Duke Fenixius of New Holland gets up, ignoring the gaping wound in his gut.
I say, these lads are rather spirited, aren't they? Ah well, not like any one of them could hurt a real British patriot like myself. Heh, this is just a light scratch anyway.
Duke Fenixius of New Holland begins to shove his intestines back into his body.
So, good sirs, what think we of this environment thing, eh? Sounds to me like someone let one too many colonists speak out loud, and now everyone's complaining about how we're cutting down too many of those trees. Well, if we didn't cut down the forests of New Holland, I'd've had nowhere to build my mansion, now would I? All this talk about the ice melting and the air thickening are a bit fanciful, isn't it? I say, back in the day, when someone started talking nonsense like that, we'd give them a right thrashing, but now, they seem to let them run the country!
Duke Fenixius continue to ramble into incoherency, before passing out from the extreme quantity of alcohol imbibed, and the extreme quantity of blood he lost.