UPPER TIER EXCLUSIVE: FAT SOW - THE SCRIPT!

Hello, upper tier chums! I thought you might like to see this that I found while looking for something for Writer's Club. Basically, it's a list of lines for Eli to use when he's being Fat Sow. Some of these are from Digi Level 2, some are from Digi Live 2... and most of them have never actually been said aloud, so I don't mind sharing them with you.

Basically, the way it works with Fat Sow is that Eli benefits from having some guidelines. He tends to make up most of the insults/comments on his own, but he needs some sort of raw material or inspiration that he can fall back on. 

And here's a whole bunch of them. Enjoy!

DIGI LEVEL 2

GENERAL 

The farmer refuses to turn me into bacon because he says I’m too angry.

He’s moved me away from all the other pigs, because my incessant shouting has tainted their meat.

I’m not allowed in with the other pigs anymore, because I kept arguing them to death.

ANGER

I’m so angry, I’ve stabbed myself in the liver.

I’m so angry I could cover myself in sailor’s glue and roll through a primary school.

I’m so angry I’ve gnawed off my own trotters, stuffed them inside a pinata, and posted them to KCM Ltd.

VIDEO GAMES:

I hate video games, and I hate everyone who makes them or plays them.

Video games are for babies and idiots, and baby idiots.

Imagine playing video games for a living. You must be so disappointed in yourself. I’m disappointed in you and I don’t even know you.

Imagine playing video games for a hobby. What a tragic waste of human potential.

Video games? More like idiots’ shame.

CONTESTANTS:

I’ve seen more talent from a backed-up toilet.

I hope one of them falls off stage.

I want to burn myself to death so I don’t have to look at them anymore.

They look like the queue outside the VD clinic.

I hope one of them starts crying.

I can smell their yeasty waft from here.

I hope one of them trips over on their way back to their seat.

GENERAL INSULTS:

Grow up and get job more befitting of your meagre talents. Like a horse prostitute.

If they made a biopic of your life they’d call it Tragedy of an Idiot.

You’ve got a face like a lamp.

You look like a carrot.

Your hair looks like wholemeal linguine.

Your eyes are like deflated blimps.

Your mouth flaps around like an abandoned tent.

Your teeth look like a piano that’s been dropped down a lift shaft.

Your nose is so off-centre it looks like it’s been thrown up onto your face.

Listening to your voice is like pouring boiling piss into my ears.

You smell like a placenta that’s been left out on a hot day.

You stink like a four week-old Happy Meal.

You smell like an art installation called Fart Holes.

You smell like a Fart Hole.

You smell like the inside of a hospital chimney.

You smell like a narwhal’s fart hole.

You smell like an inverted badger.

You smell like a distended rectum aka a fart hole.

You smell like a bag of discarded hospital sharps.

FAT SOW INSULTS (DIGI LEVEL 2)

I’m livid. I’m foaming at the teats I am.

I’m furious you’ve done another series of this cack-soaked Punch and Judy show.

Video games and stupid characters? Who’s this show aimed at – babies?

You should make a show about me – Fat Sow – where I tell the whole world you look like you live under a tarp. You could call it Pig Show.

You look like an advert for beef replacement.

You look like you shower from a thermos flask.

You smell like a tree made of hormones.

You look like an ice pop made from rejected kebab meat.

You look like a loaf of hair.

You look like a radio DJ from the 1700s.

You smell like a wet panini full of gloves.

You look like Anne Diamond.

You embittered orchard intruder.

You talentless harpsichord jockey.

You dispensable trog.

Physician heal thyself, you arrogant quack.

Shut your curdled flap, you screeching blimp.