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One morning, Iannucci was shooting an episode at Camden Yards, the home of the Baltimore Orioles. Members of the team, playing themselves, gathered on the field, in uniform, waiting for a scene in which Meyer would have a brief photo op with them. At this point in the episode, she has a lot on her mind, and Louis-Dreyfus played her with feverish social energy. Her laugh, with its emphasis on the inhale, carried across the empty stadium. Short on baseball expertise, Meyer calls Jonah, the White House liaison, for guidance (“They’re all in the same outfit and they’ve all got beards… . Oh, wait, they’ve got numbers”), and then babbles to Tommy Hunter, the Orioles starting pitcher, “Isn’t it nice how the lettering works on these tops?”

After one take, Hunter was both exuberant and self-doubting. “I suck at improv!” he said.

Iannucci was reassuring. “That’s great,” he said.

“Are you being facetious?” Hunter asked.

“No, I’m British—I always sound facetious.”

From In the Loop (2009, dir. Armando Ianucci):

Malcolm Tucker: We have got the fucking intelligence.
Simon Foster: I haven’t seen it.
Malcolm Tucker: The intelligence we’ve got is so deep, so fucking hard, it’ll fucking puncture your kidneys.
Simon Foster: Where’s it coming from?
Malcolm Tucker: There is an informant. Ice Man.
Simon Foster: Ice Man?
Malcolm Tucker: I don’t name them. Ice Man. Yeah. And the fact is, the stuff that he’s given us is… I’ve seen it. It would make your blood run cold and clot and turn your insides into fucking black puddings. But certain box lickers are sitting on it, but you’re going to see it, because the PM regards you as a key player in this now.

and later:

Jamie MacDonald: Ah, right, Frank and Nancy Sinatra. I’ve got good news for you. You’re NOT fired. That’s great news, isn’t it?
Michael Rodgers: Well, it sounds ominous.
Jamie MacDonald: We want to get Liza Weld’s PWIP PIP out there properly, in the public domain. We just need to refine it a bit.
Michael Rodgers: What do you want to refine?
Jamie MacDonald: Just mess it up. Move the paragraphs. Change the name of the main informant.
Michael Rodgers: Well, that’s a complete fabrication.
Jamie MacDonald: Changing his name doesn’t matter. Do you think he’s really called Ice Man? Huh? “To Mr and Mrs Man, a son… Ice.” So, change it to another name. What’s the name of the fuck with the fiddle?
Michael Rodgers: This happens to be Debussy.
Suzy: Debussy.
Jamie MacDonald: Well, we’ll change it to Debussy, then.
Michael Rodgers: No, we will not!
Jamie MacDonald: Now, your prints are gonna be all over this, Michael, but that’s the only way you can save your job, you leaky fuck.

“I don’t need fucking acupuncture. I’ll fucking acupuncture you; I’ll come over there and I’ll give you a fucking acupuncture; you’ll end up looking like the guy from Hellraiser and I’ll take a fucking phonebook and bash it against your face!”

(And that’s just the beginning.)