For those who have seen the movie “Love Actually,” Colin “God of Sex” LIVES. And he’s at UCSB! Well, not the real one, but mediocre replacements sure are! Yes indeedy, it’s the new year and this means a brand new set of exchange students. Collect them all! That, in fact, is what some girls here appear to be trying to do, based on their reactions to foreign accents:

“Oh my God, are you guys from England??” (with barely suppressed excitement).

This kind of reaction from American girls when faced with foreign accents has recently been proven to actually exist. This was once considered by myself and many others around the globe to be pure fantasy. Sure, mainly a fantasy of the English, since they practice only a crude form of coupling known as “British sex” — during which the woman lies back and “thinks of England” while the man sits down and peruses the Daily Telegraph. In short, the results of my observations are as follows: foreign accent + American chicks = instant moistness.

In order to secure more perfect unions with American girls, we, the people of the rest of the world, must use what little advantage we have — the humble accent. I myself possess somewhat of a rare commodity round these here parts, the New Zealand “Kiwi” accent. First, no, I am not a gigantic piece of fruit. Sure, I have a delicious inner core and am potent with seed, but that furry brown stuff on the outside is just my copious amounts of body hair, so please do not be alarmed, Sweetheart. Anyway, having an accent is apparently something of a conversation starter around here. Unfortunately, the Kiwi accent is somewhat overshadowed by that of the Motherland.

For example:

Girls: “Oh my god, are you guys from England??”

British friend 1: “Quite!”

British friend 2: “Indeed!”

British friend 3: “Spiffing!”

British friend 4: “Harry Potter!”

Me: (quietly from the back of the group) “I’m from… New Zealand… anyone…?”

This is generally followed by an awkward silence, before the girls strut off with the damned Englishmen. Not that I’m bitter or anything. In fact, I would be totally okay with it, if it weren’t for the popularity of the Australian accent — for fuck’s sake, it sounds like a cross between a raccoon being raped and a crucifix breaking someone’s skull. Appropriate, considering those are two regular hobbies of Australians.

Yes, in case you weren’t aware, there is something of a friendly rivalry between our two fair nations. They also slaughter puppies… and club seals! I was with an American girl once who so wanted me to be Australian (apparently I was the closest thing she could find) that in the bedroom she kept asking me to put my “shrimp” on her “barbie.” To this day I have no idea what she meant. But it was quite a demoralizing request for me to hear, both since I am a Kiwi and also because she was referring to my manhood as a “shrimp.” In my defense, back home we call them “king prawns,” which is much less emasculating and permanently damaging to one’s self esteem.

Occasionally, sure, I’ve managed to arouse some interest:

“Oh my god, New Zealand! I would love to go there, it looks so beautiful in ‘Lord of the Rings’!” (with sultry, come-hither eyes).

All right, this is my chance, I think to myself, before saying something like, “Well, baby, why don’t you come back with me, and you can be the lord of my ring.” I then suggestively raise my eyebrows. She inevitably backs away slowly.

Other times I’ve managed to convince girls that Australia and New Zealand are connected via a gargantuan, 12-lane bridge. This makes for a great segue into the pick-up line: “Maybe we could ‘bridge’ our own two countries, if you catch my drift…”

I then suggestively raise my eyebrows. She inevitably refers to the implausibility of constructing such a superstructure traversing the vast marine plain that is the Pacific Ocean. Damn them. I know it was the Brits who taught her the word “traverse.”