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Jamie: Are you a horse?

Cliff Lawton: Sorry?

Jamie: Are you a fucking horse?

Cliff Lawton: Um... dunno... what you mean... wh...

Jamie: Are you a fucking horse?

Cliff Lawton: Ok... No I'm not a horse.

Jamie: Are you sure?

Cliff Lawton: I'm sure.

Jamie: You got a pretty fucking horsey face, and a bit of a horsey wife... are you a fucking horse? Are you?

Cliff Lawton: Ok, leaving the wife aside for a second...

Jamie: Are you a horse?

Cliff Lawton: No...

Jamie: EXACTLY!

Cliff Lawton: -Categorically say I'm not a horse

Jamie: You're not a fucking horse. You're no horse, and you're not a stalking horse. You are the real thing. We will ram you up Tom's arse so hard that he will have to shit out of his lying mouth.

Cliff Lawton: Not a very nice image. It's motivating...

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Malcolm Tucker: [to Cliff Lawton] I'd love to stop and chat to you but I'd rather have type 2 diabetes.

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Cliff Lawton: Malcolm!

Malcolm Tucker: Elvis! Sorry, sorry, Cliff. Where are you off to?

Cliff Lawton: I'm actually off to see and old collegue, you know, back from the old days, before you asked me to resign.

Malcolm Tucker: Oh, lovely, lovely. Well, look, I'd love to stop and chat but I'd rather have type 2 diabetes.

Cliff Lawton: Yes, fuck you.

Malcolm Tucker: Happy New Year.

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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!

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Malcolm Tucker: Has anybody seen Jamie?

Glenn Cullen: Why? Have you lost him?

Oliver Reeder: Don't tell me he's gone feral, 'cause he was fucking terrifying when you had him on the leash!

Malcolm Tucker: Let's not overreact.

Oliver Reeder: Easy for you to say, he threatened to shove an ipod up my cock!

Malcolm Tucker: You get that alot, though, don't you?

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Glenn Cullen: Tom's lot has gone into a huddle.

Oliver Reeder: What, already?

Glenn Cullen: This is it, you know. This is where it begins. Who's in, who's out. Fatty is out.

Oliver Reeder: At least he'll spend more time with his fridge.

[Tucker arrives]

Malcolm Tucker: Has anybody seen Jamie?

Glenn Cullen: Why? Have you lost him?

Oliver Reeder: Don't tell me he's gone feral, 'cause he was fucking terrifying when you had him on the leash!

Malcolm Tucker: Let's not overreact.

Oliver Reeder: Easy for you to say, he threatened to shove an ipod up my cock!

Malcolm Tucker: You get that alot, though, don't you? Who it is that's booked to go on Today tomorrow, do you know?

Terri Coverley: I could find out...

Glenn Cullen: It could be Bob Ryan.

[everyone laughs]

Oliver Reeder: That's exactly who it's gonna be.

Malcolm Tucker: Yeah Glenn, probably Bob Ryan. For fuck's sake! Have you gone back in fucking time? Yeah, I believe Disraeli's standing as well.

Terri Coverley: And Oliver Cromwell.

Oliver Reeder: Also fish who hasn't crowled onto the land yet to form the first tetrapod.

[everyone stare at him]

Oliver Reeder: I was hearing maybe... Geoff Holhurst?

Malcolm Tucker: Geoff? No fucking way, no, he's ruled himself out for definite. Mind you, I could always go and fire a warning shot across his throat.

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Robyn Murdoch: I just don't know what to say when the bloggers and the diary writers hit me with "what about this rumor?". I'm just not comfortable lying.

Terri Coverley: Oh for God's sake, Robyn. Bloggers! Just tell them to bloody well sod off to their grubby dingy little bedrooms.

Robyn Murdoch: Now I'm getting calls about Geoff Holhurst, about him standing.

Oliver Reeder: About Geoff? Calls about that already?

Terri Coverley: Geoff Holhurst? For leader? That would be extraordinary, very bizzare, he's got such a tiny head!

Oliver Reeder: You're right, actually, he's got a miniature head!

Robyn Murdoch: Is Geoff's tiny head standing? Is he out in the cold?

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Glenn Cullen: [watching Dan Miller on TV] You don't think he's got a chance, do you?

Oliver Reeder: No, he's just a droid, isn't he? He's just...

[makes bleeping noises]

Malcolm Tucker: Hey hey, don't leat him hear you doing that sort of stuff! What happens if he does stand a chance, eh? He'll fuck you harder than Ron Jeremy and with less warmth.

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Ben Swain: Hi Glenn.

Glenn Cullen: Ben. How's everything with you? How's the huddle? What is the next mooove?

Ben Swain: The next mooove, my aged retainer, will be the next mooove.

Glenn Cullen: Oh well, gosh, I got to write that down, does it mean anything?

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Robyn Murdoch: Someone has leaked some things about, you know, immigration policy and the computers and the Mail would like to know what our line is.

