Frasier: God I’m bored. Might have to shit through a pipe into Roz’s handbag again…EH?
Roz: You won’t be. Don’t get any ideas.
Frasier: Where the FUCKING HELL did you come from, titshit?
Roz: Stop calling me names.
Frasier: Allright, Ballholes. What do you fucking want?
Roz: What happened to you? You used to be a loveable dickhead, getting into farcical situations but generally coming out as the good guy.
Frasier: I don’t fucking know. Why do cats fuck in skips? Is that all? I want to get back to microwaving this mouse kidney for my fuckin’ dinner, broad.
Roz: Manager wants to see you about your little dog mask incident yesterday.
Frasier: Alright boss? Wanted to see me?
Manager. Yes..er..Crane. Sit down.
Frasier: Cheers. What’s this about?
Manager: You wanking with a dog’s face on your face. Do you even need to ask?
Frasier: I did not. Roz is titting well making it up the cunt…
Manager: Well, look at this.
(Shows CCTV footage, showing Frasier’s sick masturbation show.
(“URGH! UUUUUUUUURGH! Oh, yes, I am the DOGFATHER! JESUS! AHHHHHH)
Frasier: Fuckin’ modern technology.
Manager: What the HELL were you doing? Wanking with a picture of a goddamned Doberman on your face?
Frasier: It was a German Sheperd.
Manager: I DON’T FUCKING CARE!
Frasier: Blimey, you don’t want to see what I did with the cat picture in the toilets then.
Manager: GET OUT. You are warned. Any more of this and you’re out, Crane.
Frasier: Cheers, Hammercock. Smell you later.