie: It's, er, Peter Onion, isn't it?
Peter: [laughs] Yes, that's right.
Jamie: I always forget, were you the forced abortion or the love child? Or the one who asphyxiated himself with a kiwi?
Peter: Just the love child. I was the quiet one.
Phil: Like John Deacon in Queen.

Malcolm: [to Ben Swain] You were like a sweaty octopus trying to unhook a bra!

Jamie: Your meltdown was witnessed by 1.2 million people. That's more people than saw Al Jolson in his entire career. And that's Al fucking Jolson!
Malcolm: He loves Al Jolson.
Jamie: The Governor!
Ollie: Maaaaammy!
Jamie: You take the piss out of Jolson again, and I will remove your iPod from its tiny nano sheath and push it up your COCK! And then I'll plug some speakers up your arse and put it on shuffle with my fucking fist! And every time I hear something that I don't like, which will be every time that something comes on, I will skip to the next track by crushing YOUR balls!

Ollie: [To Phil] I will be so not sorry to not ever have to talk to you again, you massive floppy blonde tit. I hope your blog gets done for libel and you get knobbed in prison by men. [To Emma] And it is over, you self-serving, crypto-fascist, horse-loving, posh, weekend at daddy's, vacuous nothing!

Spinners and Losers[edit]

Malcolm: Has anybody seen Jamie?
Ollie: Oh, don't tell me he's gone feral, 'cause he was fucking terrifying when you had him on the leash!

Jamie: Are you a horse?
Cliff Lawton: ...Sorry?
Jamie: Are you a fucking horse?
Cliff Lawton: Um... I... don't know what you mean, what—
Jamie: Are you a fucking horse?
Cliff Lawton: Okay, no, I'm not a horse.
Jamie: Are you sure?
Cliff Lawton: I'm sure—
Jamie: You've got a pretty fucking horsey face... and a bit of a horsey wife — are you a fucking horse? Are you?
Cliff Lawton: Okay, leaving the wife aside for a second—
Jamie: Are you a horse?
Cliff Lawton: No...
Cliff Lawton: —Categorically say that I am not a horse!
Jamie: Exactly! You are not a fucking horse. You are no horse, and you're not a stalking horse. You... are the real thing. And we are going to ram you up Tom's arse so hard that he has to shit out of his lying mouth.
Cliff Lawton: ...It's not a very nice image... It's very motivating.

Malcolm: [On phone to Jamie] There is a glacier of shit at DoSaC! I need you over there with a fucking blowtorch, right now!

Malcolm: Shut it! You're using all the minutes on my "Talk until you get head cancer" tariff.

Ollie: [on the phone to Malcolm] Yes, fantastic actually, Malcolm. Because obviously I have a very suitable one tattooed on the underside of my scrotum.

Ben: What do you think?
Nick: 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.

Jamie: I'm not leaving it to you. You couldn't organize a bum-rape in a barracks.
Malcolm: Au contraire!

[deleted scene]
Malcolm Tucker's Law: "If some cunt can fuck something up that cunt will pick the worst fucking time to fucking fuck up because that cunt's a cunt!" I've got that embroidered on a tea-towel at home!

Malcolm: If you do think about running with this pill story, I'll personally fucking eviscerate you, right? I mean, I don't have your education, I don't know what that means. But I'll start by ripping your cock off and I'll busk it from there. Okay?

Malcolm: The Tom wobble. It's over.
Ben Swain: So what does that mean?
Malcolm: Well, it means that the rats are now returning to a very buoyant ship... and they're playing deck tennis. So that's lovely, isn't it?
Ben: What does that mean for me, then?
Malcolm: 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.
Ben: B-but you said I had a chance! About half an hour ago you said I was in with a shot!!
Malcolm: Well 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, yeah?

Malcolm: Tomorrow, from broadsheets to wank rags, I want pages one, two and three to be a profile of Tom looking like a fucking political colossus. Y'know: Tom meeting the Pope, Tom in an NHS hospital chatting to little, baldie kiddies. I want pages four and five to be a timeline of British politics with me at the center looking fucking indispensable and fucking benign. And I want page six TO BE FUCKING... ISRAEL OR SOME BULLSHIT, NOT A FUCKING DOSAC, DIPSHIT, LEGACY-DESTRACTING COCK-UP!

Jamie: 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.
Terri: Yep, well done. That's offensive on a number of levels, in a very concise way.

Jamie: Hey, Desperate Housewives, have you found out who's leaking it yet?
Glenn: I have. It's Julius! He just told me-
Jamie: No, no, no, wait, Julius? NICHOLSON?! THAT BALDY PUSSY?! Well, I'll tell you, if he thinks he's leaking now, wait 'till you see when I'm finished with him! HE'LL LOOK LIKE FUCKING MEL GIBSON'S JESUS! FUCK!! FUCK FUCK!! FUCK!!

[Jamie has found out that Nicholson has leaked Immigration figures]
Jamie: Nicholson! NICHOLSON! The immigration shit. It was you, wasn't it? You mimsy bastard quisling leak FUCK!
Julius: [smirking] Sorry? What are you--
Jamie: Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, you will be sorry, you inflatable cock! You fucking sold us out, didn't you?! DENY IT!
Julius: Well, James, I can't deny something until I have the actual charge presented...
Jamie: [impersonating Julius] Oh, oh, oh, oh, "the actual charge"? [normal vioce] Yeah, well, apart from the charge you're gonna get when I clamp jump leads to your baldy bollocks? OK, OK, OK, OK! You, Julius Nicholson, being of sound mind but with a body that looks like a giant sex toy did knowingly do us up the shit-hole by passing confidential information to the enemy! And I am going to have your guts as a skipping rope! And your lungs sun-dried and turned into a little fucking waistcoat!
Julius: James, technically it was not a leak, because firstly-
Malcolm: Eat that prawn.
Julius: -there's not confidential-
Malcolm: Eat that fucking prawn.
Julius: I'm not eating prawns, Malcolm.
Malcolm: Eat that prawn. Eat a bit of fucking pizza. [throws a bit of half eaten pizza at Julius]
Julius: Don't be stupid.
Malcolm: Eat another prawn. [throws another prawn at Julius]
Julius: Stop it!
Malcolm: Have some fucking chow mein!
Jamie: Stuff it in his fucking head! Stuff it in his big baby head!
Julius: Stop it!
Malcolm: [to Ollie] Get that fucking cheese over there!
Jamie: Eat the cheese!
Julius: STOP IT!
Glenn: Go on, have some!
Julius: This isn't funny! This is an expensive suit!
[Jamie tries to beat up Julius]
Julius: James, just--
Jamie: Fuck!
Julius: What the fuck are you doing?! [runs out the room]
[Jamie runs after Julius]
Malcolm: Hey, hey hey hey! Right!

Glenn: 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 going to want me, are they? And fucking Hugh, now, he... Jesus Christ, this is all, I AM A MAN!!!!!! AND, NO YOU DON'T, I'M IRRELEVANT!! NO, NO, GO AWAY!! I'm irrelevant, I'm irrelevant, I'm irrelevant! FUCKING HUGH JUST WANTS TO SPEAK TO TINKY WINKY?!! WELL FUCK TINKY WINKY!!! FUCK YOU, TINKY WINKY!!! AUF WIEDERSHEN 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!!!!

