I Am Not an Animal

[the gang, having discovered Kieron strapped to a chair with his head severed, agree to give him a cigarette]

Kieron the Cat:
At least I won't get lung cancer!

[the Animal Liberationists have freed the gang from the compound, when Phillip sticks his head into the cab of the truck]

Philip the Horse:
Excuse me, is there any chance of a toilet break?

Mark the Bird:
Well, you heard the man!

Mark the Bird:
[after Hugh has opened a gate] You know all those things I just said? They didn't include you

Keiko:
[typing email to Mark the bird] Lots of love Keiko, Kiss, Kiss, Kiss PS. You Have Lovely Eyes!

Claire the Rat:
Love is having a boyfriend who hits you, then he cries and promises never to do it again, but he does, and you go to a safe house.

Hugh the Monkey:
I'd hit you Claire. And I'd track you down at the safe house.

Claire the Rat:
You're so sweet.

Kieron the Cat:
Hello? Hello? Or should I say, what in God's balls is the hold up?

Winona the Dog:
Why don't these people say anything?

Philip the Horse:
I suspect they are working class, Winona. Many people below a certain level of breeding just point at each other and fight.

Mark the Bird:
All we ever did at home was eat sun blushed tomatoes, and had foot spas, and then sat around talking crap about films we've never even seen and then playing stupid board games like Rummikub.

Philip the Horse:
Blasphemer.

Winona the Dog:
Rummikup isn't stupid.

Mark the Bird:
It is stupid. And you know what? So are Boggle, Quiddler. The Bob the Builder memory game. Jenga. Jenga Junior. Perquackey.

All:
Perquackey?

Winona the Dog:
It's American. Players have to spell out three, four and five letter words by rearranging ten dice before a timer runs out. It's wonderful.

Mark the Bird:
It's shite.

Philip the Horse:
He's right. It's a very bad game.

Police Radio:
Tango foxtrot. All units. Talking animals escaped from top secret research centre. No need for alarm. Do not approach without shooting dead.

Sarge:
Huh! Talking animals!

Jones:
But, Sarge, what about that dog that says "sausages"?

Sarge:
That was the seventies, Jones. He'll be dead by now.

Fake Glen:
Help me if you can I'm feeling born free / as free as a candle in the wind / because your gold... finger. / I should be so lucky, lucky lucky lucky / I'm loving angels in wuthering wuthering. [chorus to "Most Sued Song in History"]