In the Loop (2009)
Malcolm Tucker: Fucking hung up, haven't you? You fucking hoity-toity fucking...
Tourist: Hey, buddy? Enough with the curse words, all right?
Malcolm Tucker: Kiss my sweaty balls, you fat fuck.
Malcolm Tucker: Y'know, I've come across a lot of psychos, but none as fucking boring as you. You are a real boring fuck. Sorry, sorry, I know you disapprove of swearing so I'll sort that out. You are a boring F, star, star, CUNT!
Jamie MacDonald: Well, if it isn't Humpty Numpty.
Simon Foster: What is this? Surround bollocking?
Jamie MacDonald: Hey, with due respect, I hadn't finished. If it isn't Humpty Numpty sitting on top of a collapsing wall like some clueless egg cunt. Now, I'm finished.
Simon Foster: Hi, Jamie, this is Toby.
Toby Wright: Oh, um... Toby Rice, I'm Simon's aide.
Jamie MacDonald: Hi, Toby, Toby. Very pleased to meet you. Please sit down. Now, right, that's enough of all the fucking Oxbridge pleasantries.
Toby Wright: What's Oxbridge about saying hello?
Jamie MacDonald: Shut it, Love Actually! Do you want me to hole punch your face?
Malcolm Tucker: Right, I'm off to deal with the fate of the planet. Be gentle with them.
Jamie MacDonald: Oh, you know me, Malc. Kid gloves... but made from real kids. Right, Butch and Gaydance, this wall story is playing badly. There's a cartoon of you in here as a walrus.
Simon Foster: A walrus? I'm not fat, I don't even have a moustache. Fuck, they've given me tusks.
Jamie MacDonald: Wal-rus. You get it? Wal-rus, wal-rus.
Toby Wright: We called some builders. They didn't turn up when they said they would.
Jamie MacDonald: What did you expect? They're builders! Have you ever seen a film where the hero is a builder? No, no, because they never fucking turn up in the nick of time. Bat-builder? Spider-builder? Huh? That's why you never see a superhero with a hod!
Malcolm Tucker: "Climbing the mountain of conflict"? You sounded like a Nazi Julie Andrews!
Lt. Gen. George Miller: Twelve thousand troops. But that's not enough. That's the amount that are going to die. And at the end of a war you need some soldiers left, really, or else it looks like you've lost.
Judy: You know they're all kids in Washington? It's like Bugsy Malone, but with real guns.
Jamie MacDonald: You think that's his real name? Iceman? To Mr. and Mrs. Man, a son... Ice?
Malcolm Tucker: General Flintstone... Was it you? Did you leak PWIP-PIP?
Lt. Gen. George Miller: No, I didn't leak it. I'm not like some little gay mercenary running around doing other people's dirty work.
Malcolm Tucker: Hey, I'm doing my own dirty work. I'm doing my job.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: I think you're doing Linton's dirty work. You're his little English bitch and you don't even know it. Bet if I came to your hotel room tonight, I'd find you down on all fours, him hanging out the back of you.
Malcolm Tucker: Oh, that's nice. That's really tough talk coming from the Armchair General. Put your feet up on a pouffe and go back to sleep, why don't you.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: Look, Tucker, you might be some scary little poodlefucker over in England, but out here you're nothing. You know what you look like? A squeezed dick. You got a big blue vein running up your head all the way to the temple. See, that's where I'd put the bullet. Only I'd have to stand back 'cause you look like a squirter.
Malcolm Tucker: Have you ever even actually killed anybody? Really?
Lt. Gen. George Miller: Yeah.
Malcolm Tucker: Falling asleep on someone, that doesn't count!
Lt. Gen. George Miller: That's funny. What about you, pussy drip? Ever kill anyone?
Malcolm Tucker: Maiming's what I prefer. Psychologically.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: Yeah? Why don't you try to maim me? I'll hit you so hard in the face you'll be shitting teeth.
Malcolm Tucker: Go right ahead. I can see the headlines now. "Peace-Loving General Starts Brawl in U.N., Swiss Intervene". I don't know, I'm no expert on spin but that could hurt your career.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: Yeah?