Series 3, Episode 1[edit]

Malcolm Tucker: 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.

Malcolm: Come on people, let’s get going here! I’ve got a to-do list that’s longer than a fucking Leonard Cohen song.

[discussing the Cabinet reshuffle]
Terri Coverley: Oh look, Fatty's staying put! They're not moving Fatty.
Ollie Reeder: That's because they haven’t got five big blokes and a winch.
Terri: They couldn't really demote Fatty because he knows too much.
Ollie: Well he doesn't know where the Ryvita is kept, does he?

[on the phone to a colleague about how busy he is]
Malcolm: I've got more on my plate than a spinster at a wedding. That wasn't a reference to your daughter by the way, Andrew.
[later in the episode, on the phone again]
Malcolm: Doug Hayes is a massive abortion. Again, not a reference to your daughter.

Malcolm: Here he is! Cock like the Pink Panther's tail.
Doug Hayes: I'm afraid I turned it down, Malcolm.
Malcolm: Do you know ninety percent of household dust is made of dead human skin? That's what you are, to me.

Malcolm: Get me Nicola Murray. Yeah, if she says no the only other candidate is my left bollock with a fucking smiley face drawn on it.

[Hugh has lost his place in the reshuffle]
Terri: It's so sad, isn't it - Hugh?
Ollie: You don't give a shit!
Terri: ...No, perhaps I don't.

Ollie: Who's Tom Rudd?
Terri: Isn't he in Harry Potter?
Glenn: Tom Rudd is army slang for standing up buggery.

[Glenn and Ollie don't know if Nicola will keep them on]
Terri: Well, thank goodness I'm safe.
Glen: Je- We know you're safe Terri! How do we know you're safe? Because you keep using the word 'Safe' like you're bloody Jim Bowen!
Ollie: [Immitating Jim Bowen presenting Bullseye] You've got DoSAC, that's safe. Do you want to go for the treasury, young lady?

Terri: Well, it was a bit of a shock for us. In a good way. Like twins, or a tax rebate.

Nicola Murray: [On the phone to her husband] So, I'll take your warm congratulations as... implied. [ends phone call] Fucking arsehole!

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.

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

Malcolm: We send everyone up there to support Liam Bentley. Including the PM.
Aide: You want to send Tom up there?
Malcolm: Yeah, fuck it, he'll be alright. So long as he doesn't do the smile.

Nicola: I don't really have a choice, do I?
Malcolm: Of course you have a choice. You can choose how you say yes. Do it with a voice, have fun with it.
Nicola: [Pause] Yes. [Beat] In my own voice.

Malcolm: You hit the phones, right. I'll be with you in two shakes of a crying baby.

Malcolm: Not only have you got a fucking bent husband and a fucking daughter that gets taken to school in a fucking sedan chair, you're also fucking mental. Jesus Christ, see you, you're a fucking omnishambles, that's what you are. You're like that coffee machine, you know: "from bean to cup, you fuck up".

Malcolm: You are a human dartboard and Eric fucking Bristow is on the oche flinging a million darts of human shit right at you.

Malcolm: (On Nicola sending her children to a private school) You are quietly saying that all the public schools that this Government has improved are knife-addled rape sheds and you don't think that's a fucking big story?

Series 3, Episode 2[edit]

Malcolm: Look, don't worry. The PM is not going to sack you after a week. Sacked after twelve months, looks like you've fucked up. Sacked after a week, looks like he's fucked up.
Nicola: I'm not doing terribly, am I?
Malcolm: [Looking out window] I love the way they've sandblasted everything around here. It's so clean!

Malcolm: [To his driver] Pull in here. See if you can take out that cyclist on the way, I think he's Shadow Cabinet.

Robyn: Do you know, Malcolm... [Malcolm stares back, gravely] the best way to clear a paper jam?
Malcolm: I don't know... kill a kid an hour until it sorts itself out?

[deleted scene]
Terri: Well we have actually asked the Home Office and extraordinarily they do in fact wipe their hard drives.
Robyn: Yeah they told me they do it to make room. It's a precaution...against data loss.
Nicola: Is that another one of your fucking jokes?
Robyn: No.
Nicola: Right. I came into this department and I thought "Okay, let's turn a fresh page". So I turn the fresh page, and you collectively have drawn a gigantic FUCKING COCK ON IT!

Ollie: [To Glenn] You can't overwrite minutes! Well, you specifically can't because you don't know how to unlock the PDF file.

Malcolm: [Nicola has accidentally revealed a DoSAC-caused catastrophe to an on-the-record journalist] 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'S 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!!

[Nicola and Terri sit down in Malcolm's office]
Malcolm: I just wanted to say to you, by way of introductory remarks, that I am extremely miffed about today's events and, in my quest to try and make you understand the level of my unhappiness, I'm likely to use an awful lot of what we would call "Violent Sexual Imagery", and I just wanted to check that neither of you would be terribly offended by that.
Nicola: I could actually do without the theatrics, I think Malcolm--
Malcolm: Enough. E-fucking-nough. You need to learn to shut your fucking cave, right? Today, you have laid your first, big, fat egg of solid fuck. You took the data loss media strategy and you ate with a lump of E. coli. And then you sprayed it our of your arse at 300mph.

Malcolm: The Kraken awakes!

Nicola: You said yourself that if the PM sacks me after a week, it looks like he's fucked up.
Malcolm: Yeah, but that was before, when your biggest problem was a fucking shit pun in a newspaper and a face like Dot Cotton licking piss off a nettle.

Series 3, Episode 3[edit]

Malcolm: We need to persuade Matt Delaney not to cross the floor. I think we should use the 'carrot and stick' approach. You take a carrot, you stick it up his fucking arse, followed by the stick, followed by an even bigger, rougher carrot.

[Trying to think of Mannion-aimed barbs for Nicola's speech]
Ollie: He's called "Peter Two-Holidays Mannion".
Malcolm: Glenn?
Glenn: Erm... he works very booking his holidays.
Malcolm: That's really fucking quality fucking explosive sarcasm you're lobbing at the mate, boom!
Glenn: I feel like I'm in a therapy group being run by my own rapist.

Nicola: I'm gonna have to just go slapstick, aren't I? Read the speech straight but dressed as Freddie Starr's Hitler.

John Duggan: [about him and Ollie] We're like Dick and Dom aren't we? Great chemistry.
Glenn: Except neither one of you are Doms.

John Duggan: How was your holiday?
Nicola Murray MP: Well, we wanted to go to Florida but Malcolm "suggested" that we go to Suffolk. So the kids were miserable, the weather was miserable and Malcolm phoned to shout at me for looking miserable.

John Duggan: Well, that's not strictly true.
Malcolm Tucker: Yeah, well Strictly Come Dancing isn't strictly dancing, is it? There's also a bit at the beginning when an old man dribbles.

