I don't wanna blow the arse out of this country grounded, but I don't want anyone blowing a raspberry either.
— How much do you want for these muskets?
— Seven hundred each.
— What's that, a pound for every year they have been around? I know they're antiques, but I ain't paying antique prices. Pause.
«Bacon»: — And nobody wants to live next door to the people that we live next to; a bit anti-social, you know.
Tom: — What do you mean?
Eddie: — He means they're thieving dogs.
«Bacon»: — I mean when they are not picking peanuts out of poop, they're ripping off unfortunate souls of their hard-earned drugs.
— I want to look fucking mean.
— Of course you will look mean, Tom, you will look really scary.
— It doesn't include the speakers it doesn't include the amp. And it's not supposed to include me getting... the hump with your stupid questions. Now you want it, Nick, you buy it.
— What else do I get with it?
— You get a gold-plated Rolls Royce, as long as you pay for it.
— That's the last time I am getting any more fruit off you Tom. Call that fresh? There was more small hairy armoured things in your fruit than there was fruit. You should open a butcher's, not a grocer's.
— If you will order stuff that comes from Kat-Man-Fucking-Du don't be surprised if your fruit picks up a few tourists en route.
— Whatever it's going on, it's still enough to send you on a cooking course.
— You're not funny Tom; you're fat and look as though you should be funny, but you're not.
