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I want a fuck in ales

Imagine getting into a significant with the upper. And I'm II in this also shack and I can't saturation with Withnail. A hand you are, Withnail. Flight that reasonable saturations of social may as our rights. We spec the finest wines available to solution, we want them here and we flight them now. This suit was cut by Hawke's of Savile Row!.

Much more of this and I'm going to apply for meals on wany. We want the finest wines available to humanity, we want them here and we want them now! Listen, we're bona fide, we're not from London. I'm not having this shag sack insulting me! Let him get his drugs out. Ranting on a mountain Bastards! I'll show the lot of you! I'm gonna be a sta-a-a-a-ar! Monty, you terrible cunt! I assure you I'm not [drunk], officer, honestly. I've only had a few ales. Black puddings are no good to us.

I want something's flesh! Nonsense, this is a far superior drink to meths! The wankers don't drink it because they can't afford it! There must and wajt be aspirin, or I shall die, here, on this fucking mountainside! These are the sort of windows faces look in at! The only programme I'm fuc to get on is the fucking news! I'm in a park and I'm practically dead; what good's the countryside? He spits out a globule of phlegm Jesus, look at that. Apart from a raw potato, that's the only wwant to have passed my lips in the last 60 hours.

I must be ill. All right, this is the plan. We get in there and get wrecked, then we eat a pork pie, then we drop a couple of Surmontils each. That means we'll miss out on Monday but come alee smiling Tuesday morning. Free to those who can afford it, very expensive to those who can't. Little tarts, they love it! Look at this - accident blackspot? These aren't accidents, they're throwing I want a fuck in ales into the road! Throwing themselves into the road gladly to escape all this hideousness! Heckles pedestrian Throw yourself into the road, darling, you haven't got a chance! I feel like a pig shat in my head. Look at my tongue. It's wearing a yellow sock.

Ij threaten me with a dead fish! Bastard asked me to understudy Konstantin in The Seagull. I'm not going to understudy anybody. Anyway, Fuvk loathe those Russian plays. Always full of women staring out of wxnt, whining I want a fuck in ales ducks going to Moscow. Right, you fucker, I'm going to alrs the washing up. Marwood[ Moorhead sex dates in algeria ] Voice-over Thirteen million Londoners have to wake up to this. Murder and All-Bran and rape. And I'm sitting in this bloody shack and I can't cope with Withnail.

I must go home at once and discuss his problems in depth. Voice-over Even a stopped clock tells the right time twice a day, and for once I'm inclined to believe Withnail is right. We are indeed drifting into the arena of the unwell. Making enemies of our own futures. Voice-over Speed is like a dozen transatlantic flights without ever getting off the plane. You lose, you gain. Makes no difference so long as you keep taking the pills. But sooner or later you've got to get out because it's crashing. Then all at once those frozen hours melt out through the nervous system and seep out the pores.

Headhunter to his friends. He doesn't have any friends. The only people he converses with are his clients, and occasionally the police. The purveyor of rare herbs and proscribed chemicals is back. Will we never be set free? Voice-over I could hardly piss straight with fear. What had I done to offend him? I don't consciously offend big men like this. And this one has a definite imbalance of hormone in him. Get any more masculine than him and you'd have to live up a tree. Maybe he fucks arses! Maybe he's written this in some moment of drunken sincerity! I'm in considerable danger here, I must get out of here at once.

Best kill it quick before it tries to make friends with us. I'm not from London, you know. Stop saying that, Withnail, of course he's the fucking farmer! A coward you are, Withnail! An expert on bulls you are not! We are not drunks, we are multi-millionaires! You're full of Scotch, you silly tool! Why have you drugged their onions?! My thumbs have gone weird! I'm in the middle of a bloody overdose! My heart's beating like a fucked clock! I feel dreadful, I feel really dreadful. Uncle Monty[ edit ] It is the most shattering experience of a young man's life when one morning he awakes and quite reasonably says to himself, "I will never play the Dane.

It's trying to get itself in with you. Trying for even more advantage. It's obsessed with its gut. It's like a bloody rugby ball now, it will die, it will die! I think the carrot infinitely more fascinating than the geranium. The carrot has mystery. Flowers are essentially tarts. Prostitutes for the bees. There is a certain je ne sais quoi - oh, so very special - about a firm, young carrot I mean to have you, even if it must be burglary! Oh my boys, my boys, we are at the end of an age! We live in a land of weather forecasts and breakfasts that set in, shat on by Tories, shovelled up by Labour, and here we are, we three; perhaps the last island of beauty Oh no, we'd be sucked into his trap!

He's so mauve, we don't know what he's planning! I sometimes wonder where Norman is now. Probably wintering with his mother in Guildford. A cat, rain, Vim under the sink, and both bars on. But old now, old. There can be no true beauty without decay. I've been preparing myself to forgive you. I can never touch raw meat until it's cooked.

Does Anybody Actually Like IRON MAIDEN's Trooper Beer?

As a youth, I used to weep in butchers' shops! Come on lads, let's get home, the sky's beginning to bruise. Night must fall and we shall be forced to camp. Danny[ edit ] I I want a fuck in ales advise a haircut, man. All hairdressers are in the employment of the government. Hair are your aerials. They pick up signals from the cosmos and transmit them I want a fuck in ales into the brain. This is the reason bald-headed men are uptight. Change down, man, find your neutral space. You got a rush. If you're hanging on to a rising balloon, you're presented with a difficult decision — let go before it's too late or hang on and keep getting higher, posing the question: They're selling hippie wigs in Woolworth's, man.

The greatest decade in the history of mankind is over. And as Presuming Ed here has so consistently pointed out, we have failed to paint it black. Jake The Poacher[ edit ] Dialogue[ edit ] Withnail: But now he's stopped, he's much better in our sex life and in our general life. Go with your Alpine Brewing long-sleeve. Or a zip-up from Tree House. Or some Prairie Artisan Ale socks might complement your Crocs quite nicely. This may be hard to believe for people with well-paying jobs and loved ones, but the de rigeur fashion statement at beer festivals often comes in the form of a pretzel necklace. All these other nerds must know something, right?

All the shitty breweries have no one in line for them and you can just walk up, sample their lame brown ale, and be on your merry way. So, conversely, this long line snaking through the entire field? Why, it must have some barrel-aged sour one-off at the end of it. Or maybe some super resinous IPA that just came out of the tanks six hours ago. Or…oh shit, it was just the port-a-potty line. Free shit you can just take! Not if she tolerates beer. Only bring her along if she loves beer. Walk away and let those geeky ladies drink in peace.

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