Malcolm: I don't fucking hit women.
Ollie: Except Glenn, obviously.

Malcolm: Listen mate I'm really, I'm really sorry right. I'm really sorry about what happened in the heat of the fuckin moment, yeah. I'm under a lot of pressure right now, I'm trying to plug a lot of leaks. I had my finger in the dyke but the dyke's very squirty.
Ollie: Is it Fat Pat. I've heard that she's…
Malcolm: Shut up.

Malcolm: [to John Duggan] Oi, twat-features! I mean that, literally.

Series 3, Episode 4[edit]

Peter Mannion: Morning comrades! How goes the revolution? Our tanks on their lawns at last. Fuck-a-doodle-doo!

Peter Mannion: [Regarding their visit to DoSAC] It's a straightforward series of meetings with the senior civil servants; "Where's the stop-cock?" "Where can I get a decent cup of coffee?" "Here's our Legislative agenda for the next three years."

Malcolm Tucker: [To DoSAC, regarding the Opposition] When the Opposition are here, you tell them nothing except where the toilets are, but you lie about that. And Terri keep your tits in.

Malcolm Tucker: [walks up to Phil] Ok, Shitehead Revisited. Did you know that Nicola Murray's daughter is about to be expelled from school for fucking bullying?
Ollie: [to Malcolm] What are you doing?
Phil: No, what...
Malcolm Tucker: [to Ollie] Don't worry. [to Phil] Did you not know that?
Phil: No, why would I... No...
Malcolm Tucker: Of course you wouldn't know that, 'cause the only people who know that right now are Mrs. Murray, her daughter, Ollie and me, yeah? If this gets into the press, I would know they came from you.
Phil: Clever.
Malcolm Tucker: And I would rain down on you so hard, you would have to be reassembled by fucking air crash investigators. [Phil tries to protest] DO NOT FUCKING interrupt me, son, ever! Now get this into the noggin, right? You breathe a word of this, to anyone, you mincing fucking CUNT, and I will tear your fucking skin off, I will wear it to your mother's birthday party, and I will rub your nuts up and down her leg whilst whistling Bohemian fucking Rhapsody, right?!
Phil: [nods in shock] Yeah.
Malcolm Tucker: Now, get out of my fucking sight.
Phil: Yeah. [wanders off, visibly terrified]

Peter Mannion: [Discussing Malcolm] His bark's worse than his bite. [Sees Malcolm approaching] And speaking of rabies injections...
Malcolm Tucker: I didn't know you were still alive. How's the 80's tribute band? Still doing the Robert Palmer lookalike?
Peter Mannion: Malcolm. You're looking well... for someone twice your age. Any news on the aneurism?

Peter Mannion: [Answers his mobile phone] Ah, Stewart. What flavour of nut-brown piss are you going to pour in my ear?
Stewart: How's the info-pump firing?
Peter Mannion: You mean Terri Coverley? She's useless, she knows nothing. You two would get on.

Glenn Cullen: Malcolm knows Mannion was here. Text reads "I know about your fucking meeting with that aging flamenco guitarist. You are NOT to go home. There has been an escalation. Get down to Number 10 ASAFP."
Nicola Murray: "F" meaning?
Glenn: 'Feasibly' I should imagine.

Nicola Murray: You haven't got any whisky, have you?
Malcolm Tucker: Sure. It's been there a while, it's still got Anthony Eden's lipstick on the bottle.

Nicola Murray: So it's Mannion. What we do? Do we go after him with... y'know, one of those things you say... like a big bum dildo of vengeance.
Malcolm Tucker: Yeah, Indiana Murray and the bum dildo of vengeance. I like it.

Phil: You're like the man who fucked the monkey that gave us AIDS, that's who you are!
Ollie: (incredulous) I'm like the man who did what? Who fucked the monkey (laughs) that gave us AIDs?
Phil: That's right: you keep saying "it wasn't me, it wasn't me" and there's monkey shit on your balls, not mine.

Series 3, Episode 5[edit]

[Malcolm opens a box. It contains a cake decorated with the words "Happy Birthday C*nt"]
Malcolm: This could be from anyone. [Opens the accompanying card] It's from the Prime Minister. This is Tom's idea of a joke, and he wonders why we don't let him out in public.

[Terri is ogling Peter Mannion]
Peter Mannion: The stupid one keeps staring at me.
Phil: That's because she's a mentalist and she loves you. If you ever crash your car in the mountains, she'll be the one waiting to pull you out! Have you seen Misery?
Peter: I'm at the fucking BBC aren't I?

[Terri continuines to ogle Peter Mannion]
Peter: [to Phil] The stupid one keeps staring at me. Could you block the view, or something?

Glenn: Do you mind? Some of us are trying to listen.
Phil: I can fill you in, Peter's tearing through her like a viking at a nunnery.
Glenn: If he's a viking, he's King Cnut!

Glenn: Well, that's a nice tan you haven't quite managed to get there.
Peter: Oh yes, that's very funny because of the shit-storm you created about my second holiday. I had to cancel my second holiday. I see what you did there, you should be in stand up!
Phil: Glenn Elton'. "Yes indeed, ladies and gentlemen!"
Peter: Sorry about the puffin.

Peter: Why isn't Emma here?
Phil: She's dumping Ollie tonight. Result! He's probably crying his eyes out right now like Kate Winslet losing on a scratch card!

Malcolm: [Listening to the radio] Fuck me! This is like a clown running across a minefield!

Malcolm: [Over phone to Glenn] Are you producing porn for the visually impaired? Because what I'm hearing on my radio is Nicola Murray being roundly fucked.

Terri: For the record, I have done nothing.
Glenn: Yes, that will be your epitaph Terri!

Glenn: Oh, hello, nice dinner?
Emma: Fuck off, Bagpuss.

Terri: The problem is that if you say to a journalist, "Can you avoid that topic?", that's when they really go for it. It's like saying to the school bully, "I'll wet myself if you tickle me."

[Phil walks in]
Ollie: Right, you speak to me and I will pour hot coffee on your balls!
Phil: No, I don't want to fight. I just want to clear the air actually. We're like those two people on the weathercock, you know, I come out, you come in.
Ollie: You're Mr Sunshine, are you?
Phil: I'm Mr. Sunshine!
Ollie: You little wooden twat, in a little wooden house!
Phil: Look, there's no need-- we can be friends! I'm thinking two enemies, they come together when they realise it is no more. Aragorn and Boromir! Me: Aragorn, the true king. You: Boromir. Your horn is broken, and will be blown no more!
Ollie: This inability to talk without using Lord of the Rings metaphors is one of the very many reasons that we can never be friends.

[Ollie throws a cup of coffee at Phil's groin]
Phil: Ow! Fuck! It's a dark suit and it's only lukewarm! I still win!

