Eliot and Darren are two brothers living in a post apocalyptic world and making a living facilitating dark parties where guests’ worst and most violent fantasies are brought to life. In this speech, Eliot takes all his frustration out on his brother.

Nothing you fucking do helps in the slightest fucking way. Know what you’re like? A fucking anvil round me neck. The lifeboat’s sinking and I’m bailing it out like a good ‘en and I’ve got this fucking anvil getting heavier and heavier dragging the whole thing down.
But of course you wouldn’t understand that, ya nigger, Catholic, Yid, Christian, Paki, spic, wop, Muslim shit cunt. You’ve got to have fucking brains to understand an insult like that!
Know what? I should be a one-man band. Everyone thinks so. Oh, they don’t say anything, cos you’re me brother. But I know what they’re thinking. Elliot could be big. Elliot could be a star. A right supernova if he didn’t have that butterfly-addled brother hanging round his fucking ankles like a million miles of Paki afterbirth.
Know what I’m gonna do? One night, I’m gonna fill the fucking bath with sulphuric acid. I’m gonna say: “Fuck me, you’re a bit whiffy tonight, brov. Why don’t you give ya bollocks a good soak?” And you’ll jump in the tub, and – oh, you might think: “Ooo, this is a bit hot”, but, like the bloody remedial shit for brains you are, you’ll happily lay back for a soapy wank or something. Ten minutes later, I’ll pop me head in and there’ll be nothing left of ya. The bath’ll be one big Darren soup. Perhaps a few teeth and that beer-bottle cap you swallowed as a kid. But that’s it. I’ll pull the plug and watch you glug away. Down the drainpipes. To the sewers. Then out to the ocean. You’ll mix with all the plankton. You’ll feel right at home there. Plankton is about your fucking IQ.