Just wait a sodding minute! You want a question that goes with the answer for 42? Well, how about "What's six times seven?" Or "How many Vogons does it take to change a lightbulb?" Here's one! "How many roads must a man walk down?"
Hey, that's not bad!
Fine. Fine, take it. Because my head is filled with questions. And I can assure you, no answer to any one of them has ever brought me one iota of happiness. Except for one. The one. The only question I've ever wanted an answer to—"Is she the one?" And the answer bloody well isn't "42", it's "yes"! Undoubtedly, unequivocally, unabashedly yes! And for one week, one week in my sad little blip of an existence, it made me happy.
Rubbish. We don't want to be happy, we want to be famous.
Fook Yeah, what is all this "Is she the one" tripe?
Take his brain!
NO, DON'T TAKE THE BRAIN, DON'T TAKE THE BRAIN MICE! [he breaks an arm of the chair and knocks the mice off the drill]
IT WASN'T ME!
ONE TWO THREE!
I'm famous.
Shoot him! Quickly! Shoot him!
Fook Oh, bollocks. [they are squished]