IMDb > "The Thick of It" (2005) > Memorable quotes

Memorable quotes for
"The Thick of It" (2005) More at IMDbPro »

[knock on door]
Malcolm Tucker: Come the fuck in or fuck the fuck off.
Glenn Cullen: 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 so they can't pick up shit, they can't throw shit, they can't DO shit.
Malcolm Tucker: It IS possible to have a good resignation, you know!
Hugh Abbott: "A good resignation"? Oh, I'm looking forward to how you're gonna sell THIS to me!
Malcolm Tucker: Look, people really like it when you go just a bit early! You know, steely jawed, faraway look in your eyes! Before they get to the point when they sitting round in pubs and say "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, ah? What a way to go! Yeah!
Malcolm Tucker: What did the Prime Minister ACTUALLY said to you?
Hugh Abbott: He actually said this is exactly the sort of thing we should be doing.
Malcolm Tucker: "SHOULD" be doing. "Should" does not mean "yes".
Hugh Abbott: 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 Abbott: Smiling! Innapropriate smiling! And smirking! Smiling and smirking! I don't wanna see that smile or smirk ever again, ok?
Hugh Abbott: All I do: 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. I sit there and I think - no, I'm not gonna read the New Statesman, this time is just for me. This is quality time just for me. Is it normal?
Malcolm Tucker: Ok, this is what we're doing: I'm putting about through a number of cronies that Hewitt's piece was a packet of bollocks, he did it as a favor to Cliff.
Oliver Reeder: Cliff being...
Glenn Cullen: Cliff Lawton...
Malcolm Tucker: Hugh's predesessor. He and Hewitt are as tight as arse cheeks.
Hugh Abbott: Are they now?
Malcolm Tucker: Fuck knows, but that's what we're saying, ok? It's personal, it's backslapping, it's borderline homoerotic, and you are an innocent victim of a nasty media stitch-up.
Malcolm Tucker: All right, listen up, this is what we're gonna do: I'm bringing forward Hugh's interview with Angela Heaney to this afternoon. It goes out as a spoiler tomorrow morning. That way we can get our side of the story across and also piss all over Simon Hewitt's cornflecks, sadly only metaphorically, yeah? Allright, Ollie, call Heaney. Terry, get on to her editor. Glenn, book a room. Bodie, Doyle, you go round the back!... At times of stress, I make jokes!
Other: I'm sorry, could you stop swearing, please?
Malcolm Tucker: I'm really sorry, you won't hear any more swearing from us, YOU MASSIVE GAY SHITE! Fuck off!
Malcolm Tucker: Right. How're you doing, in sorting out whether he lied or not, you doing ok?
Oliver Reeder: Pretty well, yeah.
Malcolm Tucker: Is that a lie?
Oliver Reeder: Yeah.
Malcolm Tucker: That is not fucking funny, you retard!... I'm sorry about that, Glenn, the situation's just...
Terri Coverley: Did you send an e-mail this morning, about me, calling me a cunt?
Oliver Reeder: No! No, I never use that word, let alone about you, no, absolutely, I won't use it until, you know, it's been fully normalized and has no further assosiation with the... female twat.
Hugh Abbott: Is Tucker in the building?
Oliver Reeder: "Malcolm in the Middle".
Hugh Abbott: Hm?
Oliver Reeder: It's what we call him, 'cause he can stand in the middle of the atrium, just shout all around.
Hugh Abbott: I don't wanna see him, not at the moment, I can't take one of his scenes from "The Exorsist" just now.
Frankie: Shagging your way to the top, then, is it?
Oliver Reeder: Well, I'm not Scottish, so I got to get there somehow.
Jamie: Have you seen the Whip's numbers?
Malcolm Tucker: NOMFuP.
Jamie: Eh?
Malcolm Tucker: 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 Tucker: How much fucking shit is there on the menu and what fucking flavor is it?
Malcolm Tucker: Sam? Can you get me Terri Coverley and Glenn Cullen? Make them an appointment to come over? I think I got to shout at somebody, you know? Oh, actually, get me John at Culture on the phone, I think I'll have a bit of a shout now.
Jamie: Are you a horse?
Cliff Lawton: Sorry?
Jamie: Are you a fucking horse?
Jamie: Oh, Trinny and Susanna! I'm sorry to burst into your little fucking boutique, but you've got a fight on your hands! That's all I'm saying, I'm backing a rival candidate, so
[to Tucker]
Jamie: fuck you and
[to Nick]
Jamie: fuck you and your Nutter coronation 'cause it ain't happening!
Nick Hanway: You're backing Dan Miller, are you?
Jamie: No, I'm not backing Dan Miller, don't you never fucking ask me a question again!
Malcolm Tucker: Hey, it's Nutter Nick!
Angela Heaney: Ollie! Are you pissing?
Oliver Reeder: Ah, no, that's the flush of the automatic uranals in the gentelman's lavatory.
Angela Heaney: I don't wanna talk to you while you're holding your penis!
