A chat with you and somehow death loses its sting.

A fate worse than a fate worse than death. Pretty bad.

About as similar as two completely dissimilar things in a pod.

As I shall be known from now on. The black. Vegetable.

Ba4theme

Dead men don't tend to make social calls today.

Dear anyway, I curse you and hope that something slightly unpleasant happens to you like an onion falling on your head.

Dear reader me, may the Lord hate you and all your kind. May you be turned orange in hue, and may your head fall off at an awkward moment.

For the card advise you to make the explanation you were about to give phenomenally good.

Hi would shake your hand, but I've heard it would come off.

How are you?

How this going? Tell them to fornicate off.

I have a cunning plan which could get you out of this problem.

I know you mean to be friendly, but I hope you won't take it amiss if I ask you to sod off and die.

I think the phrase rhymes with clucking bell.

I've got a plan. So cunning you could put a tail on it and call it a weasel.

If I wanted to talk to a vegetable out of bought one at the market?

If you're not careful, all the children will dance about outside your window, singing sour puss and grumpy face. And you wouldn't want that now, would you?

Look at my pay for this personal abuse. Or is it extra?

Make Love and be merry for tomorrow you may catch some disgusting skin disease.

May I present my cunning plan?

My name is Edmund Blackadder and I'm the new minister in charge of religious genocide. If you play straight with me, you'll find me a considerate, employable. But cross me and you'll soon discover ...

No, I'd rather French kiss a skunk.

Now the sort of present we're looking for is an aggressive, drunken lout with the intelligence of a four year old and the sexual sophistication of a donkey.

Oh yes. Damn, Percy. The devil farts in my face once more.

Ohh damn.

OK, he looks like what he is a dung ball in a dress.

Prepare to die.

She's got a tongue like an electric eel, and she likes the taste of her man's tonsils.

Shove off, you old trout.

Shut up and never say anything again as long as you live.

Sometimes I'm nice. Sometimes I'm not guilty.

Thank you, young crown. Here is a process of monies which I'm not going to give to you.

The Black Ada is a venomous reptile and women are his prey.

The black adder gives you his word.

The part of my life is strewn with cowpats from the Devils own satanic herd.

The thing about heaven is that heaven is the people who like the sort of things that go on in heaven like, well, singing. Talking to God? Lottering pot plants. The other hand is is for people who l...

They are black. Ada.

This is a different thing. It's spontaneous and it's called wit.

This is the worst moment of my entire life.

Well, have you got a plan, my Lord? Yes, I have. And it's so cunning you could brush your teeth with it.

Well, I have a cunning plan that cannot fail. What is it?

Yep, but they have one great redeeming feature their wallets. More capacious than an elephant scrotum and just as difficult to get your hands on.

You are so creepy.

You must be joking.

Your breath comes straight from Satan's bottom.