[a poacher enters the pub with pheasants stuffed under his coat, making him look like a hunchback]
Withnail:
Excuse me, we were wondering if we could purchase a pheasant off of you?
Jake:
No. I've got nothing to sell.
Withnail:
Come on, old boy. What's in your hump?
Jake:
Now, look, you. Them pheasants are for his pot. These eels are for my pot. Now, what makes you think I should give you something for your pot?
Withnail:
What pot?
Marwood:
Our cooking pot.
Jake:
Ah, he knows. Hey, give us a wheeze on that fag.
[he pulls Withnail's cigarette out of his mouth and puts it in his]
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05/03/2025 alle ore 08:22
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