Malcolm Tucker: Right. Do excuse me, I've got to get back to work.
Malcolm Tucker: Don't ever call me fucking English again.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: So you're not resigning?
Karen Clarke: Are you still playing the hawk?
Simon Foster: Well, in... in a way I'm playing a much cleverer game than that... I'm a fake hawk.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: [pause] A what?
Simon Foster: ...Fake hawk?
Lt. Gen. George Miller: [pause] You're an idiot. Or are you a... fake idiot?
Jamie MacDonald: All right, that's enough with the fucking Oxbridge pleasantries.
Toby Wright: Wh... What's Oxbridge about saying hello?
Jamie MacDonald: SHUT IT, Love Actually! You want me to hole-punch your face?
Jamie MacDonald: Turn that fucking racket off! It's just VOWELS! Subsidised... foreign... fucking... vowels!
Linton Barwick: It's early days, my friends. All roads lead to Munich.
Malcolm Tucker: 'All roads lead to Munich... ' What the fuck does that mean?
Simon Foster: Well, I think it means, uh... actually, no, no, I don't know what it means.
Sir Jonathan Tutt: Let me tell you the process here, Malcolm, and why that's not possible...
Malcolm Tucker: Just fucking do it! Otherwise you'll find yourself in some medieval war zone in the Caucasus with your arse in the air, trying to persuade a group of men in balaclavas that sustained sexual violence is not the fucking way forward!
Simon Foster: That's not supposed to be out there...
Malcolm Tucker: Well, it is out there, it's out there now, lurking like a big hairy rapist at a coach station. You know, if I could, I'd punch you into paralysis!
Lt. Gen. George Miller: I'm a voracious reader. I'm the Gore Vidal of the Pentagon.
Karen Clarke: Gore's gay.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: No, he's not!
Karen Clarke: I beg to differ, but...
Lt. Gen. George Miller: He's gay? 'Cause I've been saying that Gore Vidal line.
Karen Clarke: He is gay.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: [pause] Guess I'd better stop saying that then.
Malcolm Tucker: You concentrate on nothing! You stay detached, or else that's what I'll do to your retinas.
Simon Foster: Can I go to bed now, please?
Malcolm Tucker: Oh no. We're gonna stay here, and you are gonna rehearse saying nothing.
Simon Foster: ...Am I being tortured?
Simon Foster: Tobes, I don't want to have to read you the riot act but I am going to have to read you some extracts from the riot act, like section one, paragraph one: don't leave your boss twisting in the wind and then burst in late, smelling like a pissed seaside donkey.
Toby Wright: Look, alright, I was late for the meeting, Simon, I am sorry, but it's not like I threw up in there, is it?
Simon Foster: No, you're right, I'm being unfair. I should be thanking you for not throwing up. Well done, you're a star. You didn't wet yourself, did you? You're in the right city. You didn't say anything overtly racist. You didn't pull your cock out and start plucking it and shouting "Willy Banjo". No, I'm being really unfair. You'd got so much right, without actually being there in the beginning of one of the most important moments of my career. Thanks, you're a legend.
Malcolm Tucker: Linton! Linton!
Linton Barwick: Mr Tucker, isn't it? Nice to see you again.
Malcolm Tucker: Are you fucking me about?
Linton Barwick: Is there a problem, Mr Tucker?
Malcolm Tucker: I've just come from a briefing with a nine-year-old child.
Linton Barwick: You're talking about AJ. AJ is one of our top guys. He's a Stanton College Prep, Harvard. One of the brightest and best.
Malcolm Tucker: Well, his briefing notes were written in alphabetti spaghetti. When I left, I nearly tripped up over his fucking umbilical cord.
Linton Barwick: I'm sorry it troubles you that our people achieve excellence at such an early age. But could we just move on to what's important here? Now, I understand that your Prime Minister has asked you to supply us with some, say, fresh British intelligence, is that true?
Malcolm Tucker: Yeah, apparently, your fucking master race of highly-gifted toddlers can't quite get the job done...
Linton Barwick: All right.
Malcolm Tucker: ...between breast feeds and playing with their Power Rangers. So, an actual grown-up has been asked to fucking bail you out.