Oliver Reeder: Well, that's not what you used to say...
Angela Heaney: Yes it is.
Oliver Reeder: No, well, that's precicely what you used to say.
Robyn Murdoch: You said "cold cocks"!
Malcolm Tucker: Has anybody seen Jamie?
Glenn Cullen: Why? Have you lost him?
Jamie: [to Julius] Eat the cheese! Eat the fucking cheese!
Robyn Murdoch: It's just Jamie, I find him just a little bit frightening...
Malcolm Tucker: Relax, he has never hit anyone! Or at least anyone he hit has never had the balls to take it to a superior! It's a fucking joke, it's a joke, ok? The man is a professional, you will be fine!
Glenn Cullen: Actually, Malcolm, we still have no word on Dan Miller, he's gone dark, he's not answering his phone...
Malcolm Tucker: Maybe he's in a hotel with his own huddle! Ring around, try and find him.
Glenn Cullen: What, ring every hotel in London and ask if Dan Miller's booked in?
Malcolm Tucker: Yeah! Although he could be using an assumed name...
Glenn Cullen: So, you want me to ring round every hotel in London and ask if anyone of any name has booked in?
Malcolm Tucker: Keep you busy! You know, you have to keep the mind active at your age.
Malcolm Tucker: [to Nick] You know what I call "semantics"? Wank!
Nick Hanway: Tom's not sure about you...
Malcolm Tucker: Tom is enourmosly mental in the head, that's what we've just been discussing.
Jamie: Have you been talking to Malcolm?
Robyn Murdoch: No, should I have?
Jamie: Who did you mention Cliff Lawton to, then?
Robyn Murdoch: Only Terri.
Jamie: For fuck's sake woman! What is your fucking problem? No no no, don't answer that, we'll be here all fucking night!
Jamie: Malcolm, what's the fuck happening?
Malcolm Tucker: Tom's in trouble.
Jamie: Good.
Malcolm Tucker: His numbers are falling.
Jamie: Good.
Malcolm Tucker: So I sujested that they take a look at another runner.
Jamie: Claire Ballantine? Ok... I'm not hating that... That's not total shit.
Malcolm Tucker: Are you in on this?
Jamie: I'm not leaving it to you, you couldn't organize a bum rape in the barracs.
Malcolm Tucker: Au contraire.
Adam Kenyon: [to Angela] You know how Geoff Holhurst photographs - it's like his body's in the foreground and his head is really really far away.
Nick Hanway: Tom's announcing his team in the morning and I've got to to stop Dan Miller from announcing his team two hours before we announce ours, so if you wanna get on the bus...
Malcolm Tucker: That is my mission. You, mister Nutty-Bar, have given me a task. Jesus Christ! Who the fuck does Tom think he is?
Nick Hanway: The next Prime Minister of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Malcolm.
Malcolm Tucker: 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, you know - Tom meeting the Pope, Tom in a 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 deepshit legacy-distracting COCKUP!
Adam Kenyon: We better run with something, otherwise we'll have to reprint Hitler's fucking diaries. Again.
Malcolm Tucker: Nick, I've just had the Mail on the phone. They're running with the Tom story.
Nick Hanway: This is not good...
Malcolm Tucker: No, it's not good, I'm sorry, it's everywhere, spreading faster than a rent-boy's cheeks. We're gonna need a Plan B here.
Nick Hanway: What about... Geoff Holhurst?
Malcolm Tucker: His head photographs quite badly, so...
Malcolm Tucker: I'll get the Press to stop calling him Blinky-Ben.
Malcolm Tucker: [to Ollie] If you don't go get me some cheese, I'll rip your head off, and give you a spinedectomy.
Ben Swain: Where does it leave me?
Malcolm Tucker: I guess it leaves you standing in a chamber in the House of Commons with your big flaccid dick hanging out, with a "vote for me" sticking on the end.
Jamie: You, Julius Nicholson, being of a sound mind, with a body that looks like a giant sex toy, did knowingly do us up the shithole by passing confidential information to the enemy! And I am gonna have your guts as a skipping rope, then rip yor lungs out, sun-dry them and wear them as a waist-coat!
Glenn Cullen: [to Terri] It's not the same. You're on the last chopper out of Saigon, I'm having it up the ass with Ho Chi Minh!
Jamie: Enough with the plesensies, let's just oil up and get fucking, yeah?
Glenn Cullen: I've been leaking for 27 years, I know how it's done. I leaked!
Oliver Reeder: You don't leak! Well, not from the mouth, anyway.
Malcolm Tucker: Just fucking shut up. At least this is Hugh's Glenn. All you are, mate, is fucking Ben's Glenn.
Oliver Reeder: "Ben's Glenn"? That's all I am, I'm Ben's Glenn.
Ben Swain: What's wrong with that? It's not like it's a disease!
Oliver Reeder: It's not the "Ben" bit, it's the "Glenn" bit.
Glenn Cullen: They only want him to make Cappucinos.