Glenn Cullen: For fuck's sake, that's not a priority, stonewall it.

Robyn Murdoch: But I can't just say...

Oliver Reeder: Give them the cold cock, Robyn.

Robyn Murdoch: What is the cold cock?

Glenn Cullen: Look, nothing is happening on that tonight, ok? We've only got one fish-frier in here and we have a massive political fish to fry, ok?

Oliver Reeder: Don't, under any circumstances, mention the massive political fish when you're talking to them!

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Malcolm Tucker: Where's Robyn? Robyn, come here! Quick! I'm bringing Jamie over to fire-fight this Watford story, so you'll be working with Jamie for the rest of the night, you take orders from Jamie. I want you to bury this Watford arsey tonight, because tomorrow morning - 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 the last years 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!

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's hit has never had the bollocks 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 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.

[to Ollie]

Malcolm Tucker: You! Walk my way. I need you to go over there for me. I need you at that hotel.

Oliver Reeder: You wanna to have a loop.

Malcolm Tucker: Fuck you, Andy-Pandy, I AM the loop. I want you in there for reason that will not become cleat to you for about 200 years so just do it. Specifically, see if any of Dan Miller's army are mincing in fish nettings and high heels. And I want updates every five.

Oliver Reeder: Ok.

Malcolm Tucker: Oi, and listen, get onto your ex at the Mail, allright? Tell her no fucker is standing, it all evaporated like cat's piss on a hot tin roof. Ok, twat-weasel? You got that?

Oliver Reeder: Yes, thank you.

[walking away]

Oliver Reeder: Malcolm Tucker, an investor in people.

Malcolm Tucker: Yes, I heard that! Fuck you!

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Malcolm Tucker: [answering his cellphone] Terri, I think you've dialled the wrong number, this is not the Samaritans.

Terri Coverley: Yes, very very funny. Listen, I've got something for you, a bit of intelligence. Jamie has got Cliff Lawton as his stalking horse.

Malcolm Tucker: Who told you it was Lawton? Martha Karney's gardner?

Terri Coverley: Malcolm, it was Robyn told me.

[Tucker hangs up]

Terri Coverley: Malcolm? Are you there?

Jamie: [cut to Jamie and Cliff] Nobody gives a shit if you got shuffted by Malcolm.

Cliff Lawton: I will never ever forgive him for what he did to me.

Jamie: Jesus, this isn't Eastenders! This is politics! We're all in the same playing pit, Cliff, there's no clean hands.

Cliff Lawton: Alright.

Jamie: [phone rings. Jamie answers] Yeah?

Malcolm Tucker: 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, yeah?

Malcolm Tucker: Cliff fucking Lawton. Hey, nice. Was the Cillit Bang guy not availabe?

Jamie: Fuck you.

[hangs up]

Cliff Lawton: [reading from his speech] "... to put it simply, I'm back!"

Jamie: Oh fuck off, Cliff!

Cliff Lawton: Sorry?

Jamie: Fuck off! You're a busted flush! You're not gonna be any Prime Minister, you're not gonna be anything, so fuck off!

Cliff Lawton: That's your thing, isn't it? Everything has to be in absolutes, everything has to be black and white. You know, "I love you -fuck off". There are lots of shades of grey, you know!

Jamie: I know that, I'm looking at fifteen of them right now!

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Adam Kenyon: [talking about Tom Davies losing supporters after the antidepressants incident] Right, how many has he lost?

Angela Heaney: At least half a dozen.

Adam Kenyon: That's alright, though, isn't it? Still in the hundreds, way above the 44. What does Macaulay Culkin think gonna happen next?

Angela Heaney: He doesn't know.

Adam Kenyon: Offcourse he doesn't fucking know! He's about as connected as a kibbutz. Right, come one then, chop chop.

Angela Heaney: What am I doing?

Adam Kenyon: I don't know! Just get on with it!

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Oliver Reeder: Ben. A quick thought.

Ben Swain: Come on, then, enlighten us, grasshoper.

Oliver Reeder: Tom's dying. He doesn't have to die. We can take his DNA and transfer it to a healthier host.

Ben Swain: What are you talking about?

Oliver Reeder: Science fiction analogy. What I'm saying is why don't we sound out a potential fallback?

Nick Hanway: Who?

Oliver Reeder: Claire Ballantine. She's highly regarded, she's clean...

Nick Hanway: Yeah, yeah, I get it... To be honest, I was really hoping that was gonna be shit because I'm tired and I quite like to hit somebody.

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Malcolm Tucker: [on the phone] Yeah, yeah, for sure Ballantine's out.

Adam Kenyon: Thanks. Thanks for that, Malcolm. I really appriciate it.

Malcolm Tucker: You know what they're calling her already? Ugly Betty.

Adam Kenyon: That's fucking brilliant.

Malcolm Tucker: So, that's big night for you, eh?

