Dean:
Jonathan Trager, prominent television producer for ESPN, died last night from complications of losing his soul mate and his fiancee. He was 35 years old. Soft-spoken and obsessive, Trager never looked the part of a hopeless romantic. But, in the final days of his life, he revealed an unknown side of his psyche. This hidden quasi-Jungian persona surfaced during the Agatha Christie-like pursuit of his long reputed soul mate, a woman whom he only spent a few precious hours with. Sadly, the protracted search ended late Saturday night in complete and utter failure. Yet even in certain defeat, the courageous Trager secretly clung to the belief that life is not merely a series of meaningless accidents or coincidences. Uh-uh. But rather, its a tapestry of events that culminate in an exquisite, sublime plan. Asked about the loss of his dear friend, Dean Kansky, the Pulitzer Prize-winning author and executive editor of the New York Times, described Jonathan as a changed man in the last days of his life. "Things were clearer for him," Kansky noted. Ultimately Jonathan concluded that if we are to live life in harmony with the universe, we must all possess a powerful faith in what the ancients used to call "fatum", what we currently refer to as destiny.
Bernard:
[after Shame lies about him and Wayman] He's lying! Don't believe him, Bernard. Don't believe him.
Shame:
Oh, you didn't say that last night when we was in bed together, girl!
Bernard:
You *slept* with him? You *slut*! [slaps Wayman senseless]
Wayman:
Bernard?
Shame:
Save your tears, honey, you never had a chance! Coffee's good with cream but better when it's black!
Bernard:
Don't you ever, *ever* call me again. And you "Mr. Coffee", if you like some steamed milk with your double espresso, I'm your man!
Wayman:
Bernard, I'm sorry! I promise I'll call you.
Bernard:
[simultaneously] Don't sorry me, Wayman!
[We see Homer writing to Dr. Larch and hear the words in his voice as we are shown variously relevant scenes]
Homer:
Dear Dr. Larch. Thank you for your doctor's bag, although it seems that I will not have the occasion to use it, barring some emergency, of course. I am not a doctor. With all due respect to your profession, I'm enjoying my life here. I'm enjoying being a lobsterman and orchardman. In fact, I've never enjoyed myself as much. The truth is, I want to stay here. I believe I'm being of some use. [We hear the words Dr. Larch writes back to Homer in response]
Dr. Wilbur Larch:
My Dear Homer: I thought you were over you adolescence - the first time in our lives when we imagine we have something terrible to hide from those who love us. Do you think it's not obvious to us what's happened to you? You've fallen in love, haven't you? By the way, whatever you're up to can't be too good for your heart. Then again, it's the sort of condition that could be made worse by worrying about it, so don't worry about it. [the back and forth correspondence continues interwoven with scenes from Homer's life at the time]
Homer:
Dear Dr. Larch, What I'm learning her may not be as important as what I learned from you, but everything is new to me. Yesterday, I learned how to poison mice. Field mice girdle an apple tree; pine mice kill the roots. You use poison oats and poison corn. I know what you have to do. You have to play God. Well, killing mice is as close as I want to come to playing God.
Dr. Wilbur Larch:
Homer, here in St. Cloud's, I have been given the opportunity of playing God or leaving practically everything up to chance. Men and women of conscience should sieze those moments when it's possible to play God. There won't be many. Do I interfere when absolutely helpless women tell me they simply can't have an abortion - that they simply must go through with having another and yet another orphan? I do not. I do not even recommend. I just give them what they want. You are my work of art, Homer. Everything else has been just a job. I don't know if you have a work of art in you, but I know what your job is: you're a doctor.
Homer:
I'm not a doctor.
Dr. Wilbur Larch:
You're going to replace me, Homer. The board of trustees is looking for my replacement.
Homer:
I can't replace you. I'm sorry.
Dr. Wilbur Larch:
"Sorry"? I'm not sorry. Not for anything I've done. I'm not even sorry that I love you. [Cut to scene of Dr. Larch sitting on a hospital bed reading Homer's letter. He is crest-fallen and one of his nurses sits down to console him]
Dr. Wilbur Larch:
[Speaking to the nurse] I think we may have lost him to the world.
Mike Chadway:
OK, we've gotta teach you flirting.
Abby Richter:
I know how to flirt.
Mike Chadway:
Oh, OK. "My name's Abby and I enjoy reading Tolstoy, taking long walks and romantic picnics." I don't think so.
Abby Richter:
[grabs Mike's ass, imitating his voice] Hey baby, wearing any underwear?
