Baaaaaaaaaaaah! Barnaby? Bit of a sissy's name, eh?
I imagine your futile attempt at innuendo means that are suggesting that you are going to make these female prisoners die of giggles through a display of your puny, under-sized and laughable wedding tackle or by showing them your fluffy rear-end. If they are Bretonians they will surely know that a Bretonian gentlemen carries the kit of a Grand National winner and not the wormy little boy john of you Hispanic types.
In any event, whatever you intend, cretin, I can only imagine that death is a far more welcome fate than having to listen to your rabid and poorly-constructed Romance ramblings.
I will confine myself now to saying simply, get stuffed fat pig.
Her Majesty does not negotiate with tiresome terrorists, least of all backward buffoons from that radioactive rat-hole known as Crete.
Still, if you do intend to harm these chaps, I imagine a similar fearsome fate can be swiftly scheduled for your many brethren, or homanos, in our perfidious prisons. If the turnips haven't bloody eaten each other already.
Ten thousand units of food? If I have my way, you'll get ten thousand turds, each one crafted by own dear and spotty bottom.
