"Hello, my furry wumpkin friend," said Boris. "Shall we go a-rowing down yonder river? With Mole and Squirrel and that Slut. Tally-ho, splendid!
"I'm to be made top chief at Boris Hall, have you heard? They're going to crown me with gold. To be honest, my wiffy hair is already a splendid crown of gold. Haw haw haw! Fiddle-de-dee!
"I say, Badger, where did you go to school? I hope it wasn't some dark sett full of stoats. Why I think I would lose all respect for you if you didn't go to Tiddlyfarp or Winklebottom.
"Here we are, my little yacht. I have it registered in Bongo land to avoid the tax. Nasty tax gerbil, always coming for my lovely dosh. I shall deal with him when I'm head of Boris Hall, mark my words. Tiddle-fup! Come on in, there you go.
"Now, don't mind the dead prossies and the mountain of coke. We'll soon get stuck into that, once we're downriver and into international waters.
"What's that? You say you want off? You don't want to go on a magical journey into pirate-filled seas? What are you, some kind of communist!?
"Nurse! Fetch the big syringe. We have another one. Better prepare another old photo for the press. I think I'll hand you over to Gove when I'm done with you."