Derek: I'm a Derek and Dereks don't run.
Alien Leader's Voice: I expect you're wondering what you're doing soaking in Reg's eleven secret herbs and spices. Tomorrow we're having you for lunch.
Derek: What are you dirty hooers doing on my planet?
Ozzy: The bastards have landed.
Barry: I think Derek's turned his toes up, guys.
Derek: Stay where you are then, and I'll give you an eye witness description of this, intergalactic wanker.
Lord Crumb: The sad news is that we will be heading for Nalic Nod with six of our co-workers in a state of permanent death. They died today, murdered by some real assholes.
Barry: Why can't aliens be friendly?
Derek: There's no glowing fingers on these bastards, we've got a bunch of Extra-Terrestrial psychopaths on our hands, like a visit from a planet full of Charlie Mansons, they've started on something small, its my guess they'll go onto something bigger next time, Christchurch, Wellington.
Barry: Auckland?
Derek: Yeah, well, that wouldn't be so bad.
Derek: Stick all the bits of brain in a plastic bag, Barry. We'll need them for analysis.
Barry: No bloody way mate. You can come down here and do that yourself.
Derek: Suck my spinning steel, shithead.
Alien Leader's Voice: I think the gruel is ready.
Derek: Well this sure has buggered your plans for conquering the world, eh? Hehe... my friend, the astro-bastard, time for talkies. By the time my colleagues get here I want to have you babbling in some extra-terrestrial language.
Alien Leader's Voice: I'm sure you'll be pleased to be leaving this shitty planet.
Alien Leader's Voice: That's the end of those weekend cowboys.
Coldfinger: I think this is a job for real men.