A.J. Brown: So, you made it in OK, right?
Malcolm Tucker: Yeah, hunky-dory, thanks. Can I get a coffee?
A.J. Brown: Sure, sure. If we just get started, my assistant should be bringing in coffee shortly.
Malcolm Tucker: Your assistant?
A.J. Brown: Yeah. So, item. We need to have a conversation about the mood of the British Parliament, the bumps in the road ahead and what not.
Malcolm Tucker: I'm sorry, I don't... This situation here is... Is this it? No offence, son, but you look like you should still be at school with your head down a fucking toilet.
A.J. Brown: Your first point there, the offence? I'm afraid I'm going to have to take it. Your second point, I'm 22, but item, it's my birthday in nine days, so... if it will make you feel more comfortable, we could wait.
Malcolm Tucker: Don't get sarcastic with me, son. We burned this tight-arsed city to the ground in 1814. And I'm all for doing it again, starting with you, you frat fuck. You get sarcastic with me again and I will stuff so much cotton wool down your fucking throat it'll come out your arse like the tail on a Playboy bunny. I was led to believe I was attending the war committee.
A.J. Brown: Yes, Assistant Secretary of State Linton Barwick asked me to brief you on the work of the Future Planning Committee.
Malcolm Tucker: I'm away.
[AJ's assistant walks in with the coffee]
Malcolm Tucker: And here we are. The fucking Vice President has also graced us with his presence. Give him a bottle of milk.
Malcolm Tucker: Right. Was it you?
Simon Foster: No, it wasn't. No. What?
Malcolm Tucker: You do know what I'm talking about, don't you?
Simon Foster: No. And... And... whatever it was, I almost certainly didn't do it.
Malcolm Tucker: Was it you, the baby from Eraserhead?
Toby Wright: No, no.
Malcolm Tucker: Then it must have been you, the woman from The Crying Game.
Judy: It wasn't me.
Malcolm Tucker: You, hey, put the snifter out there that if the BBC ambushes a minister with another surprise question about the war, I'll drop a bomb on them.
Judy: I can't do that, can I? That's political.
Malcolm Tucker: Does that not fit within your purview, Marie Antoinette? Why don't you just scuttle off back to fucking Cranford and play around with your tea and your cakes and your fucking horse cocks. Let them eat cock!
Malcolm Tucker: Hey, you! Ron Weasley, you do it.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: You're beautiful.
Karen Clarke: Oh, thank you. I'm sure you say that to all the girls.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: Yes, I do... And some of the soldiers, too.
Karen Clarke: That's why you shouldn't run for office, bimbo eruptions.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: Come on, don't believe that shit. I'm not gonna run for office. I'm just trying to do something different.
Karen Clarke: It's one of the reasons I like you. I know your passion about education and housing and...
Lt. Gen. George Miller: Lingerie.
Karen Clarke: There you go.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: Bestiality.
Karen Clarke: I'd forgotten about that. Are you still allergic to the dog?
Lt. Gen. George Miller: Yes, yes, I wake up and my eyes are closed and my head is swollen and I look like a giant ball sac.
Karen Clarke: Oh, my God. You know, they do have modern medication for that sort of thing. Beautiful ball sac, though.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: Thank you very much.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: [to Karen, about Linton Barwick ] He's got his little cannons and he's got his little guns, and... This is the problem with civilians wanting to go to war. Once you've been there, once you've seen it, you never want to go again unless you absolutely fucking have to. It's like France.
Linton Barwick: My golly, I can't see why anyone would choose to work in a glass office, huh? Glass offices, in my opinion, are for perverts.
Bob Adriano: I could request the glass be frosted.
Linton Barwick: Frosting is on cakes, huh? Now, what else happened in London?
Bob Adriano: Ah, generally positive, two glitches...
Linton Barwick: Really, what?
Bob Adriano: Karen flagged a report by one of her staffers. She's obviously trying to use it as some kind of roadblock. It's called PWIP PIP.
Linton Barwick: PWIP what?
Bob Adriano: PWIP PIP.
Linton Barwick: What is it, a report on bird calls? What does it even stand for?
