Peas: Dude, I need to apply for leave first week of October. I'm going to the Seychelles with the extended French family.
Crusoe: Why you going there? You related to the Creoles or something?
Peas: [cough, splutter] You're lucky my Gran wasn't around to hear that. She'd chop your balls off.
Crusoe: Well, your family lived there right?
Peas: Moved there during za vorre. But we're French Royalty dude, don't mock it. The Creoles weren't part of the equation. In fact, to keep the bloodlines pure, half my cousins there are probably inbred.
Crusoe: So, your cousins fucked your cousins?
Peas: Imagine French Catholics in a confined space for a second.....got the picture?
Royal Catholics, might I add. So bow down and give your employee some friggin' respect.
Crusoe: What finishing school did you go to, 'cos, Jesus, the shit that comes from your mouth doesn't exactly scream 'Princess Diana.' And you're only really Royal if you're British.
Peas: Oh yeah? You think Prince Harry never says 'fuck?' My great great grandmother was a Bourbon, dude. Top that.
Crusoe: So lemme get this straight...you're going on holiday to a tropical island full of your half-bred royal cousins. My question is....what if you find one of your cousins has an exceptionally large wanger?
Peas: Well, I wouldn't go there if that's what you're asking.
Crusoe: And what if it's ginormous?
Peas: Why would I want to see it in the first place?
Crusoe: 'Cos you have been known to stare at people's crotches lately.
Peas: Dude, even if he had a dick the length of your garden hose, I wouldn't go there.
Crusoe: So why're you so Royal again? What was the family name?
Peas: D'Agniel d'Assignet de Bourbon....and by the way, the more 'de's or 'd's' in a surname, the more aristocratic you are. We have three, bitch.
Crusoe: ...Her Highness, Peas de de de Toast?
Peas: Am I bovvered?
Crusoe: Royalty wouldn't say that.
Peas: Royalty can say anything they want.
PS: My dad, on the other hand, wants to call his new dog...Norman. Somebody please, we need a reality check here.