Adam Kenyon: Well,yeah, you know...

Malcolm Tucker: Listen, this Tom story, who's got it? How you're gonna run it?

Adam Kenyon: You mean the ''vitamins''?

Malcolm Tucker: Yes, the ''vitamins'', ha ha.

Adam Kenyon: Probably nothing, actually, to be honest.

Malcolm Tucker: No, nothing, nothing at all?

Adam Kenyon: If the guy's gonna be the next Prime Minister, I don't wanna piss him off with something that can't stand up.

Malcolm Tucker: Good call. Listen, we should get you over here sometime, yeah?

Adam Kenyon: I'd love that.

Malcolm Tucker: And obviously if you do think about running with this pills story, I will personally fucking eviscerate you, right?

Adam Kenyon: Right...

Malcolm Tucker: And I mean, I don't have your education, I dunno what it means, but I will start by ripping your cock off and I'll bask it from there, ok?

Adam Kenyon: Good, thank you, again.

Malcolm Tucker: Talk to you later.

Adam Kenyon: Cheers, bye bye, now.

[hangs up. To Angela]

Adam Kenyon: He's a nice guy.

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Ben Swain: So why have you got me? Why have you called me back in? Are we gonna do a post-Claire, preemptive-Dan Miller strike?

Malcolm Tucker: We're thinking, Ben, about you.

Ben Swain: About... As in, ME?

Malcolm Tucker: People still want a Tom figure, but Tom is tainted, you know, but you, you're clean, you know. You are the exactable face of Tom. Tom is analog in a digital age. You are Digital Ben. You're DigiBen. I think, I really think you could get it. I really do. I really, genuinely do.

Ben Swain: [shocked] Oh, shitcakes. So I could be like a younger, sort of hunger... hungrier, leaner version of Tom?

Malcolm Tucker: Not leaner.

Ben Swain: Allright, a younger, hungrier Tom.

Malcolm Tucker: That's it! I mean, because there's an army of people out there who want Tom's ideas. You could bring those ideas, but you know, without the dribbling.

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Malcolm Tucker: [to Ben] Stop fucking blinking! Or I will take your optic nerve and strangle you with it!

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Oliver Reeder: [on the phone] Listen, Angela, how far have you got with the Ben Swain thing?

Angela Heaney: Why?

Oliver Reeder: Well, however far you've got with it, basically, that is too far.

Angela Heaney: It's not happening.

Oliver Reeder: I'm reverse-floating it now. I'm sucking it back in the pipe.

Adam Kenyon: [Adam joins in the conversation on his phone] Hello.

Oliver Reeder: Yeah, Adam, hi. Listen, I'm really sorry about this Ben Swain thing.

Adam Kenyon: Yeah, you know, these thing happen, don't they?

Oliver Reeder: They do happen.

Adam Kenyon: Do you know what I'm gonna change page 4 and 5 to now? It's gonna say "Junior government gimp wrecks ex-girlfriend's career." How about that? Do you like that? Do you know what I'm gonna do, Oliver Reeder? I'm gonna spend the rest of my life dedicated to persecuting you in the most poisenous vendetta ever known in the British media, how about that? You have a great day, you have a smashing fucking day.

[hangs up]

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Jamie: It's show time! Can Teflon Tucker save the Nutters or will Dan Miller rip his sculp off and use it as an oven glove?

Nick Hanway: [Ben and Nick coming down the stairs] Guys! Is he here? Dan's not arrived yet, is he?

Malcolm Tucker: Laurel and fucking Hardy! Glad you could join us. Did you manage to get that piano up the stairs ok, yeah?

Jamie: Oh, ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for The Right Honourable Dan Miller, MP!

Dan Miller: Oh, the reception committee. What a turn out. And they say no one is interested in politics. Malcolm.

Malcolm Tucker: Dan.

Dan Miller: Nick.

Nick Hanway: Dan.

Dan Miller: Ben.

Ben Swain: Dan.

Dan Miller: Jamie.

Jamie: God, enough with the pleasensies here, let's just oil up and get fucking, yeah?

Malcolm Tucker: I'm looking forward to today.

Dan Miller: Today should be very interesting.

Malcolm Tucker: I just wonder what are you actually gonna be saying on Today.

Dan Miller: On the Today program? Well I'll be saying that I'll be fully endorsing Tom. Tom's my guy and he always has been.

Nick Hanway: Really? Is that it? No buts, no elephant traps?

Dan Miller: No, no. Tom and I came to an arrangement about an hour or so ago.

Malcolm Tucker: Well, my work here is done.

Nick Hanway: Why wasn't I told?

Jamie: [Jamie does a flying movement with his hand, complete with whistling. Nick looks at him in puzzlement] It's the sound of you flying out of the loop head first into a huge mound of shite.

Nick Hanway: So this whole evening has just been a waste of time.

[Jamie does the flying thing again]

Nick Hanway: Yeah, yeah, I got it, got it.

