“Oh , God, the British Have landed, Haven't they?”

“Oh, come on. You eye-hump him all through British History.”

“There is a British pop group called God. At a recent book signing the lead singer introduced himself and gave me a cassette. I have heard the voice of God.”

“I'm working! What are you doing? Besides being...Being what?Wait a minute...Sarcastic? Unfeeling? British?It's an animal.Where?No, the word!Still you have to admit, I am... very British. I don't say hard R's.You know what I like? Brown sauce. What's it made of? Science doesn't know!It's made of brown.Brown. Mined from the earth by the hardscrabble brown miners of North Brownderton.Oh, my God. I find lentils completely incomprehensible. What the sun-dappled hell is Echo doing at Fremont?That's got nothing to do with the drug, which means our problems are huge and indomitable.Ooh. I could eat that word. Or a crisp. Do you have any crisps?You haven't seen my drawer of inappropriate starches? C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon!Oh my god, I'm having such a terrible day.”

“An accent. HE HAS A BRITISH ACCENT. Dear God, I'm dying.”

“I have a new mantra, which I chant softly to myself: "Oh My God Oh My God.”