Hugh Abbott: He does it very well. I think it's the way you waggle your finger so hard in the milk.
Oliver Reeder: Yeah, you think it's my finger, bitch.
Malcolm Tucker: 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 Tucker: No, 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...
Malcolm Tucker: Hey Jamie! This is Ollie!
Jamie: THE Ollie? The stuck-one-up-the-Opposition-for-us Ollie? Good fucking man! Good to meet you!
Malcolm Tucker: It's make-your-mind-up time, Ollie! I mean, what do you want to be? Do you want to be a prick that works here for a year, then goes away and joins a think-tank to write "oh, on one hand this and on the other hand that", or do you want to be a soldier?
Jamie: Have you got your eyes on the prize?
Oliver Reeder: I've got my eyes on the prize.
Malcolm Tucker: Good.
Oliver Reeder: What is the prize?
Malcolm Tucker: I don't know, you need to ask the brain guys... I'll settle for just keeping us in government instead of the wankers you're shagging!
Mark Davies: Malcolm, this is a traditional oldfashioned news story called "Minister looks a tit".
Malcolm Tucker: Hey, everybody looks a tit, you know? Take two of this shots of him looking moronic out, leave a couple in of him looking a little bit dim, put one of him composed, drop it down in the running order, and we've got a deal.
Mark Davies: What deal, Malcolm? He looks a tit, that's it! I'm sorry.
Malcolm Tucker: But 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!
Jamie: Well, go for fuck's sake, you big fucking prick! Or I'll cut your ears off! We need it done!
Oliver Reeder: When I met you this morning I thought you were the nice Scot.
Hugh Abbott: Have you, though? Ever cleaned up your own mother's piss?
Glenn Cullen: No, I never knew my mother, as you know...
Hugh Abbott: Sorry. Have you ever cleaned up your step-mother's piss?
Glenn Cullen: No, I never cleaned her piss, it wasn't that kind of relationship.
Hugh Abbott: I've done Alicia's piss... And then Charlie's piss, loads and loads of it. You know, it's only piss. She was going on like it's toxic waist or something... What's a bit of piss?
Malcolm Tucker: [to Jamie, on the phone] There's a glacier of shit at DoSAC. I need you over here with a fucking blow torch right now!
Malcolm Tucker: Right, hi Geoff, don't stand.
[Holhurst sits back down]
Malcolm Tucker: No no, I mean don't stand against Tom. Now you see how I did that? I was both being funny and also deadly seroius.
Geoff Holhurst: Now where did you hear that, Malcolm?
Malcolm Tucker: Never mind where I heard that. The thing is Geoff, you're gonna waist everybody's time...
Geoff Holhurst: I'm not standing, Malcolm, I'm just trying to start a debate. You know, a policy debate, future direction of the party.
Malcolm Tucker: ...because, first, you've got no credentials. You're so back-bench, you've actually fucking fallen off. You're out there by the bins. Secondly, I'm gonna tell the Mirror about all the drinking, and thirdly, I'm gonna tell the Mail about the affair and fourthly, you've got tiny head.
Geoff Holhurst: No I haven't!
Malcolm Tucker: Yes you have, it's out of proportions, everybody mentions that! Now, you see, you're shaking it and I can hardly see it move! Are you shaking it now? I can't tell!
Geoff Holhurst: I'm not standing, ok! My head is the right size!
Malcolm Tucker: It's very petite. So you're not standing? You will not stand against Tom?
Geoff Holhurst: I've said, I've bloody said.
Malcolm Tucker: OK. Thank you Geoff. Let's have lunch sometime, yeah? Have a tete-a-tiny-tete.
Geoff Holhurst: Jesus!
Jamie: [to Terri and Robyn] Hey, Desperate Houswifes! You found out who's leaking yet?
Glenn Cullen: I have! It's Julius! He's just told me.
Jamie: Julius? Nicholson? That-baldie-pussy? If you think he's leaking now, wait till you see when I'm finished with him! He'll look like fucking Mel Gibson's Jesus! Fuck!
Jamie: [to Nick] It's the sound of you flying out of the loop head first into a huge mount of shite.
Malcolm Tucker: [on the phone] Jamie... What's that sort of droning noise in the background there? What, kind of boring, kind of low, sort of droning, boring, kind of miserable, whining, kind of, sort of boring noise going on?
Jamie: Yeah, well you've got it wrong!
Malcolm Tucker: Cliff fucking Lawton. Hey, nice. Was the Cillit Bang guy not availabe?
Jamie: Fuck you.
Malcolm Tucker: [to a fellow Communications guy] Hey, well done on Fatty's profile! Very very good! I nearly liked the enormous fucker reading it!
Jamie: [to Ollie, about Malcolm] Just nod when the big fucker talks, do whatever I say.
Malcolm Tucker: Actually it's the other way around.
Jamie: [about Ollie] Not much of a fucking soldier, is he?
Malcolm Tucker: He's a lover, not a fighter.

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