Dan Miller: Yes, yes, that's pretty much it. That's why I went home, had a good night's sleep. Oh, by the way, Malcolm, Tom said to liaise with you on the press and...

Malcolm Tucker: Yes, yes, offfcourse, yeah...

[Tucker recieves a message on his beeper]

Malcolm Tucker: Oh, God. Oh, I've been summoned to the breakfast meeting, to talk to Tom about this morning, some details about Claire Ballentine maybe, Geoff Holhurst, young Benjamin here.

Nick Hanway: Fuck you very much, you unscrupulous bastard.

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Terri Coverley: [on the phone] Hi, Jamie, what can I do for you?

Jamie: I need you back here now.

Terri Coverley: Oh...

Jamie: Well I'm asking nicely, but if necessary I could come and kidnap you. I do keep a balaclava and gaffer tape in my car. No I actually do, do you hear me, Terri?

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Malcolm Tucker: So how's the rebrand going?

Nick Hanway: Ok. We've booked him for a photo op on Tuesday, he's taking the family to a harvester.

Malcolm Tucker: Oh, Jesus Christ. Really? "Have you been to a harvester before, Prime Minister?" "No, in fact I've never been actually out of the fucking house with my family before".

Nick Hanway: Anyway, look, do you know the name of the guy who's booked to go on Today in the morning?

Malcolm Tucker: Sure, yeah... Do YOU know?

Nick Hanway: Yeah, we've just found out. So, you know who it is.

Malcolm Tucker: Offcourse I know! There's nothing that you know that I don't know. I'm Doctor fucking Know.

Nick Hanway: Who is it?

Malcolm Tucker: Are you testing me now? 'Cause I could test you and we could have a big match of testostothone. I mean how do I know that you've got the fucking name anyway?

Nick Hanway: Because Hugo at Today told us.

Malcolm Tucker: Right.

Nick Hanway: So what name have you got?

Malcolm Tucker: [long pause] Dan Miller!

Nick Hanway: Oh, ok, so you do know...

Malcolm Tucker: 'course I fucking do...

Nick Hanway: Look, Tom's announcing his team in the morning and I 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.

[Turning to leave]

Malcolm Tucker: Nick. Tell mighty fucking Tom that his transition will be as smooth as a Brazilian's fudd.

Jamie: [Jamie comes into the office] Oh, Trinny and Susannah! 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 fuck you and 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 fucking ever ask me a question again!

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Jamie: [to Julius] Eat the cheese! Eat the fucking cheese!

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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!

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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 suggested 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, hey? You couldn't organize a bum rape in the barracks.

Malcolm Tucker: Au contraire.

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Adam Kenyon: [to Angela] You know how Geoff Holhurst photographs - he looks like his body's in the foreground and his head is really really faraway. It's fucking weird.

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Adam Kenyon: Right, Geoff Holhurst?

Angela Heaney: Yeah.

Adam Kenyon: What, Ollie's our source on this? Ollie Reeder? Shallow Throat? Brilliant.

Angela Heaney: I know you don't rate him...

Adam Kenyon: You can say that again. Ollie Reeder is, to quote Bobby Kennedy, a complete fucking spasmanoid. Plus, you know how Geoff Holhurst photographs - it's like his body's in the foreground and his head is really really far away, looks fucking weird. Just something solid, allright? Otherwise our front page is going to be an interview with Janet Street Porter on why she hasn't been asked to be Prime Minister and a giant fucking Sudoku.

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Oliver Reeder: [on the phone with Ben Swain] Mister Ben Swain, my main man, the Swain man! Yeah, no, I just told them I was popping out for a sandwitch, which I was, in fact I still am, listen.

[chewing]

Oliver Reeder: Hear that? That is the sound of my teeth. Already? You're in a huddle with Tom NOW? Offcourse I want in! Well, yeah, absolutely. 'Cause you're my man, aren't you? You're the Ben. You're THE Ben. You know, you're Ben Nevis, Bently Hill. You know, I was thinking, it's just like Election night. We know that we won, already.

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Glenn Cullen: [on the phone with Nick] Nick! Mister Hanway! Good afternoon! Well, I'm fine, thank you. Everything here is a little bit odd, you know. A little bit 'Bob Todd'. Oh, the Hughster! No, he's always been a very big admirer of Tom, so I don't see why he wouldn't back Tom.

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Oliver Reeder: [on the phone] Angela.

Angela Heaney: Ollie! How are you?

Oliver Reeder: I'm Tickety Fockety Boo, thank you very much!

Angela Heaney: Sorry?

Oliver Reeder: Tickety Fockety Boo. Just something Ben said.

Angela Heaney: You and Ben Swain big buds, then?

Oliver Reeder: Well, you know... Could you hang on just a second?

[goes to the lavatory]

Oliver Reeder: Things are just a little bit fluid here, and Glenn's not really a big Ben fan. Ben Swain, obviously, not the clock. Well, it's not the clock, it's the bell that's called Big Ben.

