Them Slags of Duncton Wood

[shoulders]

Rune: I'll do you, Bracken, you slag.

Bracken: That arrrp Rune.

Rune: You mullet. You chisel. You plum. Mug.

Bracken: That arrrrrrp

Mandrake: Silence!

*Silence*


Mandrake: I'm trying to run a tyrannical mole empire 'ere! Can't hear myself think.
Which one of you slags, you muppets, you daisies, you nonces called me a faggot?

Rune: It was Bracken me'lord.

*Points at a hapless Bracken*

Mandrake: BRAAACK-ENNNN! Did you call me a faggot?

Bracken: Nah! 'onest. That's an outdated slur. I don't recognise 'aving done so. 'and on 'eart, I wud nevah. I can't speak to that

Mandrake: Why am I wasting my breath on this maggot, this prannock, this drongo? Guards!!!!!!

Guard: Sire?

Mandrake: Get this invertebrate, this mollusc, this weasel, this soft-serve, this dollop 'aht of my grill. Bracken, I sentence you to a week in chokey.

Bracken: What's chokey?

Rune: Prison you ferret, you desk, you casket.

Bracken: But I ain't done nothing, guv!

Mandrake: We'll see who the faggot is now you render, you mump, you tart, GET IN the gaol

Bracken: Want my ol' mum :'(