Bob Adriano: I can't recall. It's factish. Intel for and against intervention.
Linton Barwick: We have all the facts on this we need. We don't need any more facts. In the land of truth, my friend, the man with one fact is the king. You said there was something else, what is that?
Bob Adriano: In the meeting with the Foreign Office, the committee was accidentally and briefly alluded to.
Linton Barwick: Which committee?
Bob Adriano: The...
Bob Adriano: The war committee, sir.
Linton Barwick: All right, Karen is not to know about this, huh? She is an excitable, yapping she-dog. Get a hold of those minutes. I have to correct the record.
Bob Adriano: We can do that?
Linton Barwick: Yes, we can. Those minutes are an aide-memoire for us. They should not be a reductive record of what happened to have been said, but they should be more a full record of what was intended to have been said. I think that's the more accurate version, don't you?
Linton Barwick: So, we're getting a little close to the wire, Mr Tucker. Where is that intel, huh? What sort of intel have you rustled up?
Malcolm Tucker: Ah, the smoking intel?
Linton Barwick: Yeah.
Malcolm Tucker: Well, honestly, I haven't got it.
Linton Barwick: You haven't got it? All right. OK. Well, then, can you delay the vote? lt'd give you the time to get it.
Malcolm Tucker: I've just had it brought forward.
Linton Barwick: I am telling you, delay the vote and make yourself some time to get the intel, because I need it, my friend.
Malcolm Tucker: Hey. OK. Just a quick reality check here, J Edgar Fucking Hoover, I don't work for you. You don't fucking tell me what to do.
Linton Barwick: OK. Firstly, don't raise your voice. This is a sacred place. Now, you may not believe that and I may not believe that, but, by God, it's a useful hypocrisy. And, secondarily, I believe your Prime Minister has instructed you to work for me. Oh, the great Malcolm Tucker. One of your guys leaks a paper - you can't do anything. Huh? We tell you to get some intel - you can't do anything. I need you to move the vote back - you can't do anything. I am afraid you are nothing but a useless piece of S star-star T.
Chad: Liza? Everyone is so hot for this paper, I just wanted to let you know. I'm about to run off another ten copies.
Liza Weld: Just stop.
Chad: It's like a Harry Potter book, if Harry Potter made people really, really angry. You're in hot water, you're lobsterising. Do you smell lobster? Because I smell lobster. Strong... bisque wafting this way.
Liza Weld: How far would you go with Linton, you freaky little stalker? Downtown? Or all the way up Brokeback Mountain?
Chad: Smells like bisque.
Liza Weld: Smells like bisque?
Chad: Smells like bisque.
Simon Foster: Come on, Malcolm, he asked me for a personal opinion.
Malcolm Tucker: Why didn't you say? He asked you. Fuck, of course, that explains it. If he'd asked you to fucking black up, or to give him your PIN number or to shit yourself, would you have done that?
Simon Foster: I would have blacked up, yes. It was radio, nobody would've known.
Karen Clarke: Hey, listen, the war committee. What you have to do is you've got to look for the ten dullest-named committees happening out of the executive branch. Because Linton is not going to call it "The Big Horrible War Committee". He's gonna hide it behind a name like "Diverse Strategy", something so dull you're just gonna want to self-harm.
Malcolm Tucker: All right now, my lovely friends, the bottom line is...
Michael Rodgers: Oh, God, I hate that phrase. "Bottom line." I mean, we're not in retailing.
Malcolm Tucker: Sorry. Michael's quite right. I won't use that again. The bottom line is the President is going to the UN. This will be the vote to commence military intervention. And the Prime Minister has decided that we should join him. Rob, Innis, Little Bo Cock Jockey and the Leakey Fucking Mingebox, go back to your desks and prepare to start briefing now.
Simon Foster: Michael, do you mind if we use your office?
Michael Rodgers: What?
Simon Foster: For a couple of minutes?
Malcolm Tucker: Yeah. Michael, sorry. Bottom line is, can you come out again?
Malcolm Tucker: Right, OK. Is it up, have you got it up?
Jamie MacDonald: Yeah, it's all fine.
