Delia Smith: Now we just need to drain the parsnips, and Gordon could you spread the Italian Pesto over those pheasant breasts?

Gordon Ramsay: Are you calling my mum a liar?

Delia Smith: Am I what? No, of course not...what do you mean?

Gordon Ramsay: Well F*ck off then.

John Stuart Mill: Immanuel, I believe we should define the rightness of actions by a consequentialist theory of ethics.

Kant: Are you calling my mum a liar?

JS Mill: What? No....

Kant: Well shut up then.

(Richard) "Aye when you're gonna stop having sex with these girls"
(Me) "Until Death Call My Name".

Bully: I told you to stay away from here. Now hand over any money you got on you!
Victim: Back off or I'm gonna call my dad, loser. He killed 100 people in Afghanistan.

if he dont stop talkin shit im gonna make him when i drop a quarter and call my uncle on his asse

Joe: Bro I got accepted into my dream college
John: well butter my backside and call me biscuit

Attending a tedious cocktail party from which Billy D finds himself pinned in a conversation from which there is no relief. Standing there, minute after minute, taking it all in and wanting nothing more that to be home in bed; he feels his stomach turn and tighten, cold and sweat outline him, he wants out; his Gucci suit minimizes. His scalp itches and hots up suffocating under the conversation and the people. Suddenly, a well-groomed accountant next to him barks out, "Current data from my data extrapolated to further the outcomes on the Harrington Report confirms a speculation that the market trend should ..." At that point, Billy D. has his Dickens’ moment; his steamed brain snaps. A growling hum exits his thorax inexplicably. The accountant eyes him -- a dik dik to an approaching lion. Billy D. holds the accountant’s eyes way too long in primeval contact. He raises his eyebrows up and down as the masturbator in Dostoyevsky’s famous novel . He wanted the floor; he wanted to express something real; now he had the floor and total control; they were fixated. Then he let go the phrase that would end his tenure at the conversation hell-school of life and liberate him from their hold now and forever. He gave it up, loud and proud in rainbow fashion, "Well, spank my butt and call me Nancy." And that was it. It was all over. Their grip on him came crashing down. What he was in others' eyes now permitted him to leave the group without question or guilt forever it would be different.