Angela Heaney: So, go on, tell me, who else is running?

Oliver Reeder: Well, no one. No one's gonna stand against Tom, surely he's going to be unnopposed. They'll be re-branding him as we speak, I would imagine. New hair, Ted Baker teeth, all the modern trappings of your political leader...

Angela Heaney: Ollie! Are you pissing?

Oliver Reeder: Ah, no, that's the flush of the automatic urinals 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.

Angela Heaney: Yes it is.

Oliver Reeder: No well, actually that's precicely what you used to say.

Angela Heaney: We're hearing that someone has booked in to do a Today programm in the morning to announce they're standing.

Oliver Reeder: Oh?

Angela Heaney: You and Big Ben out of the loop on that one?

Oliver Reeder: Ah, no, no, no... That's... Not Geoff Holhurst?

Angela Heaney: Geoff?

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Ben Swain: Right, Glenn, I'm gonna leave you to your switchboard duties.

Glenn Cullen: Don't worry about us.

Ben Swain: Back where the action is. Don't wanna miss a chance getting into Uncle Tom's Cabinet.

Oliver Reeder: Ok...

Ben Swain: Problems?

Oliver Reeder: It's hammer-time. There's been a wild cat walkout at Watford Immigration Center. Whoever's leeking has told the press we weren't prepared to spend money on the repairs of the computer system. The Mail has told them that this department refuses point-blank to do or say anything about it, so the night shift walked out.

Glenn Cullen: Robyn! What the fuck do you think you're doing?

Robyn Murdoch: I cold-cocked! You said to! I said nothing was happening, I said nothing was going on here!

Glenn Cullen: For fuck's sake, where did you learn that? The Civil Servant's school of telling the fucking truth?

Robyn Murdoch: You said 'cold cocks'!

Ben Swain: Ollie, I want you to deal with that. I'm gonna get back to the huddle. You get onto the press, tell them I'm all over it, I'm gonna instigate this spectrum-wide sweep of every espect of the... the thing, that I'm not being distracted by leadepship debates.

Oliver Reeder: Yeah, no problem, Ben. I'll see you at the hotel.

Ben Swain: Ahh... Yeah, sure, but get this done, we'll see.

Oliver Reeder: Bring me back a tiny wee Fanta from the MiniBar.

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Glenn Cullen: ...and then Liam said that someone suggested that Tom should go on Strictly Come Dancing.

Oliver Reeder: [smirks] He can barely even walk properly!

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Adam Kenyon: Alright, latest.

Angela Heaney: Ollie says no one's standing in Tom's way, definite.

Adam Kenyon: Oh, Ollie says, does he?

Angela Heaney: He's at the Nutter summit now, he's our best source!

Adam Kenyon: What for, raw sewage? Right, start a Tom story, but just as the spine, don't elaborate, just keep your options open, allright?

Angela Heaney: Ok.

Adam Kenyon: Just for now.

[to another journalist]

Adam Kenyon: Get rid of this Dan Miller horseshit and get going on the Tom! Ok, come on, people, let's go! Come on!

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Jamie: [on the phone] No, no, he is a nice guy, it's just that apparently every eighteen months, two years he burns out. Takes a truck booth full of Prozac to get him righted.

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Robyn Murdoch: I'm getting a lot of calls.

Glenn Cullen: Well, you're Communications, Robyn, that does tend to happen.

Robyn Murdoch: Don't do jokes, Glenn, you're not a funny man, you're not that type.

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Oliver Reeder: [on the phone, after the antidepressants thing breaks] Hello.

Malcolm Tucker: Right, what's the plan?

Oliver Reeder: They don't have a plan.

Malcolm Tucker: Perhaps you should give them one.

Oliver Reeder: Oh, yes, fantastic, actually, Malcolm, because I have a very suitable one attached to the underside of my scrotum, so why don't we...

Malcolm Tucker: Shut it, you're using up all the minutes on my talk-to-your-head-cancer tariff. Listen, get hold of Nick. Ask him if he's thought of sounding out another body. Suggest Claire Ballantine. She's highly regarded, she's clean, and she could, theoretically, occupy the same space as Tom. Call me in three.

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Adam Kenyon: So it's Ballentine. Well, it's a sideways move but it kind of makes sence. Should we run with it?

Angela Heaney: Well, it's definitely happening, she's on her way in.

Adam Kenyon: Is it gonna stand up?

Angela Heaney: I think it'll stand up.

Adam Kenyon: You think?

Angela Heaney: Probably.

Adam Kenyon: If you were me?

Angela Heaney: I'd have a sex change?

Adam Kenyon: Very fucking funny. Right, fuck it, let's do it, let's run with it. Let's go, Ballantine story, let's go. Better run with something, otherwise we're gonna have to re-print Hitler's fucking diaries again.

