Men Behaving Badly, Series 4

Tony:
Bye, Dorothy, mate.

Dorothy:
Bye, Tony, mate.

Tony:
It's so unfair. Well, don't come to me when you're old and wobbly expecting to share my soup!

[after finding Tony's stash of porographic magazines]'

Jill:
Does that really turn you on?

Tony:
How can that possib... yeah, it does actually.

Jill:
How can it?

Tony:
She's naked.

Jill:
Yeah, but she's obviously freezing to death, she's sitting on a fork-lift truck feeling exposed, and stupid, and like a piece of meat. How can that turn you on?

Tony:
Well, she's naked, look at it.

Tony:
Look, it's simple. They just go straight in the bin, over there.

Gary:
Look, Deborah, you're a girl...

Deborah:
No. I was a girl, now I'm a woman.

Gary:
How does that work then?

Gary:
Do you know what hurts the most?

Tony:
....Getting your balls caught between two bricks - got to be.

Gary:
No, no - do you know what hurts the most about Dorothy and her new bloke?

Tony:
Oh sorry, no, what?

Gary:
She says she's in love. She never said that with me.

Tony:
Oh mate, she doesn't love him. Perhaps he's just better with his knob.

Tony:
Gary, you know masturbation?

Gary:
Vaguely, yes.

Tony:
And you know women?

Gary:
Women, yes.

Tony:
Well, when they do it, right, they just imagine Richard Gere or Linford Christie or whatever lying on top of them, probably on a mountain top.

Gary:
Or in a leafy glade.

Tony:
Yeah, something with a girly atmosphere, yeah.

Gary:
Whereas all we have to do is reach for your favourite mag and yank yer plank!

Tony:
And you know if you push breasts together, they look a bit like a bottom.

Gary & Tony:
(singing) I'm a wanker. I'm a wanker. And it does me good like it bloody well should. I'm a wanker. I'm a wanker.

Tony:
That's not very friendly thinking, I mean it is Father's Day.

Gary:
Do you wanna come in?

Dorothy:
I'd better not.

Gary:
Don't worry, we found out where that faint musky smell came from. It was Tony.

Dorothy:
No, I'd just rather be somewhere a bit more neutral.

Gary:
Switzerland?

Gary:
I've been a Vulcan for 25 years.

Sylvia:
Vulcan? Don't you mean "vegan"?

Gary:
What, with these ears? [laughs]

Dorothy:
I shouldn't have come here, but I...

Gary:
I know. You needed a shoulder to cry on.

Dorothy:
No. Just needed someone I could feel superior to.

Tony:
[drunk] So, how did you happen upon Les' watering hole? I mean two girls in a pub, by themselves. To me that spells: D - A - N - G - E - R

Girl In Pub:
To us it spelt: M - A - R - L - B - O - R - O

Tony:
[drunk] Middlesbrough?

Gary:
[drunk] Bed? Bed's for sleepy people! Let's get a kebab and go to a disco!

Gary:
[drunk] There someone here who wants to say hello!

Tony:
[drunk] Hello!. Bye!.

Gary:
[drunk] That was Tony!

Gary:
[drunk] Time, gentlemen, please! Haven't you got homosexuals to go to?

Tony:
[drunk] I am kneeling... I am kneeling... on the floor... outside the pub...

Tony:
[drunk] DEBORAH! I (*beep*)ING LOVE YOU! COME DOWN! I WANT YOU!

Tony:
[drunk] Can I give you a scone, and some protection?

Deborah:
Why do I have to live above two drunk morons?

Tony:
[drunk] You don't! Who says you do? Just stay here in your flat.

Gary:
[drunk] And then we tried to leave again, but this woman came in and said if we could fix her car. And would you believe it her car needed a whole new gearbox.

Optician:
What about contact lenses?

Tony:
Ooh, no, no. I couldn't have something up against me eye. You know, right there, staring at me.

Optician:
I would imagine it's no more uncomfortable than wearing a condom, say.

Tony:
How d'you wear a condom on your eye?

[talking about pain thresholds]

Gary:
I mean, look at the fuss women make about child birth. Now, I'm not saying it doesn't smart a bit, but if blokes did it, I reckon you'd be looking at, what, give birth, have a couple of Paracetamol, maybe a bit of a nap and then back to work within the hour.

Dorothy:
Rearrange these words to form a sentence: Tony, and, Gary, are, morons, witless.

Tony:
Morons are witless, Tony Gary... and?

Dorothy:
Nearly.

Deborah:
Who wanted the painkillers?

Tony:
Oh, me, ta.

Deborah:
What's wrong?

Tony:
Toothache, little son of a bitch tosser down at the back...

Deborah:
Did you see the dentist?

Tony:
Mmm, yeah.

Deborah:
What did he say?

Tony:
I can't remember it was in 1986.

Tony:
Maybe I should go on this creative writing course, I was always dead good at poetry at school. "I wandered lonely, as a clown, that flows on high o'er shoes and grass, when all o' the once I spied a crow, a hostess of goldy daffs"

[after pulling out a tooth and blood pouring from his mouth, Tony calls the hospital]

Tony:
Eyo? An I beak u Goyothy, pease? Goyothy. Gee, Oh... No, Gee, ike in Gog. Gee, Oh, Jee. Jee, ike giraffe. Yeah. O! Dorothy, oo arole, le e eplain! Dorothy! Dorothy!... Eyo, Dorothy. I ust pulled by ooth out. I ondered if oo ould ing e some ainkillers om the ospiyall affer oor hift. Yeah. I'm in uite ayot o pain. Yeah. I eel a bit faint, yeah. I ink I'll ave a i down. Yeah, bye.