Craig, being of sound mind but with a body that looks like a giant sex toy, do you want me to send viva over? Would you like that? You and viva and a rubber truncheon, locked in a room together?
If someone throws shit at us, we throw shit back at them. We start a shit fight. We throw so much shit back at them that they can't pick up shit, they can't throw shit, they can't do shit.
The pair of you are so dense that light bends around you. You're David fucking Niven and you know you are!
But at the end of the day, you and me, Craig. I just realised that we're on the same boat, yeah? I mean, obvioulsy, I'm up on the bridge with the binoculars and the Richard Gere gear on, you're down in the engine room trying not to get bum-raped by a bunch of big lads with shovels, but, essentially, it's the same boat!
*expecting these references to fly over 95% of people's heads. But Craig, Seabs and Andy will get them, and that's all that matters.
My dear, sweet WOOLCOCK, you have came the fuck in to our den of debauchery and sin and now you shall fuck the fuck off, you are aware that, since Cal is as much use as a marzipan dildo this is essentially one sheep raping prick with a tiny dick versus two alcoholic degenerate Scotsmen, yes?
Your fighting skills shall look like a sweaty octopus trying to unhook a bra whilst me and Andy? We live by the mantra of he who fucks wins. So get yourself in shape, bring your absolute best and maybe, just maybe, we won't take you to the halal butchers
(Also don't joke about Viva like that man, he could be watching, don't want that mental fuckhead doing what he did to ASK HIM unto me)