Malcolm Tucker: Ok, cut the top paragraph and paste it into page five.
Jamie MacDonald: Right, yeah, we've done it.
Malcolm Tucker: Page six, get rid of the footnotes.
Jamie MacDonald: Done.
Malcolm Tucker: Go to, uh, page nine.
Jamie MacDonald: Go to page nine.
Malcolm Tucker: Highlight from that page right thru the end of the document.
Jamie MacDonald: Go on... do it.
Michael Rodgers: The caveats.
Malcolm Tucker: Right, OK, delete.
Jamie MacDonald: Right, Ok, we're doin' it. Delete it.
Michael Rodgers: You, you can't delete the arguments against the war.
Jamie MacDonald: Oh, there's a little shake of the head here, Malc. I think he's crashed.
Malcolm Tucker: Just give him a thump. That usually works.
Jamie MacDonald: Let me just try a wee bit of manual override. Let's see if it is possible to delete the arguments against the war. Hey, you could delete it after all. It's done.
Malcolm Tucker: Great, right, now attach that to an e-mail.
Jamie MacDonald: Yes, got it, got it.
Malcolm Tucker: In the words of the late, great Nat King fucking Cole, unforeseeable, that's what you are.
Toby Wright: Liza Weld. She did the Kennedy Scholarship at my college. I had a little thing for her at the time.
Judy: I can imagine, yeah.
Toby Wright: Don't think she remembered me, to be honest.
Judy: That is one of the side-effects of Rohypnol.
Jamie MacDonald: See that fax?
Michael Rodgers: Yes.
Jamie MacDonald: That is your career. And I think it might be fucked, but let's just check. Yeah, yeah, it's pretty fucked. Now, I hope you can play the spoons, because you're too old to go back to being a gentleman's fluffer.
Jamie MacDonald: Ah, right, Frank and Nancy Sinatra. I've got good news for you. You're NOT fired. That's great news, isn't it?
Michael Rodgers: Well, it sounds ominous.
Jamie MacDonald: We want to get Liza Weld's PWIP PIP out there properly, in the public domain. We just need to refine it a bit.
Michael Rodgers: What do you want to refine?
Jamie MacDonald: Just mess it up. Move the paragraphs. Change the name of the main informant.
Michael Rodgers: Well, that's a complete fabrication.
Jamie MacDonald: Changing his name doesn't matter. Do you think he's really called Ice Man? Huh? "To Mr and Mrs Man, a son... Ice." So, change it to another name. What's the name of the fuck with the fiddle?
Michael Rodgers: This happens to be Debussy.
Jamie MacDonald: Well, we'll change it to Debussy, then.
Michael Rodgers: No, we will not!
Jamie MacDonald: Now, your prints are gonna be all over this, Michael, but that's the only way you can save your job, you leaky fuck.
Michael Rodgers: Don't make me do this.
Suzy: It wasn't him.
Michael Rodgers: Somebody must have come in there and used the fax machine. It could have been anyone.
Jamie MacDonald: Fax machine? Ah, no! Don't worry about that. No, I made that up. No, the document was leaked by e-mail. It's just, the fax machine was there, and it's easier to kick. Come on, Thick White Duke! Come with me.
Simon Foster: Judy and I thought I could row back on Question Time, tonight
Malcolm Tucker: You're not going on Question Time tonight, you've been disinvited
Simon Foster: We've been prepping Question Time!
Judy: Why wasn't I told about this?
Malcolm Tucker: Why the fuck would I tell you about it? I've just told you to fuck off twice yet you're still here?
Judy: You should tell me about it as it's a scheduled media appearance by a member of this department and therefore it falls well within my purview!
Malcolm Tucker: Within your 'purview'? Where do you think you are, some fucking regency costume drama? This is a government department, not some fucking Jane fucking Austen novel! Allow me to pop a jaunty little bonnet on your purview and ram it up your shitter with a lubricated horse cock!
Judy: Your swearing does not impress me. My husband works for Tower Hamlets and believe me those kids make you sound like... Angela Lansbury!
Malcolm Tucker: [to Simon] She's married? Poor bastard.
