Daisy: Colin's gone.
Tim: What?
Daisy: He went next door.
Tim: Oh, Daisy, I'm so sorry. How did it happen?
Daisy: [Bemused]... He walked.
Tim: Right, right, sorry. See, my mum used to use "going next door" as a euphemism for being dead.
Mike: Whoa, hold on, does that mean my rabbit's dead?
Tim: It's been eighteen years, Mike, where did you think he was?
Mike: [whimpers] Next door!
[Trying to figure out who destroyed 'Private Iron']
Tim: I think I can guess.
Mike: This isn't the work of amateurs, Tim. Private Iron was taken apart by someone who knew what they were doing.
Tim: Right, and what happens now?
Mike: Well, if we can't fix him in time, we're automatically disqualified. Runners-up go through.
Tim: And they are?
Mike: [Gasps, as if realizing] Dexter and Cromwell!
Tim: Right.
Mike: ... So who did this?
Bilbo: [Desperate] Look, Tim, I'm sorry I fired you. It was a mistake! Will you come back?
Tim: Oh, why? Things not working out with the new guy?
Bilbo: [Sheepish] You could say that.
Tim: [Stand-offish] I see.
Bilbo: Will you come back?
Tim: Well, I like it here, Bilbo. What makes you think I want to come back?
Bilbo: This.
[Bilbo produces an answering machine from nowhere and presses play]
Tim: [On machine; sobbing] Look, B-Bilbo, t-this is Tim. Please can I come back?! I don't like it here!
Tim: [Sheepish] You got that, did you?
Tim: He's made this personal.
Mike: I thought he made it personal when he slept with your girlfriend.
Tim: Well, he's made it more personal.
Mike: I don't think it gets much more personal than sleeping with your girlfriend, Tim.
Tim: [turns around, sees Brian dressed as a painting] You've got paint on you.
Brian: It's a literal tribute to the self reflexivity of Rembrandt.
Tim: Did he like it?
Brian: He's dead.
Tim: Bloody hell, that really backfired.
Tim: Where are you?
Mike: Uh, Sheffield.
Tim: What are you doing in Sheffield?
Mike: I fell asleep on the tube.
Tim: The tube doesn't go to Sheffield, Mike.
Mike: Yeah, I know, I, uh, must have changed at Kings Cross.