My father actually manages to translate this effect into an even more ridiculous set of parameters. When in a foreign country, if he knows a couple words (you know, enough to order food and ask where all the neat attractions were), he will actually speak those to the natives, ie, their native language. I have an unforgettable image of him in a small resturant during our last trip to Italy, ordering spaghetti, and when the waiter didn't fully hear him, over-enunciating to the point of grimacing and, replete with hand gestures, saying slowly with a look one might give to an infant,

"Spaghetti... I'd like some Spa - ghett - ee"

Turns out the waiter spoke English like a motherfucker, too.

And then there's the time that he made his eyes into slits and starting loudly speaking in mock-Chinese while in the middle of a Chinese resturant. Weird old racist, that dad.