How's that for a butcher's?

Mrs. Butchers: Ehz zat foar ah bootchez?!

Mr. Butchers: Indeed Mrs. Butchers, now please calm it and take a dammed chill pill I'm trying to read about the global political scene in The Guardian.

He sits there smoking on his long pipe reading it while Mrs Butchers butchers at his butchered chicken lying in a butchered blood bath. "Sheer butchery" cries she and phones the authorities.

Evening.

Mrs. Butchers: Spending money on cheap funfair rides only makes life harder and less extensive to the lesser mind. eww...

Mr. Butchers: Please do shut up, Mrs Butchers. The routine is constantly under siege by your bickering bitches of dogs. Confide it get those things of my meat slabs and pass me the 100 miles Avalon stick, use the pool not the chain!

Mrs. Butchers: Oh Christ.

Mr. Butchers: "CHARLIE BIT ME!" How could you Charlie? Oh! AGHHHHHHHHH! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!1