Well I'm standin' by that nice Tony Thatcher no matter what anybody else says. If Tony reckons that Madam Insane's still got weapons of mass disruption, regardless o' the fact that everyone else in the world thinks different, then I reckon 'ee's right. 'Ee should know! 'Ee's the King of Britain and 'ee knows everything. Just 'cos Donald Duck in America claims that Madam Insane must 'ave destroyed 'er weapons after all, it don't mean it's true. I reckon that Bumfeeler bloke's one of Madam Insane's cronies. 'Ee's looks the sort. All nig-nog lovin' and towel-on-the-'ead wearin' and queer. Bloody Yanks ('scuse my Smegma)!
"Yankie wankers," My 'Enry used to call 'em (God rest his underpants)!
Any'ow...t' change the subject, I can't make 'ead nor tail of what's gone wrong with me television lately. It must 'ave got its wires crossed with somebody's video camera or somethin' 'cos every time I turn it on alls I can see is the inside of somebody's 'ouse. An 'ouse full o' young flappers with their bosoms out and foul mouthed pimps in their trunks flashin' their willies and balls and everything ('scuse my Antediluvian) just wanderin' round feedin' chickens an' taking a shit ('scuse my Skidmarks) an' talkin' an' stuff.
The darkie in the bikini looks like 'er from the paper shop. Then again that sort all look the same. All teeth an' eyes and noses what look like somebody's hit 'em with a frying pan.
"Stupid wogs," My 'Enry used t' call 'em. "Comin' over 'ere and stealin' our jobs what we need t' survive. We bloomin' well go to their countries and 'elp 'em out when they're all starvin' and oppressed, an' we build 'em hospitals and educate 'em! And what d' they do as a thank you? They come over 'ere and claim the dole and nick our jobs an' shit in our gutters 'cos they aren't civilised like what we are!"
'Enry was right and all! I'm eighty-six years and three months old, y' know...and my bunions fuckin' knacker.