Nov
10
2009
That Malcom Tucker conversation in full
- Malcom
- Fucksake. Did not one of you fucking… aoemebas… check what he’d fucking written before it went out? So he’s not just failing at the fucking economy, but he can’t fucking write either? You know what? Just fucking save it. I’ve had it up to [motions above head] here with your utter cuntfuck…
- [Malcom’s phone rings]
- [Answering] Fucking… what?
- [To assembled minons] Excuse me a moment
- [Malcom begins to walk away; Camera follows]
- No… no… [Pause] no chief, you don’t look like you’re illiterate. I mean, every fucking pleb knows you’re blind in one eye anyway. Par for the… [Pause] No, I realise you can’t play golf. Anyway, don’t worry. It’ll be fine.
- [Call ends]
- Eh, you… [Motions to Olly] …fucking labradoodle. Don’t you owe a favour to that pathetic hack from the Sun?
- Hugh
- A “favour”. Sexual “favour”.
- Olly
- Ha. Ha. Justine? No.
- Hugh
- Only because she wouldn’t sleep with you.
- Olly
- That’s not true—
- Malcom (Interrupting)
- Ladies, ladies, please. Anyway, fuckadoodle, I meant the guy. The political “editor” [motions quoting fingers]. Tom whatsisname. Fucking… Thumb.
- Hugh
- Newton Dunn.
- Malcom
- Aye, that cuntrag.
- Olly
- Oh him? Yeah. I… might… owe him a favour. How did you know that?
- Malcom
- Because I’m the fucking emperor of the fucking dark side, that’s how. I’m Darth fucking Vader to your Anakin cunting Skywalker. Right. Call him. Off the record. Tip him off that some bereaved mother got one of those letters from the PM with the name misspelled. Don’t go overboard. Just make out that she’s very upset blah-de-fucking-blah.
- Olly
- Ok—ay… [Shuffles nervously]
- Malcom
- Is it me, or did I just tell you to do something? Why in fuckity-Christ’s name are you still standing there? Get the cunt on with it! Fucking bottom-feeding arse…cunting…
- [Olly turns and leaves]
- [Malcom dials phone]
- [Into phone] Yeah… it’s me. Right, it’s sorted. There’ll be some front-page splash about how you’re a fucking idiot for having messy handwriting, but we’ll just crank up the sympathy vote on your fucking eye problem. By the end of the day, people will be calling her callous.
- The papers? They won’t give a shit. They’ll sell a shitload either way.