Malcolm Tucker: Good morning, my little chicks and cocks.
Simon Foster: I feel like we should have hookers, do you know what I mean? I mean in here... now.
Limo Driver: Do you want girls?
Simon Foster: No, no, no, no, no, no. Absolutely not. No, sorry. No hookers, it was just a joke. I hate hookers. Not in an aggressive way, but, no, thank you.
Karen Clarke: What's going on there, Simon?
Simon Foster: It's... It's departmental business. It's about a wall.
Karen Clarke: Oh, Gaza?
Simon Foster: Uh-huh.
Karen Clarke: I'm wondering where you were in committee, Simon. I called for back-up and you sat there like a dumb sack of shit. Only maybe worse, because, actually, on a molecular level, shit is probably fizzling with energy.
Simon Foster: I have to say, Karen, I do have a clear strategy on this, which is I'm playing the long game.
Karen Clarke: They've bounced us into a short game, and you just sat there like a... What do you call it in England? A wanker.
Malcolm Tucker: This is the minister of international development here, he should be talking about... food parcels... not... fucking, arse-spraying mayhem!
Malcolm Tucker: You sure you're working as hard as I am, 'cause I'm sweating spinal fluid here!
Toby Wright: [looking at George Washington monument] See that? Pull that out, America deflates.
Malcolm Tucker: Yeah, it's very easy to mock. The closest you'll ever get to one of those is buying a fucking Toblerone. I'll wait in the car.
Simon Foster: So what are we going back to, apart from a nice cup of tea and some knife crime?
Toby Wright: Constituency surgery in Northamptonshire.
Simon Foster: Oh, great. Meeting my constituents. It's like being Simon Cowell, only without the ability to say, "Fuck off, you're mental".
Malcolm Tucker: Do I look like I've ever set foot in a stationery cupboard? I do all my shagging in five-star hotels!
Linton Barwick: I can't stand to see a woman bleed from the mouth. It reminds me of that Country & Western music which I cannot abide.
Chad: You're like the woman from The Omen. You've given birth to a demon, and now it's gonna kill you.
Liza Weld: You probably identify with the kid from The Omen, right?
Liza Weld: See, you're an only child, aren't you?
Chad: I gotta say, I don't understand how my parents' limited reproductive ability reflects badly on me. I'm the sperm that made it!
Jamie MacDonald: [calling Tucker] OK. Your phone is off, but there's been a catastrofuck here. Someone's leaked Liza Weld's PWIP PIP paper to the BBC. I reckon it's going to be on the six o'clock news, one o'clock your time. That is going to fucking fist your UN vote to death. Right. Missing you loads. PWIP PIP toodle-oo.
Simon Foster: Okay, off you go.
Toby Wright: What do you mean?
Simon Foster: I've got this covered. Go and find the next thing. Talk to that Chad boy, the boy from "The Shining." He knows things.
Toby Wright: Don't make me pump Chad.
Simon Foster: No, I'm making you pump Chad. It'll be easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy.
Toby Wright: No, it won't. It'll be difficult-difficult-lemon-difficult. That is what it will be. Have a lovely afternoon. Stop a war for me.
Sir Jonathan Tutt: So, you must be Simon. I'm the British Ambassador to the UN, Sir Jonathan Tutt. Well, this is it, ladies and gentlemen. This is the United Nations. We, sir, are in here. So, if there's anything you need, just give me a whistle. You know how to do that, don't you Malcolm? What do you do? Hm? That's right. You put your lips together and you blow. I'm going to head up to this delegates' reception. I hope there's some nibbles, because I'm ravenous.
Malcolm Tucker: Nibbles. Who still says "nibbles"?
Toby Wright: Fuck the nibbles. What was with the homoerotic tension?
Lt. Gen. George Miller: 12:30.
Bob Adriano: Hold on. General? Yeah... Secretary Linton Barwick asked me to let you know that his last meeting looks like it's overrunning, he sends his apologies.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: When will he be here?
Bob Adriano: I don't have that information at this moment.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: What the fuck? Huh? Did he stand me up?
