|
Gent: | Good morning, I'd care to purchase a chicken, please. |
| Butcher: | Don't come here with that posh talk you nasty, stuck-up twit. |
| Gent: | I beg your pardon? |
| Butcher: | A chicken, sir. Certainly. |
| Gent: | Thank you. And how much does that work out to per pound, my good fellow? |
| Butcher: | Per pound, you slimy trollop, what kind of a ponce are you? |
| Gent: | I'm sorry? |
| Butcher: | 4/6 a pound, sir, nice and ready for roasting. |
| Gent: | I see, and I'd care to purchase some stuffing in addition, please. |
| Butcher: | Use your own, you great poovey polehanger! |
| Gent: | What? |
| Butcher: | Ah, certainly sir, some stuffing. |
| Gent: | Oh, thank you. |
| Butcher: | 'Oh, thank you' says the great queen like a la-di-dah poofter! |
| Gent: | I beg your pardon? |
| Butcher: | That's all right, sir, call again. |
| Gent: | Excuse me... |
| Butcher: | What is it now, you great pillock? |
| Gent: | Well, I can't help noticing that you insult me and then you're polite to me alternately. |
| Butcher: | I'm terribly sorry to hear that, sir. |
| Gent: | That's all right. It doesn't matter, really... |
| Butcher: | Tough titty if it did, you nasty spotted prancer! |