Lord Flasheart: Mind if I use your phone? If word gets out I'm missing, five hundred girls will kill themselves. Hello? Cancel the state funeral, tell the king to stop blubbing, Flash is not dead! I simply ran out of juice! And before five hundred girls all go 'oh, what's the point in living any more?' I'm talking about petrol! Woof! Send someone along to pick me up. General Melchett's driver will do, she hangs round with a big nob so she'll be used to a fellow like me. Woof!
Captain Blackadder: Look, do you think you could make your obscene phone call somewhere else?
Lord Flasheart: No, not in half an hour you rubber desk-johnny! Send the bitch with the wheels right now or I'll fly back home and give your wife something to hang her towels on! [hangs up]