Reservoir Clogs

When tha guz into sumwheer like this tha’z got to remember they’re insured to fuck. And these minimum wage spastics aren’t going to offer no fucking aggro whatsivver. Burrif it kicks off and tha gets some big fuck shopper on roids or gold star bell end behind the counter th’t thinks he’s ten fucking men, give the cunt the flat of your elbow in his bastard face. Drop the cunt to the flooar. They’ll fucking shit themsens; he goes down like a sack of shit, claret all over t’shop. Freaks ‘em all out. Nobody says fuck all after that. You might get some split arse talking shit to yer. Stare the slag out like your going to chin the skanky cunt next. Watch her shut the fuck up. Now if it’s the manager that’s a different ball game. Managers know better than to fuck with you. So if one’s giving you shit he probably thinks he’s a hard bastard. So what you’ve got to do is leather the cunt. If you want to know something and he won’t tell you kick him in the balls. A proper dig with your toe end in the knackers. Tell him you’re going to stamp on ‘em next till they burst. I swear darn after that he’ll tell you if he’s Dad used to bang him up the arse. [PAUSE] I’m hungry, let’s get a babsy – Mr. White, Reservoir Dogs, the Yorkshire cut

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