Churchill was known to drain a glass or two and, after one particularly convivial evening, he chanced to encounter Miss Bessie Braddock, a Socialist member of the House of Commons, who, upon seeing his condition, said, "Winston, you're drunk." Mustering all his dignity, Churchill drew himself up to his full height, cocked an eyebrow and rejoined, "Shove it up your ass, you ugly cunt."
When the noted playwright George Bernard Shaw sent him two tickets to the opening night of his new play with a note that read: "Bring a friend, if you have one," Churchill, not to be outdone, promptly wired back: "You and your play can go fuck yourselves."
At an elegant dinner party, Lady Astor once leaned across the table to remark, "If you were my husband, Winston, I'd poison your coffee." "And if you were my wife, I'd beat the shit out of you," came Churchill's unhesitating retort.
During the darkest days of World War II, when each night brought waves of Luftwaffe bombers raining death and destruction on a near-defenseless London, Prime Minster Churchill went on the air to address the British People. "I read in this morning's paper that Herr Hitler plans to wring England's neck like that of a chicken," he began, "and I was reminded of what the Irish poacher said as he stood on the gallows. It seems the poor fellow as approached by a well-meaning if somewhat overzealous priest who, in horrific detail, described the unfading torments of Hades which awaited him if he did not repent his misdeeds. The condemned man listened patiently to all that the priest had to say, and when he was done, grinned broadly and replied, 'Eat it raw, fuzz-nuts.'"
Shortly after Churchill had grown a moustache, he was accosted by a certain young lady whose political views were in direct opposition to his own. Fancying herself something of a wag, she exclaimed, "Mr. Churchill, I care for neither your politics nor your moustache." Unabashed, the young statesman regarded her quietly for a moment, then wryly commented, "Suck my dick."