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Jamie: [on the phone to Terri] The results of this new immigration shit are hittings us and I need you in here now to eat that shit!

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Oliver Reeder: Nick's ready to dump Tom if Ballantine's up for it.

Malcolm Tucker: [gravely] You've made me very very happy.

Oliver Reeder: Yeah, you look it.

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Robyn Murdoch: The Mail's got hold of a story about Ben being racist to a cleaner and saying racist things!

Terri Coverley: Yeah, and they're gonna run with a headline "Uncle Tom's Cabinet", which is gonna be a really big problem for us, actually, because it's a very very good headline!

Ben Swain: I'm not a racist! I'm so not a racist! One of my best friends is an Asian! No, I know that sounds...

Malcolm Tucker: [to Jamie] You! That's it! I'm not standing for that! It's over! You're fucking a dead man walking!

Jamie: You think I leaked this?

Malcolm Tucker: What do you think I am, seven years old?

Jamie: Kiss my bollocks, this has got nothing to do with me!

[to Ollie]

Jamie: It was you!

Oliver Reeder: No, it wasn't fucking me! Why would it be me? I thought we'd be working together in the new administration!

Glenn Cullen: The new administration! Listen to the First Lady!

Oliver Reeder: Shut up, Glenn. Shut up.

Jamie: I've got it!

[about Robyn]

Jamie: It was fucking Johnny Mitchel here, it was her!

Robyn Murdoch: I've leaked nothing!

Jamie: What are you talking about?

Robyn Murdoch: Other than the incidental leak, obviously.

Malcolm Tucker: [to Jamie] I know it was you. You're a pint pot Judas.

Jamie: It wasn't me!

Malcolm Tucker: A pint pot Judas!

Jamie: I'm five foot ten!

Malcolm Tucker: Well, you don't feel that.

Glenn Cullen: Malcolm. It wasn't him. It was me.

Jamie: Oh, fuck off.

Oliver Reeder: No way. No way.

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.

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Malcolm Tucker: Hey, it's Nutter Nick!

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Malcolm Tucker: You've got that bullshit Watford story covered, yeah?

Jamie: Yeah.

Malcolm Tucker: You and I will have a little discussion later!

Jamie: I think Watford will get bumped by the fact that we're about to hand the nuclear codes to a guy who, every now and then, loses it so bad he needs SatNav to find his own nipples.

Malcolm Tucker: What are you talking about?

Jamie: I just thought it was fair to let everyone know about the Tom rumors, you know. How the guy who's about to become Prime Minister chuggs antidepressant like they're fucking Smints. How the black dog humps his leg and shits in his duvet every four months! I think that they'll bump the Watford walkout.

Malcolm Tucker: You gone fucking psycho, son. Fucking psycho. Twat!

Malcolm Tucker: [cut to Number 10, Nick and Malcolm are both on the phone] The leader of the Nutters is a nutter! Jesus , my niece is funnier than that, she just makes jokes about poo! No, I don't think that they will run with it because it's liveless. It's just as liveless as the Hugh Edwards rumor. Look, it's not my jurisdiction anyway, Nick Hanway looks after Tom, not me. Thanks, bye!

Nick Hanway: Oh you're not dealing with this then?

Malcolm Tucker: Yes I am dealing with it, but oficially you're dealing with it, because I don't wanna step on any toes.

Nick Hanway: Everyone gets down now and again, don't they? Loads of people take antidepressants, millions.

Malcolm Tucker: Yeah, your potential Prime Minister, for one.

Nick Hanway: Oh, "your" potential Prime Minister, not "ours".

Malcolm Tucker: Oh look, don't start with the fucking semantics shit again. You know what I call "semantics"? Wank!

Nick Hanway: So, what do you say, we bury it?

Malcolm Tucker: Are you asking me to manage this?

Nick Hanway: Tom's not sure about you.

Malcolm Tucker: Yeah, Tom's enormously mental in the head, that's what we've just been discussing.

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Adam Kenyon: We better run with something, otherwise we'll have to reprint Hitler's fucking diaries again.

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Malcolm Tucker: Nick, I've just had the Mail on the phone. They're running with the Tom story.

Nick Hanway: That's not looking 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...

Nick Hanway: Ok... Do you think Ben could run?

Malcolm Tucker: If you think... I mean, look, it's up to you, Nick. If you think... I can try him out, if you think he will...

Nick Hanway: Yeah. Yeah.

Malcolm Tucker: Let's get him in. Give him a wash and brush-out. We'll botox his eyes open! I'll get the press to stop calling him Blinky-Ben.

Nick Hanway: Yes.

Malcolm Tucker: Yeah?

Nick Hanway: That's a matter of priority.

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Jamie: [to Robyn and Terri] 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? I tell you, if you think he's leaking now, wait till you see him when I'm finished with him! He'll look like fucking Mel Gibson's Jesus!

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Ben Swain: Have you tracked Dan Miller?