Malcolm: That's your fucking career over, right? Okay, you're fucking dead. And those three little words, "Tim in Ruislip", are the fucking nails in your coffin, dear.
[imitates hammering]
Malcolm: Tim. In. Ruislip. Tim in fucking Ruislip. And as for Tim in fucking...
Janice: Yeah, okay, can you stop fucking saying that, please?
Malcolm: ...FUCKING, FUCKING Ruislip, he's fucking dead as well! That fucking texting coward. Give me his number. What's his fucking number? Give me the fucking number of Tim in Ruislip. If you don't give me his fucking number, do you know what I'm gonna have to do? I'm gonna have to fucking go to fucking Ruislip and fucking snap the thumb and forefinger off of every single person I see who I think resembles the kind of wanker that would be walking around in this day and fucking age with a name like fucking Tim! How do you think that sounds, huh?
Stewart Pearson: Quite, quite mad.

Malcolm Tucker: Listen, you know what I've got at the back of my fucking filing cabinet? I've got a fucking photograph which I've been waiting for a fucking rainy day to show everyone, which is a photograph of your fucking shadow chancellor at one of his fucking parties, dressed up in fucking bra, suspenders, and fucking blackface! What's his defence gonna be when I email that to the fucking Sun? "Oh, well I am just de Shadow Chancellor"?

Malcolm Tucker: [to Nicola's chauffeur] You couldn't turn that over to Magic FM, could you mate? Otherwise I'm gonna have to tear my eyelids off and scrunch them up into fucking earplugs.

Series 3, Episode 6[edit]

Ollie: How are things at the department of education education education?
Ben Swain: They're going up the fuck-pump, Ollie, mostly because you are the Robin Hood of politics.
Ollie: Well, Robin Hood was a hero.
Ben Swain: No he wasn't! He was a terrorist!

Ben Swain: I'd have myself a sandwich, I'm fucking starving-
Malcolm: What did I fucking say? What did I just fucking say, I said one at a fucking time, stand up! [Ben does not stand] I'm telling you to fucking stand up you sack of fucking cum, stand the fuck up! [Ben stands] Fucking move. Right! [Malcolm grabs a keyboard] See that?! Fucking play with that, right?! Never mind your fucking toys, play with that! [pushes Ben towards a corner] Go stand in that fucking corner! STAND OVER THERE, RIGHT?! And do not move! Or I will perform a fucking, living fucking autopsy on you! With a fucking rusty spade and I'll have your kidneys for fucking cufflinks!

Malcolm: [to Ben] See, you? Get me a fucking Curly Wurly, right?

[Ben gives Malcolm his Curly Wurly]
Malcolm: It's a classic Curly Wurly I wanted. A Curly Wurly should be the size of a small ladder.
Ben: Your hands have got bigger.

Malcolm: Right people, listen up! It's a fucking lockdown, right now!
Nicola: 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.

Ben: It's not my fault you've dressed up like a dead geisha.
Nicola: Why are you doing this?
Ben: Because I'm bored, it's funny, and I hate you. There you are, the holy trinity of 'why'.
Nicola: You know, talking to you is like talking to a fucking whoopee cushion!

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! Of the moment! I told you to say "Of the fucking moment!" There is a huge difference between me saying "Nicola, I'd like to go for a lovely walk with you" and "Nicola, I'm going to make a hat out of your fucking entrails."

Nicola: You're about as on the ball today as a dead seal.
Malcolm: Hey, that's one of my fucking lines!

Malcolm: Make sure fucking Nicola doesn't top herself, but make sure that Ben does.

Malcolm: Terri, I thought we had a deal, right? When I need your advice I'll give you the special signal, which is me being sectioned under the fucking Mental Health Act!

Series 3, Episode 7[edit]

[Steve Flemming enters DoSAC and greets various members of staff]
Steve Fleming: Morning! Morning DoSAC.
Nicola: Bollocky bollocks. It's the Ghost of Christmas Shit.
Glenn: That's your answer, Terri. That's the man driving the bus. That's Reg bloody Varney. All stop to electoral oblivion, ding ding!
Nicola: Quick, get in my office, it'll buy us a bit of time.
[They all enter Nicola's office. Steve walks along in their direction]
Glenn: Go on. Have a look.
Ollie: I've never actually seen Steve Fleming in the flesh.
Nicola: You're lucky!
Ollie: For the man who brought us back into power, he's not very imposing, is he? He's like a Lego policeman!
Nicola: Look at him. Super Mario.

[The team have had their first meeting with Steve Fleming]
Ollie: What would you call that? Obsessive Repulsive Disorder? [impersonating Steve Fleming] "Caffeinated gifts!"
Terri: Malcolm never bought us coffees. I like him!
Ollie: Yes, well you like bath salts, you're basically an idiot.

Malcolm: I fucking love Ghee, it's like freebasing butter.

Ollie: [On the phone to Malcolm, who's on holiday] Andy Murray, famous tennis player also lovely scotch... person - The new face of healthy eating. Nicola Murray, slightly panicky minister lady wonders if that's alright?
Malcolm: Yeah, yeah. Andy Murray, Andy Pandy, fucking Ghandi have a hand-shandy, whatever, just fuck off out of my life.
Ollie: [Hangs up. To Nicola] The man from Hell Monte, he say "Fucking Aye!"

Malcolm: [to Steve Fleming] Ah, here he is, Bob Carolgees? How's the wee comedy dog?
Steve Fleming: Hello Malcolm! Nice holiday? I hear your kitchen's lovely at this time of year.
Malcolm: Well, actually, I went to Spain. I went to Malaga. I went golfing with Stephen Hawking, he's fucking shit. He lied about his handicap. And the best thing was I didn't have to pay for a buggy, I just sat on his lap!

[Glenn accidentally spills a box of crime figures paperwork]
Ollie: Well, that's given us an unexpected headstart. Thanks Glenn. I would kill you, but I'd have to add you to the fucking figures.

Glenn: You want us to work all through the night on this!?
Steve: It would be very much appreciated upstairs.
Ollie: Yes, well I'm an atheist.
Steve: By the Prime Minister. I did get the joke, by the way.
[Steve walks away]
Ollie: [mouthing] Well done.

Malcolm: Sam, prepare my horse. I ride to DoSAC!

Steve: Everyone knows we don't get on. We are the Gallagher brothers of politics.
Malcolm: Does that mean that I'm the semi-talented songwriter and you're the fucking loutish prick? That's a lovely analogy.

Malcolm: [knock on door] Listen, if you're not a prostitute or a pizza guy, fuck off! [to Steve Fleming] Steve, listen, could you eat or fuck whatever's at the door, on your fucking way out please?

[reading a newspaper article on Malcolm]
Ollie: Hey! There's a reference to you here, Cullen. Alleged to have assaulted an elderly aide at a party conference.
Glenn: Elderly aide? That makes me sound like a fucking stairlift!

Nicola: You're all over the papers like a pissing puppy, Malcolm.
Malcolm: Yeah, well I think you'll find that's what we masters of the dark arts call a blip.

[Malcolm has organised some celebrity endorsements for the department]
Glenn: Well done Malcolm!
Ollie: He is very impressive, isn't he? In the way that, you know, Chairman Mao was actually quite impressive.
Glenn: Well, that's the thing about the evil isn't it, their amazing work ethic.