Bob Adriano: No, no, sir. You're more than welcome to wait.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: Do you know what I'm gonna do? I'm going to take a nice big shit on his desk, just to let him know that I was here. Is that OK with you?
Bob Adriano: I don't think he'd like that too much, sir.
Toby Wright: Suzy, this is probably going to sound a bit odd under the circumstances, but...
Suzy: A quickie?
Toby Wright: No. Thank you, but no. It's about Liza. Liza wrote a paper, it's called PWIP PIP.
Michael Rodgers: PWIP what?
Toby Wright: PWIP PIP.
Michael Rodgers: Who wrote that? Charles Dickens?
Toby Wright: Post War Planning Implications...
Suzy: Yeah, all right.
Toby Wright: Right. I think, it could, if it was leaked, stop this kind of rush towards a war, you know, too quickly, that sort of thing. Just if it was leaked.
Suzy: You are such a coward. Take your backlog of Mojo and your shit clothes and your eighth of dope and your flute and piss off.
A.J. Brown: [on the phone] I just got off the phone with Linton, who proceeded to bitch me out for allowing "I Heart Huckabees" on the troops' DVD roster. Yeah. You know that phrase, "I'm too old for this shit"? Well, I'm too young for this shit. You know?
Linton Barwick: Well, I don't want to be accused of micro-managing, but I cannot understand why "I Heart Huckabees" is on a list of DVDs considered suitable for armed-forces entertainment. That self-indulgent crap is not suitable for combat troops.
Michael Rodgers: No, no, no, you needn't worry about the Canadians, they're just happy to be there.
Michael Rodgers: Yes, well, they always look surprised when they're invited.
Simon Foster: Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Why didn't we nail the line?
Judy: Simon, I did try to warn you...
Simon Foster: Yes, you tried to warn me, but you didn't actually stop me, did you...
Judy: Well I can't tackle you to the ground...
Simon Foster: ...by shouting 'train' at somebody as they get hit by a train. You should go 'train! there's a fucking train!'
Malcolm Tucker: Simon, I don't like finding out about people employed by this government via the news unless they've just died. Be here, now,
Lt. Gen. George Miller: My loyalty is to the kids. I am a soldier.
Karen Clarke: You're not a soldier.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: I've been a soldier my whole life! What do you mean I'm not a soldier? I'm a soldier! Look at the uniform - what, do you think I'm one of the fucking Village People?
Karen Clarke: When did you shoot a guy last?
Lt. Gen. George Miller: What, just because I haven't shot someone in fifteen years. I'm not a soldier? You know, the Army doesn't make you drag some bullet-ridden bloody corpse into the Pentagon every five years to renew your soldier's license!
Toby Wright: What if our meeting has finished? What if Karen comes back and then we're still sitting here? It's going to be embarrassing, isn't it? We're going to look like groupies.
Simon Foster: What if the meeting hasn't finished? And she comes back and we've disappeared?
Toby Wright: Maybe I could call Judy? She could...
Simon Foster: Please can we try and just do one thing without Judy? I think we've drawn long enough from that... teat.
Karen Clarke: Has a decision already been made in principle to advocate invasion?
Linton Barwick: I would refer you to the recent comments of our colleague from the UK, mister Simon Foster, in that regard.
Karen Clarke: Yes, I think that mister Foster would have something to say to that.
Simon Foster: I'm certainly hearing both sides. In England we have a saying for a situation such as this, which is that it's difficult difficult lemon difficult.
Karen Clarke: Linton has set up a secret war committee. I just know it. I mean, Linton is an absolute lunatic, Liza. He is dangerous. The voices in his head are now sing barbershop together.
Malcolm Tucker: Christ on a bendy-bus. Don't be such a fucking faff arse.
Malcolm Tucker: When you go to America, talk to Karen Clark at the State Department, yeah?
Simon Foster: Right, OK. I'll give it a whirl.
Malcolm Tucker: Keep away from Linton Barwick. He's pushing the war for Caulderwood's lot. I'll deal with him. He uses a live hand grenade as a fucking paper weight. That's a true story.
Karen Clarke: Yes, Assistant Secretary, on point six, it feels like there's already been an assumption that we're invading and don't you think that we should discuss the practical implications? I mean, this is, after all, the War Committee.