Malcolm Tucker: No, he's nowhere, man, he's fucking nowhere. The good news, however, is that the Tom wobble is over. That's great, isn't it?

Ben Swain: Yeah! So, he's not wobbling, he's... What does it mean?

Malcolm Tucker: Well it means that all the rats are now returning to a very buoyant ship and a plain deck, so that's lovely, isn't it?

Ben Swain: What does it mean for me?

Malcolm Tucker: I guess that means that you are 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.

Ben Swain: But you said I had a chance! Half an hour ago you said I was in with a shot!

Malcolm Tucker: Don't fucking get... Look, 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 Maccoll is the new Pope! Maybe you can download rice! I want you, right now, to think about your own future, ok? Think about what you are doing, get yourself back on the train to fucking Thomasville pronto, yeah? "Half an hour"...

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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!

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Malcolm Tucker: Right, hi Geoff, don't stand. No no, I mean don't stand against Tom. Now you see what I did there? 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 waste 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 by the fucking bins where I put you. 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 said, I've bloody said!

Malcolm Tucker: OK. Thank you Geoff, let's have lunch sometime, yeah? Have a tête-à-tiny-tête.

Geoff Holhurst: Jesus!

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Angela Heaney: They ditched Ballantine.

Adam Kenyon: What? Already?

Angela Heaney: Yeah.

Adam Kenyon: What the fuck is wrong with this people? I mean, what is this? Potential leader speed-dating? Right, who is standing?

Angela Heaney: I dunno.

Adam Kenyon: [to a reporter working on a Ballantine article] Ditch that, for a start! Get rid of her! I can't stand her fucking face.

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Glenn Cullen: I'm supposed to be keeping Hugh abreast of everything but I'm feeling about as up to date as a Gregorian calendar, I'm completely out of the loop.

Julius Nicholson: Join the club. I'm having a bit of a Robinson Crusoe moment myself, but, between you and me, I'm beginning to piss myself with excitement because I've started to leak the immigration figures to the press.

Glenn Cullen: You're leaking? That is funny. Julius Nicholson, the wild one.

Julius Nicholson: I'm the new Che Guevara. I just need a new moustache and some laser correction eye treatment.

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Terri Coverley: Could we have this conversation near some coffee, d'you think?

Jamie: No.

Terri Coverley: Thought not.

Jamie: No, 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 Coverley: Yep, well done. That's offensive on a number of levels in a very concise way.

Jamie: The leaks are coming from in here.

Terri Coverley: What, in the gents?

Jamie: No, the leaks are coming from Richmond fucking Terrace, right? Now, I want you to find out who the mole is so we can play that game when the mole pops up and I smash it over the head with a fucking hammer!

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Malcolm Tucker: [to Ollie] If you don't go and get me some cheese, I'm gonna rip your head off, and give you spinedectomy.

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Jamie: Nicholoson! The immigration shit, it was you, wasn't it? You mimsy bastard quisling leak fuck!

Julius Nicholson: Sorry?

Jamie: Yeah, you will be sorry, you inflatable cock!

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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 turn them into a little fucking waist-coat!

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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 fuck you and 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 fucking ever ask me a question again!

Malcolm Tucker: Fatty?

Jamie: Oh, aye, Fatty, wee Spiderman in his fucking pijamas, what a fucking idea. From now on it's a proper fight! It's a pomp-fight, Motherwell rules! And Tom is gonna get a pint glass in his fucking eye and a pool cue up his arse and another pool cue in his other fucking eye!

Malcolm Tucker: Geoff Holhurst!

Jamie: What, Mister Baby New Potato-Head? Fuck off.

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Ben Swain: [Tom's huddle, after the pills story spreads around, lavatory] It's all gone a bit brawww out there, isn't it?

Nick Hanway: There's always wobbles, there were last time.

Ben Swain: Fat Pat was just on the phone to Tom, asking him if he wants to withdraw.

Nick Hanway: Are you pissing about?

Ben Swain: No, well, not anymore... So, what now?

Nick Hanway: Fuck!

Ben Swain: She wasn't saying he should withdraw, she was just saying he should... consider it.

Nick Hanway: Have you gone mad in your blinky head? That's senior Communications telling our boss "You know, we'll just leave that shotgun lying there, in case you wanna use it, mister Cobain".

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Malcolm Tucker: He's on the radar! Dan Miller's fucking broken cover! He's on his way here, he's gonna be here in fifteen to see Nick.

[to Ollie]

Malcolm Tucker: I want Jamie, I want Ben and

[to Glenn]

Malcolm Tucker: I want you there. Get down there, come on! I need you there! I need a MAN! And you're a man! Come on!

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Malcolm Tucker: Nick, good news! I've killed the antidepressants story! I've been onto the Mail, they're not gonna run it. The wobble is over. Tom is now cycling with stabilizers.

Nick Hanway: That's great news. How did you do it?