Malcolm: How are the hacks?
Steve Fleming: Ready to eat their own cocks.
Malcolm: They're journalists, Steve, not fucking Rangers supporters.

Malcolm: [to Steve] What happened? Did you get heckled off? What was the line? "Taxi for Tom Selleck"!

Steve Fleming: I wouldn't tell you, what i just told you, before I told the press pack, would I? no, that would be very, very unprofessional. So there's no point in getting angry, because the show's over! It's curtains, no curtain call. Everyone loved the show, but it just wasn't buttering any parsnips ANYMORE! Brother!

Malcolm Tucker: YOU WILL SEE ME AGAIN! You will fucking see me again! [leaves Number 10]

Series 3, Episode 8[edit]

Man: Do you want to swim the Channel for Scope?
Malcolm: No!
Man: Wou wou want to go on Dragon's Den for Children in Need?
Malcolm: I'd rather fuck a real dragon.
Man: Would you consider promoting a political-themed restaurant?
Malcolm: How does that--how does that even work? Oh fuck no, I don't care.
Man: Would you like to write a children's book, called "The Angry Spider"?

Steve Fleming: Pep talk, over. Return to your desks, and prepare for government.
Ollie: We're in government.
Steve Flemming: [smiling, but clearly annoyed] Well then, prepare to stay in government.
Ollie: Oh right. How do we do that?
Glenn: We pack an overnight bag.
Steve Fleming: [apoplectic] WILL YOU PLEASE FUCKING WELL--!!! [laughs] I'm sorry, I've lost my temper! Where is it? Where is it? Oh, no, I've found it again. It's alright.

Nicola: Ollie! Glenn! I need you in here now. Quick!
[Glenn approaches the office while taking off his glasses]
Nicola: Oh Glenn! Don't faff around with your glasses, I know you take them off every time you come in here. It's not impressive!

Malcolm: [At home after being sacked, Malcolm answers the phone] Hello, Phillip Schofield, I fuck lobsters for money.

[Julius Nicholson in his office one evening, trying to persuade Malcolm Tucker to return. They share an Indian take-away]
Julius: Let me put it this way. See this onion bhaji? Let us pretend for a minute that this onion bhaji is the problems that would be caused by a report that criticised you or Steve Fleming. Hmm? Watch. [he takes a bite of the bhaji] See what I’m doing? I’m eating.. the onion bhaji. [he eats the rest of the bhaji] Why? Because I am the man that makes the bhaji go away.

Terri:"Give us the Bald-facts?". It's very rude that, isn't it. I was always told never to make personal remarks about people.

Terri: That is a complete disaster. There will be nothing on television for weeks now.

Ollie: He's back!
Nicola: Who? Barrymore?
Ollie: No.
Nicola: Clement Atlee?
Ollie: No.
Nicola: Oh fuck!
Ollie: Yes.
Nicola: Malcolm.
Ollie: Yes.
Nicola: Oh, no! God, he's gonna kill me. I was there when he was getting fired and he asked me for help and I held out. Now he's gonna want revenge isn't he? Fuck, fuck, fuck! It's gonna be like "Kill Bill" or"Get Carter" only it's gonna be "Get and kill Nicola and then get Carter and Bill to fucking kill her too"!

Malcolm: Don't take that job, Nicola.
Nicola: God, Malcolm.
Malcolm: The anti-Tom brigade are just waiting for the first piece to fall. If you resign, it's political fucking Jenga. You will cause a landslide that will bury this Government. And you'll keep the party in opposition until Daniel Radcliffe is advertising walk-in baths in the fucking Peoples Friend.

Julius: You are a naughty bastard!
Malcolm Tucker: [Holding up Julius' report] Best thing I've read all year. It's the only thing, mind you.
Julius: You've done some pretty awful things to me in my time, but this takes the bloody biscuit. And you've pissed on that biscuit and I've got to eat it. Well, here's the news, Malcolm, I will not eat the pissy biscuit!
Malcolm: Sam, no pissy biscuits.

Steve Fleming: I am gonna join Dan Miller's team, Malcolm, and we are gonna take you down! We are gonna take you down to funky town! FUNKY TOWN CENTER, HERE YOU COME! CHOO FUCKING CHOO!
Malcolm: Is this what you're threatening me with? Fucking disco lights? And a fucking choo-choo train? You're a joke, Steve!
Steve Fleming: [laughing] There's nothing you can do!
Malcolm: Steve!
Steve Fleming: Yeah?
Malcolm: There's one thing I can do!
Steve Fleming: What are you going to do?
Malcolm: Yeah, wouldn't you like to know!
Steve Fleming: Who are you going to meet? Who's your meeting with?
Malcolm: [walking off] Bye-bye!
Steve Fleming: I'M NOT FUCKING WORRIED, MATE! [whilst walking down the corridor] Fuck him! Fuck him! Fuck him! Fuck him!

Peter: Ah, The Fucker! And you thought he was just a myth created to frighten naughty MPs into eating all their truffles and swan.

[The Opposition have their first meeting with Cal "The Fucker" Richards]
Peter: I'm sensing a change in management styles. From touchy-feely to smashy-testes.

Cal Richards: FUCK, THAT IS BRILLIANT!! THAT IS INSPIRED! WHAT SAUCE! GET IN! IT'S THE ECONOMY, STEWPOT! Fuck, what I REALLY need to do is to shoot you all in the back of the head! [imitating a gun] FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! But I can't, because it's illegal!

Malcolm: Some people, they just fucking love to hate. Some people, they'd fucking walk around the fucking Garden of Eden fucking moaning about the lack of fucking mobile reception. These are the kind of fucks who watched Mandela - Fucking Nelson Mandela - walk to freedom, and said "Is Diagnosis Murder not on the other side?"

Malcolm: Let's set fire to tears!

Cal Richards: [to an anonymous Opposition member of staff] Stop saying "Appington" to me, I want a fucking chocolate biscuit!

[All DoSAC staff are leaving because of the election]
Terri: See you Nicola! [to herself] Or not.

Series 4, Episode 1[edit]

Terri: You're a very tidy man, aren't you?
Phil: There's no happiness without order. It's a Nazi quote, but nonetheless stands the test of time.

Peter: I hate school children, they're volatile and stupid, and they haven't even got the vote. Might as well be talking to fucking geese.

Peter: I'm bored of this. I'm going for a Twix.

Peter: [to his chauffeur, when driving away from journalists] Run those fuckers over! Fifty quid for every one you maim!

Stewart: Laterz, Legislators.

Terri: I do really need a comment on this Tickell protest.
Peter: As we enter the third week I find Mr. Tickell's attention seeking tent based twattery even more annoying than weeks one and two.
Terri: Can't actually say that.
Peter: Really? Oh then by implication you know what you can say, so say that instead.

Peter: Sorry darling, I have to go - I think the bailiffs are coming to take away my will to live.

Phil: You're getting a coffwee. Coffee with wee in it.