Linton Barwick: This is the Future Planning Committee.
Karen Clarke: Well, unofficially, it is called the War Committee.
Linton Barwick: Well, Karen, unofficially, we can call anything whatever we want. I mean, unofficially, this is a shoe, but it's not, Karen, it is a glass of water. And this is the Future Planning Committee.
Lt. Gen. George Miller: Well, unofficially, this appears to be bullshit.
Karen Clarke: I was going to eat lunch in here. Can you digest? Do you want some food?
Lt. Gen. George Miller: Oh, yes, I can digest, yes.
Karen Clarke: Chinese OK?
Lt. Gen. George Miller: Why don't you order me some little mammals? A little bunny and a little puppy, and a little cat, so I can twist their fucking neck off and drink their blood.
Simon Foster: So, this is all going to spin along from here. We're going to have a vote and go to war. We'll fight people, kill them. Our children will get killed. This is exactly the sort of thing that I didn't want to do when I went into politics. This is the opposite of what I wanted to be doing.
Malcolm Tucker: That's why you have to stay in Government, to influence things. In here, you can influence things, you can delay things. Out there, you're just another fucking mouthy, fucking shouty mad fucker who people don't want to make eye contact with. Remember Mary? Remember what happened? She took a stand on health. Everybody decided that she was mental.
Simon Foster: Because The Sun showed a picture of her with wide eyes and her head on a cow.
Malcolm Tucker: Well I happened to find that a particularly powerful image. Look, the Prime Minister of this country, he's not a fucking Viking, is he? He doesn't drink blood. He doesn't go around biting tramps.
Simon Foster: I know the Prime Minister isn't a Viking, Malcolm.
Malcolm Tucker: Unlike me, he abhors physical violence.
Simon Foster: Where is the intelligence, the hard evidence?
Malcolm Tucker: We have got the fucking intelligence.
Simon Foster: I haven't seen it.
Malcolm Tucker: The intelligence we've got is so deep, so fucking hard, it'll fucking puncture your kidneys.
Simon Foster: Where's it coming from?
Malcolm Tucker: There is an informant. Ice Man.
Simon Foster: Ice Man?
Malcolm Tucker: I don't name them. Ice Man. Yeah. And the fact is, the stuff that he's given us is... I've seen it. It would make your blood run cold and clot and turn your insides into fucking black puddings. But certain box lickers are sitting on it, but you're going to see it, because the PM regards you as a key player in this now.
Simon Foster: In the motorcade, can we get a car without Judy, please?
Toby Wright: You want hookers? You like hooky fucky, sir?
Malcolm Tucker: [on the phone] Hi. BBC News Desk, please. Malcolm Tucker. Hi, Ben. Listen, I hear that you might be preparing a story that we might not like. Yeah, please. I just wanted to say, please, this garden-wall story, don't run with that. Simon Foster's constituency office wall. That's what you've got, haven't you? Oh, shit. I haven't let the cat out of the bag, have I? Please, don't run with that. My reputation will be in tatters.
Malcolm Tucker: And he is gone!
Karen Clarke: I am gonna go into Linton's office and I'm gonna pull the little pin on that fucking grenade.
Liza Weld: Don't do that.
Karen Clarke: I'm fucking joking. I'm not gonna do that.
Linton Barwick: 'PWIP-PIP'? What is that, a report on bird-song?
Malcolm Tucker: You say nothing, okay? You stay detached. Otherwise that's what I'll do to your retinas.
Simon Foster: Right, can I go to bed now, please?
Malcolm Tucker: No, no, no, no. We are gonna stay here, and you are gonna rehearse saying nothing.
Simon Foster: Am I being tortured?
Judy: I'll just leave you to your thoughts, OK?
Simon Foster: I haven't got any thoughts. I'm just staring vacantly into space while a distant voice in the back of my head goes, "Oh, shit!" like a car alarm in the middle of the night.
Malcolm Tucker: Hey, Foetusboy, Lesson One: I tell you to fuck off, what do you do?
Toby Wright: Eff off?
Malcolm Tucker: You'll go far, now fuck off.