Malcolm Tucker: Ah, I'd be telling you... But you'll let him know, yeah? You will tell the new Prime Minister who stopped this, yeah? 'Cause if you were to take all the credit well I may have to let him know that you were responcible for starting this Ben-running thing.

Nick Hanway: Ben was just an option.

Malcolm Tucker: Yeah, yeah, yeah, well just you make sure I'm inside the tent, pissing out. In fact, forget the fucking tent, I want a caravan of my own, adjoining Tom's, with a big pissing veranda.

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Malcolm Tucker: What's that, cricket, that's the English equivalent of sport isn't it? No actual phisical contact, just glaring.

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Jamie: Ok, the line is "Wildcat walkout, we'll be talking to the unions, it's too early to comment". Off the record, union neandarthals with brains the size of children's bogies couldn't take the heat of Hugh Abbot's ring-stinging shit hot public sector reforms, but he is flying back like Harrison Ford with a big whip in one hand and a skinny latte in the other and he is gonna whip six shades of shit out of them and save the world, ok?

Robyn Murdoch: I think I've got that..."... six shades of shit..."

Jamie: So, what are you doing?

Robyn Murdoch: I'm just making a note of some of the things you said...

Jamie: No, don't take notes, get on the fucking phone, start pumping the line, ok?

Robyn Murdoch: Right.

Jamie: Oh, hey, and don't look so scared, hey? It's gonna to be allright, I'm being polite, aren't I?

Robyn Murdoch: Yeah, well, sort of.

Jamie: Exactly, so get on it, you fucking hippie, or I will personally have you as a light supper.

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Malcolm Tucker: [coming into an office where Julius and Glenn are listening to a radio and eating] Oh God, it's like a prostate consultant's waiting room in here.

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Malcolm Tucker: [comes into a room where Glenn, Julius and Ollie are eating take-away] What is this, feeding time?

[to Ollie]

Malcolm Tucker: You on solids? I thought you were still on the tit.

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Jamie: Oh fuck off Cliff.

Cliff Lawton: Sorry?

Jamie: Fuck off. You're a busted flush, you're not gonna be Prime Minister. You're not gonna be anything so fuck off.

Cliff Lawton: This is your thing isn't it, everything has to be in absolutes, everything has to be in black and white you know, I love you - Fuck off. There are lots of shades of grey you know!

Jamie: I know I'm looking at 15 of them right now.

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Malcolm Tucker: The leader of the nutters is a nutter, Jesus, my niece is funnier than that and she makes jokes about poo.

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Jamie: Are you a horse?

Cliff Lawton: Sorry?

Jamie: Are you a fucking horse?

Cliff Lawton: No.

Jamie: You've got a bit of a horsey face, and a fucking horsey wife. Are you a horse?

Cliff Lawton: No. I can categorically state...

Jamie: EXACTLY!

Cliff Lawton: ...that I'm not a horse!

Jamie: Exactly! You're no horse. And you are not a stocking horse. And we are going to ram you up Tom's arse SO hard, he has to shit out his lying mouth.

Cliff Lawton: Very unpleasant image. But, quite motivating.

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Malcolm Tucker: Has anybody seen Jamie?

Glenn Cullen: Why? Have you lost him?

Oliver Reeder: Oh, don't tell me he's gone feral, because he was fucking terrifying when you had him on the leash!

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Malcolm Tucker: I'll get the Press to stop calling him Blinky-Ben.

Nick Hanway: Yeah. As a matter of priority.

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Jamie: Oh, Trinny and Susannah! 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!

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Malcolm Tucker: Hey, it's nice Nutter Nick!

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Angela Heaney: Ollie! Are you pissing?

Oliver Reeder: Ah, no, that's the flush of the automatic urinals 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 precisely what you used to say.

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Jamie: [to Julius] Eat the fucking cheese! Eat the cheese, Nicholson!

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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!

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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.

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Nick Hanway: Tom's not sure about you...

Malcolm Tucker: Tom is enormously mental in the head, that's what we've just been discussing.

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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 suggested 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.

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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.

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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.

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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!

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Adam Kenyon: We better run with something, otherwise we'll have to reprint Hitler's fucking diaries. Again.

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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...

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Malcolm Tucker: [to Ollie] If you don't go get me some cheese, I'll rip your head off, and give you a spinedectomy.

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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.

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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.

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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 serious.

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!

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Jamie: [to Terri and Robyn] Hey, Desperate Housewives! 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!

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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 available?

Jamie: Fuck you.

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Robyn Murdoch: You said "cold cocks"!

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Malcolm Tucker: [to Nick] You know what I call "semantics"? Wank!

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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, and your lungs sun-dried and turned into your little fucking waistcoat!

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Jamie: [to Nick] It's the sound of you flying out of the loop head first into a huge mount of shite.

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Jamie: Enough with the pleasantries, let's just oil up and get fucking, yeah?

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See also

Trivia | Goofs | Crazy Credits | Alternate Versions | Connections | Soundtracks

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