I have a vision of the "master race" being brains in jars toted around by (whatever British humanoid - moon ape or whatever). Hmm...
I may have improved your comment.
"I say, chaps- a nice day to cart around the old cerebellums, what?"
On the whole, either your formulation or mine sounds a bit like a twisted version of the Buck Rodgers TV show with Gil Gerrard.
*twiggytwiggytwiggytwiggy* "What up, Buck?"