Peter Mannion: She's not on the FUCKING LIST!!!
[Peter enters Fergus' office]
Peter: Will you please tell me why Terri Coverley is not on this list?
Fergus: Sorry Peter, she's too expensive to get rid of.
Peter: Christ, Fergus, we both know she's a fart in a frock and I want to waft her out of here!
Fergus: My hands are tied.
Peter: Fuck you. You're not getting in my car tonight.

Series 4, Episode 2[edit]

[Brainstorming a buzzword for do-gooder members of the public]
Ollie Reeder: You know, the people who deal with the little stuff... um... Wombles, Honest Wombles. Everyday Wombles?
Malcolm Tucker: Sorry, I've just got to take a call...
Nicola Murray: Um, 'straights' -
Ollie: No!
Nicola: No... no, of course, sorry.
Helen: Commuting champions.
Nicola: Interrailers, human interrailers.
Ollie: Human interrailers? That's interrailers. Uh, everyday superstars, all... all British supremes -
Malcolm: That sounds like a racist tribute band.
Nicola: Ordinary people, with s-... with... something special about them. With a special power.
Ollie: Please don't say special. Don't say special.
Nicola: No but - you know, but like sup... uh... people as superheroes.
Ollie: Iron People... Spider People -
Nicola: They're just regular citizens, but they have this... p - that one special quality that makes them like Batman, Batpeople. Um... Quiet Batpeople.
Malcolm: [glaring] Quiet Batpeople?

Malcolm: Reshuffle: don’t send Ben to the back-benches, he’ll just wank and eat Pringles. Leather seats are invitation to men like him.

Malcolm: She's going to have to fall on her sword. Which means that we have to stick one in the ground, trip her onto it and get someone to jump up and down on her back for ten minutes.

Nicola: Before we finish, I just want to throw one more pebble into the thought pool.
Ben Swain: Ploop.
Nicola: Sorry Ben, I missed that?
Ben: Just I'm sorry, I just, I said 'ploop', it's just the noise of a pebble.

Malcolm Tucker: It's time for you to step up Ollie. What's that film that you love?
Ollie: What film?
Malcolm: The one about the fucking hairdresser, the space hairdresser and the cowboy. The guy, he's got a tin foil pal and a pedal bin. His father's a robot and he's fucking fucked his sister. Lego! They're all made of fucking Lego.
Ollie: Star Wars?
Malcolm: That's the one, right. It's like that, okay? Where you fucking kill all the bad guys, and you'll be able to blow up the big...
Ollie: Death Star.
Malcolm: The Death Star thing. Then you can go and live happily ever after on the planet of the teddy bears.
Ollie: They're Ewoks.

Ben: Malcolm, could I have a couple of words please?
Malcolm Tucker: Political lightweight? Making up the numbers? Sorry that's four isn't it?

Dan Miller: I should challenge her?
Malcolm: What the fuck is this? Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Cunt?

Ben: The Leader of The Opposition, Malcolm, is in that room practicing walking. I mean baby horses can walk from the womb, she's one nil down to a pony.
Malcolm: A pony isn't a baby horse, it's a foal, a fucking foal is a baby horse.
Ben: Right, our guest tonight on 'I Don't Give a Fuck About Baby Horses' is me.
[Later, watching Nicola embarrass herself at the Rememberence Sunday Ceremony on TV]
Malcolm: You're right, she can't fucking walk.
Ben: Should we get a pony to challenge her?
Malcolm: It's not a pony! It's a fucking foal.
Ben: Sorry. How d'you know so much about horses, anyway? I thought you were raised by wolves.

Series 4, Episode 3[edit]

Stewart: Time is a leash on the dog of ideas.
Stewart: When is a party not a party?
Peter: When it's at your house?

[Discussing the potential new Leader of the Opposition]
Stewart: Let's architecturialise.
Peter: Oh, please don't. If it's Ben Swain, we all shout Sweaty Swain as he dehydrates himself through PMQs. Hollhurst looks like a shepherd dressed up to meet the Queen and if it's Dan Miller, we're fucked.

Fergus: Peter, I have a bit of news I should make you aware of...
Peter: Yes, I do know, Fergus, a man with an amusing name has died.
Fergus: Uh, no, actually, it's that this morning, well, I set up a community bank.
Emma: What?
Peter: You did what? You s- you set up a bank?
Phil: I had a moment of weakness and they exploited it, like Hugh Grant!
Fergus: Yeah, well, didn't really have much choice because it was all going to piss in a kettle here, so we had to get the economist out of the way.
Peter: What are you talking about? What economist?
Fergus: We were having a preliminary meeting when Phil was starting to cry, Glenn was having a meltdown, it was getting embarrassing!
Peter: You bought a bank out of social embarrassment? I sometimes buy "The Big Issue" out of social embarrassment, I don't buy a FUCKING BANK!
Fergus: Peter, this is so fucking us!
Stewart: Hold on, let's just wind back, let's just get this straight so that I can deal with you two properly, how much is this bank?
Fergus: Well, uh, two billion.
Stewart: Sweet Tracy Emin!
Emma: Two billion?!
Adam: Alright, don't need to shit yourself about it, because we're not paying for it. It's funded by taxes.
Emma: Oh, that's alright then!
Peter: Oh! Great, the triple! I'm a nurse killer, a banker, and now I'm raising FUCKING TAXES?!!

[Discussing Tickell's method of Suicide, i.e. using a car exhaust and a hosepipe]
Phil: Classic. The Bohemian Rhapsody of suicide...

Phil: We don't even know why he killed himself yet. I mean suicide - it's pathetic. At least take some of your enemies with you. That's a noble death.

[To Emma]
Peter: You've turned into the wrong Mitford sister.

Adam: It's like there's a little twelve-year-old boy, in a suit, with a fucking light-sabre on his desk - don't think I don't know it's there - running this department while Mannion's away, it's a fucking joke!
Phil: No it's not! Have you ever seen Game of Thrones Season 2?
Adam No!
Phil: Or Anakin Skywalker, he was young! Frodo, in his thirties, still young for a hobbit! I'm in charge because I'm a Jedi and you're a fucking Ewok.
Glenn: Right, what is the Ewok stand on this?

Fergus: I'm in fucking charge, and I'm going Nordic drama.

Adam: I bet you line up all your action figures along the edge of your bath don't you?
Phil: One: I've got a shower, and two: they're still in their boxes!

[On Phil]
Terri: That boy is a simpleton. Two hundred years ago, they wouldn't have let him milk a cow.

Stewart: Can you send me out a crymail? We do give a toss; we're sorry for your loss.

Stewart: Let's go truffling in the forest of knowledge!

Series 4, Episode 4[edit]

Malcolm: [on the phone] Sam, hi, listen, can you do me a favour? Buy some flowers for Nicola fucking Murray. Yeah, have them delivered to her home this evening with a card that says; "Sorry you had to go, but let's face it, you are a fucking waste of skin". Waste of skin, yeah.

Nicola: Fucking fibroid polyp bitch. I hope they sprout out of her abdomen and fucking choke her.

Malcolm: Oh, sorry, I could come back, I didn't realise you were so fucking busy.
Ben: Well I could do some work but you know what, we're still gonna lose.
Malcolm: Hey, hey, hey! Don't be so grim you big quim!

