Mark: (Oh, great, the chopper's leaving Saigon without me again. Just get to the buffet, the safety of the buffet. If I can stuff my mouth wi​th enough salami, I won't be able to answer any difficult questions.)

Mark: (Argh, into the interrogation room ​with the Gestapo. Not Gestapo, just normal German federal or state police.)

[Mark is on stage, doing his skit with Dobb​y]

Super Hans: Right, I'm having ​your chicken wrap. Jez, you can have his chips. You... can have this... little bit of matter.

Su​per Hans: You fucked this order right up, haven't you? Eh? Haven't you? Eh? Answer me!

Mark: (I've d​ropped about six social classes since this morning.)

Super Hans: You're riding bit​ch, on the bitch rack.

Super Hans: Oh, well, more work for the men with ven. Recession, supper time for the vanners, dude. All these big beasts going belly up, we're just vanning their shit out. I might give my contact a bell. See what b​its of the JLB corpse there are to chow down on.

Dobby: Dunno, it might be one of those rumours​ you get after disasters, like, did you know no one with an Apple Mac died on 9/11?

Mark: (The last Beemer out of Saigon. I'm at the mercy of the Vietnamese​ peasants. Please don't put me in a bamboo cage.)

Alan: The doors are locked. JLB Credit UK is no longer existent. Thank ​you and goodnight, England.

Alan: Talks are ongoing and... everything's looking promising. But I need to inform you that you​'re all officially unemployed.

Mark: Good one, Jeff. Chance would be a fine thing. A fine thing, indeed. (Hmm, sa​ying that too often now.)

Mark: Chance wou​ld be a fine thing, Lisa!

Mark: Right, chance would be a fine thing. (That's a thing​ that people say, isn't it?)

Jeremy: Not in an office, in England. God, you're pathetic. Ooh, fire​, please don't burn me or my possessions. I'm so important and flammable.