Frasier: And that, Maureen, is why your marriage will fail.
Maureen: Cheers. But I phoned about my problem with a potato phobia.
Frasier: Same thing.
Maureen. It really isn’t.
Frasier: Well, why don’t you stuff that potato in a pipe and shit it at a fucking wall, yeah? Get off the line, broad, I got some wanking and sicking to do.
Frasier: FUCK OFF. Oi, Puncture Womb, who’s on the line?
Roz: Nobody, you’ve alienated all the callers.
Frasier: Fuckin’ jerkoffs.
Roz: We’re still on the air.
Frasier: Yeah, well I am getting my cock out in the afternoon sun. You coming?
Frasier: Starch tits. Fucked up Shit little.
Frasier: Nothing, you cunting boil. I’m off.
Frasier: Fuckin’ ace. Bit of sun, no cunt annoying me, dad’s at home with his shit dog and stick, Niles and Daphne are fucking in a dog’s shelter, and me, I’m about to knock one out on this knothole.
Park Warden: OI!
Frasier: Yeah. *Starts to wank furiously*. WHAT?
Park: What are you doing?
Frasier: I’m pruning the fuck out of this cunt.
Park Warden: You’re masturbating into that knothole. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.
Frasier: You’re a prick. It’s not as if it’s complaining.
Park: Look, fuck off you sick shrink fuck.
Frasier: Yeah, I’ll go. Have this. *Lobs a potato at the park warden, which smacks him on the head.* Fucking have a nice day, park boy.
Park: W: OI!
Frasier: SHIT, still got my trousers down.
Frasier: Jesus, glad I got away from that cunt. Nice to be home.
Frasier: Alright you canine prick? Where’s the grey shitter?
Martin: Hey Frase.
Frasier: Thanks. You’re not dead yet then?
Martin: Apparently not.
Frasier: Yeah, well, won’t be long now. How come that cunt’s still alive? *Points at Eddie*
Frasier: It’s 2013. He was old in 2004.
Martin: Some sort of genetic thing.
Frasier: He’s a cock. So are you. I’m going to the kitchen to cook this man’s fist I found in the park.
Frasier: SHIT ON MY FOAM CUNT YOU SLAG.