Malcolm: I'm looking for Mr. Oliver Reeder, he looks a bit like a Quentin Blake illustration.

Malcolm: Come on you can't look a gift-corpse in the mouth, you should be taking that corpse and slapping the government in the face with it...a bit of slap with Tickle, yeah?

[Dan’s offered Ben the role of Shadow Chancellor]
Malcolm: Is this for real?
Dan Miller: No of course, it’s not real, Malcolm. I’ve offered him Chancellor, I may as well have offered him bass player in the Wurzels because that burly hemorrhoid’s not getting anywhere near any fucking cabinet of mine.

Malcolm: [to Ollie, on phone] What have you got for me, Professor Brian Cock?

Malcolm: Here he is! The anointed one.
Dan Miller: Please, please. I'm not Christ. He was quite a scruffy man.

Nicola: You are not going to try and talk me down off a ledge, are you? Cause I gotta tell you I am really tired and the pavement looks like a nice, warm, splatty bed right now.

Series 4, Episode 5[edit]

Malcolm: [to Nicola] You are not a grandee, you are a fucking "blandee". No-one knew what the fuck you stood for. Political fucking mist, no substance, no weight. You've got all the charm of a rotting teddy bear by a graveside. And by the way, women fucking hate you. I can show you the polling. They think you come across like a jittery mother at a wedding. The best thing you ever did in your flat-lining non-leadership was call for an inquiry, because it will fuck the government and it will fuck you. Now, please, just fuck off back to your home, you headless frump, and prepare for your column in Grazia.

Stewart: Ah, Peter! Getting the old adrenaline pumping, eh? Assuming it can squeeze past the port and stilton.
Peter: Shut the fuck up, you prancing shit!

Malcolm: Leaking is a fundamental part of our Governmental system! Do you know what happens if a government can't leak? Dark shit builds up. And then... it bursts.

Adam: [to Glenn] Hey! 2,000-year old man! Why the fuck did you send the whole email!? Huh!? You were supposed to redact it! Send the top email, not the whole fucking exchange! Jesus Christ on a crystal meth binge!
Glenn: Terri and I sent what you gave me.
Adam: [in disbelief] Terri!? Why the fuck... The only reason I'd ever ask Terri for help is to shoot me if I ever asked Terri for help!
Glenn: Same reason you gave it to me. Distance. Two people, twice the distance!
Fergus: Terri doesn't give us any distance! Terri gives me a twitch! [points to his eye] Right here! Yeah, laugh it up, Glenn! I've got a twitch called Terri!
Terri: [angrily, from behind a book shelf] I am actually here, you know!
Fergus: Yeah! And that, in a nutshell, is the whole fucking problem!
[He storms off, Adam follows]
Adam: [singsong] Fuck you very much. [to the bewildered carers, who have witnessed the entire exchange] Five minutes, guys.

Stewart: In the time it's taken for Terri to extract herself from her Bluetooth, this little inquiry has fused! It is now growing faster than the speed of bloody light! It's not going to be something we can see from space, it's going to be space! Brian Cox is gonna phone me and ask for the film rights!
Stewart: ANYTHING! If I find out that anyone from here has leaked anything, I will make sure they have to emigrate after this to a country where the don't speak English, and there's no Internet!
Peter: But everyone leaked that anything, that would fill the fucking Caspian Sea! We're just a drop in the ocean here!
Stewart: No! No! What you are Peter is Leak Zero! It started here! You have presided over a shambolic showering of info! Peter Mannion, 'Singing in the Rain'!

[The PM has launched an inquiry into all of leaking]
Adam: [Restraining Fergus] Alright, Fergus. [Calmly] What the fuck is going on?
Phil: The Ark has been opened, and your face is gonna melt!
Emma: There's going to be an inquiry!

Malcolm: When this inquiry lands, you better have developed a very flat stony face with no expression. But that'll be easy for you, it's your fucking cum face, isn't it?

Series 4, Episode 6[edit]

Goolding: Thank you for returning to this inquiry, Mr. Tucker.
Malcolm: No problem. I had a hair appointment, but I think they can fit me in next week.
Goolding: There's no need to be so flippant about this inquiry.
Malcolm: Well, it's just, you know, you keep asking me the same questions, I can't really help it if you don't like the answers.
Sureka: Maybe you can try a little harder in answering. I'm amazed you stayed at the top of politics for quite so long with such, apparently, poor powers of recall.
Malcolm: Well, maybe it's just my age - good to see you back, by the way.
Sureka: [sarcastically] Thank you, nice to see you too.
Goolding: At your last appearance at the inquiry, you admitted that you have leaked, is that correct?
Malcolm: Well, everyone leaks. Many, many people who have appeared here in front of you have leaked, but they've just lied about it to you.
Simon Weir: Mr. Tucker, that is an incredibly serious charge; do you have any evidence to substantiate that accusation?
Malcolm: Will you forgive me for not doing your job for you? Because if you can't spot a sprayed-on halo of someone doing a "wot, me guv?" panto-act, then maybe you shouldn't be sitting behind that desk.
Sureka: At your last appearance at the inquiry, we asked you very specifically how you came by Mr. Tickel's NHS number and National Insurance number, and you could not recall. Have you had any more time to think about it?
Malcolm: Yes, I have.
Sureka: And could you tell us any more?
Malcolm: No.
Sureka: You've got no recollection at all?
Malcolm: No. And by the way, you should not be talking to me about this because you've been a victim of leaking, a very unfortunate victim, and I have every sympathy with you, but how can you possibly give me a fair hearing when you've been a victim of the very crime you're accusing me of. You have prejudiced this entire inquiry - therefore, it's prejudiced.
Sureka: I can see what you you're doing. It smacks of desperation and it will not work.
Malcolm: Does it? No, listen, there you go again, see you're just rushing to judgement. You are totally discredited here.
Sureka: I am obliged to remind you, Mr. Tucker, that you are under oath, and if you lie to this inquiry it may result in a criminal prosecution.
Malcolm: Sorry, please don't insult my intelligence by acting as if you're so naive you don't know how this whole works. Everybody in this room has bent the rules to get in here. Because you don't get in this room without bending the rules. You don't get to where you are without bending the rules. That's the way it is.
Sureka: Mr. Tucker, I'm going to give you one more chance to respond to my question. How did you acquire Mr. Tickel's NHS number and his National Insurance number?
Malcolm: Who said I acquired it?
Sureka: A photograph.
Malcolm: No, the photograph shows me holding it. It doesn't show me acquiring it. You'd have to ask the person who gave me the folder.
Sureka: Who gave you the folder?
Malcolm: I don't remember.
Sureka: You are being deliberately evasive.
Malcolm: ... I... I don't recall, you know, I don't know. I can't remember.
Goolding: Very well. Regardless of how you came by Mr. Tickel's mental health records, did you then leak them to the media?
Malcolm: I can't recall.
Sureka: So that's not a denial?
Malcolm: Je ne remember rien.
Sureka: Well if you can't recall, it leaves open the possibility that you did leak them.
Malcolm: Let me tell you this. The whole planet's leaking! Everybody is leaking! You know, everyone's spewing up their guts onto the internet, putting up their relationship status and photos of their Vajazzles! We've come to the point where there are people, MILLIONS of people, who are quite happy to trade a kidney in order to go on television! And to show people their knickers, to show people their skidmarks, and then complain to OK Magazine about a breach of privacy! The exchange of private information - that is what drives our economy. But, you come after me because you can't arrest a landmass, can you? You can't cuff a country. You might as well just go and-- you can't lynch that guy there, can you? But you decide that you can sit there, you can judge and you can ogle me like a Page 3 girl. You don't like it? Well, you don't like yourself! You don't like your species. And you know what? Neither do I, but how dare you come and lay this at my door! How dare you blame me for this! Which is the result of a political class, which has given up on morality and simply pursues popularity at all costs. I am you and you are me.
Goolding: Are you finished?
Malcolm: I'm finished anyway. You didn't finish me.
Goolding: Would you like to stand down?
[Malcolm leaves]

