Disgusting

Stephen		I hate you, I despise you, I loathe you. Everything about you
		DISGUSTS me. Your ears, eyes, nose, mouth, tongue, legs, knees,
		stomach, ribs and bottom make me want to vomit up. You're
		repulsive, loathsome, grotesque and insupportable. I want to
		kill you, I want to twist your nipples off and throw them to
		the dogs. You scum. You low, corrosive lump of fecal horror,
		you maniac bastardly turd. I would rather drink stale urine
		from Norman Fowler's arse-pit than remain one moment more in
		your defiling company. You're filth, you're cack, you're the
		ooze of a burst boil, I abominate you, you towering mound of
		corrupted slime. Your every utterance is like the slithering
		hiss of a fat maggot in the putrid guts of a decomposing rat,
		your face is fouler than the unwiped inner ring of Satan's
		rectum.

	Camera widens to show the sweetest, whitest-haired old granny ever 
	seen. She pushes a cream cake towards Stephen.

Granny		Have a cream slice, dear.

Stephen		Thanks.

Hugh		I went on one of these wild man weekends. You know, reclaim
		one's nature, rediscover the innate masculinity inside me,
		confront the demons and angels of manhood in a wild,
		untrammelled journey of the soul. Bloody nearly froze to death.