The Thick of It2005

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 f***ing 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 f***ing indispensable and f***ing benign, and I want page six to be f***ing Israel or some bullshit, not a f***ing 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 f***ing 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] 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:
F*** 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 f***er 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] Malcolm Tucker, an investor in people.

Malcolm Tucker:
Yes, I heard that! F*** you!