Series 4, Episode 7[edit]

Glenn: Come on out everyone! Tally-ho! Yoo-hoo! COME ON, BRING OUT YOUR FUCKING DEAD! Right, everybody listen, I've got an announcement to make!
Phil: What is it, you got an erection?
Glenn: No, I would like to tell you all that I am resigning!
Phil: Is that it?
Glenn: No, you closet Regency homosexual, that is not it! Morally, this department is in the gutter!
Fergus: Thanks for the speech Glenn, but--
Glenn: [grabs a desktop lamp] YOU STAY AND TAKE YOUR PUNISHMENT! I will lamp you, with a lamp!
Terri: Glenn, you've gone a tiny bit psychotic, my love.
Glenn: You, Fergus, when you asked me to join you, all you had was your principles, but over the last two years, you've bent like a human fucking palm tree, swaying to the guff of these six-toed, born-to-rule, pony-fuckers!
Adam: [to Glenn] If you're gonna go, just go! Spare us this Peter Finch bullshit!
Glenn: Oh! Adam, you're waiting for your turn! Oh no! I remember, it's your turn right now! You are simply the most loathsome human being I have ever met! You were so well suited at The Mail, it's a shame you came over here!
Emma: Hear, hear!
Glenn: Do you know what, I hate you both! Tweedle-twat and Tweedle-prick! You contribute absolutely nothing to the world so thank fucking God you have no power!
Fergus: Er, we do actually!
Glenn: No you don't! And Peter, it's been dreadful. I hope your cock falls off. Phil, do you know what you are? You're like an eight-year-old trapped in a twelve-year-old's body!
Phil This is great! Why isn't anyone filming this!?
Glenn: And Emma--
Phil: Yeah, yeah! Do Emma, do Emma!
Glenn: Emma, I'm sorry, you're just a standard issue, insipid posh bitch. That's it! Terri? I don't think I've ever met someone so proud and yet quite so useless. But I do have to thank you, because I have managed to stay in shape, purely though the energy I spend in pitying you every day!
Terri: Glenn, you're just embarrassing yourself.
Glenn: Fuck you all up the wrong 'un! Ta-ta! Bye-bye!
Phil: That was better than IMAX Inception!

Malcolm: Ollie, look at me! I'm not pulling anything out of my magic hat. The rabbits are falling to pieces, the fucking heads are coming off and frightening the kids. So somebody else is going to have to help out.
Ollie: Well, who says I even want to be you, Malcolm? Who says that?
Malcolm: Nobody says that. Except every screaming atom of that etiolated stick of fuck you call a body says that. Every fibre of your being - every stamen - says that. But you are not me, Ollie. You never will be me. I knew Malcolm F. Tucker, sir, and you are no Malcolm Fucking Tucker. You're not even Manchester's top Malcolm Tucker tribute band. And trying to be me - you?! Trying to be me will fucking kill you. I'll give you 18 months before you're a washed out, weeping alcoholic. With no fucking bladder control. Sleeping on your brother-in-law's sofa.
Ollie: And so on, and so on. It doesn't have to be like that now, Malcolm. Politics has actually changed-
Malcolm: Oh?
Ollie: Yeah! Yeah! Yeah, and you probably haven't noticed because you've been on transmit for the last fucking eight years! "Wah wah wah wah"! And whilst you've been doing that, everybody else has been changing! It's all a bit soft-core now, it's all about algorithms now. You don't have to be Malcolm Tucker to sit in that chair.
Malcolm: Oh, how quickly they grow up. You fucking think you know me?
Ollie: Yeah. Yeah, I know you.
Malcolm: You know Jackie fucking Chan about me. YOU KNOW FUCK ALL ABOUT ME! I am totally beyond the realms of your fucking tousle-haired, fucking dim-witted compre-fucking-hension! I don’t just take this fucking job home, you know. I take this job home, it fucking ties me to the bed, and it fucking fucks me from arsehole to breakfast! Then it wakes me up in the morning with a cup full of piss slung in my face, slaps me about the chops, to make sure I’m awake enough so it can kick me in the fucking bollocks! This job has taken me in every hole in my fucking body! MALCOLM IS GONE! You can’t know Malcolm, because Malcolm is not here! Malcolm fucking left the building fucking years ago! This is a fucking husk, I am a fucking host for this fucking job. Do you want this job? Yes, you do fucking want this job. Then, you’re going to have to fucking swallow this whole fucking life and let it grow inside you like a parasite. Getting bigger and bigger and bigger until it fucking eats your insides alive and it stares out of your eyes and tells you what to do.
Ollie: Christ, Malcolm, this is like the video you leave on YouTube after you've blown your brains out.
Malcolm: I'm as dead as fucking Two-Tone. But I can fashion my own exit.
Ollie: Oh, Christ. What, are you going to fly to Switzerland, have a wank with a nurse and a bye-bye pill, are you?
Malcolm: Funny, funny man. Political exit. What you're going to see is a masterclass in fucking dignity, son. The audience will be on their feet. "There he goes," they'll say, "No friends, no real friends, no children, no glory, no memoirs...", well, fuck them.

Malcolm: [To a policeman escorting a criminal] Excuse me, is there another way out of here?
Criminal: You could hang yourself!
Malcolm: Fuck off!

[Malcolm and his aide are running from the press and find a taxi, but it starts to drive away]
Malcolm: HEY! GET THE FUCK BACK HERE! Jesus Christ!
[The taxi slows down; they both get in and make a hasty getaway]
Malcolm: [to the taxi-driver] You ever drive off like that again and I'll stick your meter so far down your throat you'll be able to tell the price of your next shit!

[Malcom's last line]
Malcolm: I want to say something. I want to say something! [long pause] Doesn't matter.

Stewart: You know, I've spent ten years detoxifying this party. It's been a bit like renovating an old, old house, yeah? You can take out a sexist beam here, a callous window there, replace the odd homophobic roof tile. But after a while you realise that this renovation is doomed. Because the foundations are built on what I can only describe as a solid bed of cunts.

Peter: [show's closing words] What a shit day!


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Former Characters

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