|That'll look nice rammed up his arse|
Human cattle will be openly mocked with scornful taunts, such as:
“You’re going to spend the next hour and a half with your face in some sweaty fat bastard’s armpit, shortarse”;
“See that smug wanker with the iPod? He’s screwing your wife on Friday afternoons”;
“While we’re parked here at West Ruislip just to annoy you, perhaps you’d like to pass the time by wondering whether you’d arrive on time if you had the balls to leg it over to platform 1 and board the tube train that’s been sitting there for the last ten minutes”;
“If you think London’s a shithole now, wait until the Olympics kick off!”
“We have a cunning plan, my lord,” chortled Chiltern’s comedy manager Chad Collins unhilariously, clutching his heaving sides as guffawing lackeys crammed another hapless sufferer onto the 0655 at Birmingham Moor Street.