Inspector: ‘ELLO!
Mr. Hilton: ‘Ello.
Inspector: Mr. ‘ilton?
Hilton: A-yes?
Inspector: You are the sole proprietor and owner of the Whizzo Chocolate Company?
Mr. Hilton: I am, yes.
Inspector: Constable Clitoris and I are from the ‘ygiene squad, and we’d like to have a word with you about your box of chocolates entitled the ‘Whizzo Quality Assortment’.
Mr. Hilton: Oh, yes.
Inspector: If I may begin at the beginning. First there is the Cherry Fondue. Now this is extremely nasty. (pause) But we can’t prosecute you for that.
Mr. Hilton: Ah, agreed.
Inspector: Then we have number four. Number four: Crunchy Frog.
Mr. Hilton: Yes.
Inspector: Am I right in thinking there’s a real frog in ‘ere?
Mr. Hilton: Yes, a little one.
Inspector: What sort of frog?
Mr. Hilton: A...a *dead* frog.
Inspector: Is it cooked?
Mr. Hilton: No.
Inspector: What, a RAW frog?!?
Mr. Hilton: Oh, we use only the finest baby frogs, dew-picked and flown from Iraq, cleansed in the finest quality spring water, lightly killed, and sealed in a succulent, Swiss, quintuple-smooth, treble-milk chocolate envelope, and lovingly frosted with glucose.
Inspector: That’s as may be, but it’s still a frog!
Mr. Hilton: What else?
Inspector: Well, don’t you even take the bones out?
Mr. Hilton: If we took the bones out, it wouldn’t be crunchy, would it?
Well done!
When we had a family rotisserie baseball league, my youngest child named her team the "Crunchy Frogs."