Hell, your maternalistical fantasmagoristicies, my, they're remindicatin' me of an old Texational proverb, goes, uh, y'cain't fool someone as can be fooled no if you're a fool the fool you're foolin' cain't be the fool fooled uh... twice. Donald.
What is it with women trying to show me useless bits of old rock. Bah! If you haven't got anything relevant to say stop trying to delay me from reaching Waterloo.
That Paisley man's Barking, I tell you. Totally Wimbledon. He's begun to talk in Bold Italic Font size+6. It's only a matter of time before he hits the Shift Lock, and starts using <font color= "weirdlimegreen"> Has to be committed, of course. And the key thrown away, as you'd expect.
[Sigmund] You're a fine one to talk! Someone likes the sound of their own over-educated and over-opinionated voice too much. Investing in property at New Cross Gate.
[Sister] Don't be too severe on Seto. My clinical investigations demonstrate that many of my patients cannot tell the difference between a bearded Viennese trick-cyclist and his grandson. We call this condition Bermondsey of the Medulla Oblongata, and sufferers are commonly characterised as Oval.
Oi, Mo! We don't like the telling of lies 'ere. Now 'op off out of it before I put Humpty and Little Bear onto you. And Jemima tells me you've been hanging around talking to toys at South Wimbledon. What's all that about?
The Lord Of The Understairs has blown his cover. What a dildo. Now then - you bastards have trumped my Plonsky Rebound so I shall retaliate with a sly but carefully aimed Latimer Road leaving you all in Knip. Suckers!