Mike Chadway:
Hey, I would never say that and I wouldn't grab ass.
Abby Richter:
[still imitating him] What's wrong with a little ass grabbing, I mean what's it there for if not for me to grab it? [she squeezes Mike's ass tightly which makes him wince in pain]
Mike Chadway:
You are a deeply disturbed person.
Abby Richter:
[normal voice] Maybe I'm just a really good student. [Runs her hand down his chest and upper body]
Mike Chadway:
Will you stop doing that?
Abby Richter:
Doing what? [still running her finger up and down his body]
Mike Chadway:
Running your finger down... there... over me.
Abby Richter:
Why, is it turning you on?
Mike Chadway:
[forces a laugh as if to say "yeah right"] Maybe.
Abby Richter:
[seductively] You know, I think I kinda like it.
Mike Chadway:
Really?
Abby Richter:
[leaning in, her face almost touching his] Sucker.
Mike Chadway:
[annoyed] I knew it. That's it, no teaching the teacher.
Trout Walker:
[Trout appears, pointing a rifle at Kate] You got five seconds to tell me where you buried the lout!
Kissin' Kate Barlow:
I've been waitin' for you, Trout... [she draws her pistol and aims. Trout hesitates, but then she lowers it]
Kissin' Kate Barlow:
I ain't gonna kill you. [she throws the gun down, and Trout's wife picks it up]
Trout Walker:
Where's the loot?
Kissin' Kate Barlow:
There ain't no loot.
Trout Walker:
Don't give me that! You robbed every bank from Hell to Houston!
Linda Walker:
We saw you heading back with a shovel, Miss Katherine!
Kissin' Kate Barlow:
Linda Miller? Is that you?
Linda Walker:
I've been Linda Walker for the past thirteen years!
Trout Walker:
One!
Kissin' Kate Barlow:
Aw, Linda, you were such a good student... you must have married him for his money.
Trout Walker:
Two!
Linda Walker:
Well, it's all gone now! It dried up with the lake. Hasn't rained here since the day they killed Sam! Now you better tell him what he wants, he's a desperate man!
Trout Walker:
Three!
Kissin' Kate Barlow:
Go on, kill me.
Trout Walker:
[smiles crookedly] I ain't gonna kill you. But by the time I'm finished with you, you gonna wish you was dead.
Kissin' Kate Barlow:
[chuckles] I've been wishing I was dead for a long time.
[Larry in is bed with his wife and Steve, the dog at the end of the bed. Larry turns off the light and as everyone's getting ready to sleep, Larry says... ]
Larry Cummings:
I was just thinking about how lucky we are to have a kid, ya know? Just take it for granted. It's a miracle when you think about it. This whole birth thing. I mean, what happens, I unload a whole batch of these little reproductive things into your, uh, ya know, miracle bucket, and 9 months later, Milt comes out, ya know? I mean, for me it's got it's own inspiring mystique about it, as like... [Steve, the dog interrupts Larry by turning on the bedroom light]
Steve:
For God sakes Larry, people are trying to sleep around here.
Walter Garber:
What's her name?
Ryder:
Lavitca, she was Lithuanian... she was an ASS-model.
Walter Garber:
She asked you what?
Ryder:
You heard of hand-models, right? Advertisements?
Walter Garber:
Right.
Ryder:
She was an ass-model... she did jeans and uh you know, magazines and shit. Anyway, it was fashion week in New York and uh... I took her to Iceland.
Walter Garber:
Lavitca, Lithuanian, Ass model, Iceland, you took her to the ice...
Ryder:
So, for five-hundred bucks they'll take you on a dog-sled ride on a glacier.
Walter Garber:
Dog-sled?
Ryder:
Yeah... and you know that whole saying that if you're not the lead dog, the view never changes?
Walter Garber:
Right, otherwise you're always looking at the asshole of the dog in front of you.
Ryder:
That'll be funny in a minute when I get to that part.
Walter Garber:
It's funny now.
Ryder:
[next scene] And it's eight in the morning, we haven't been to bed yet... and we're tooling across this glacier and I got this hangover that's creeping up the back of my neck... and guess what I'm looking at?
Walter Garber:
You're obviously you're staring at... the ass of the dog in front of you.
Ryder:
You got it! So this dog... out of nowhere just lifts his hind-legs up and puts them in the, you know the harness there... and just takes a shit, while he's running on his front paws. So he's dumping and running, all at the same time... now that's multi-fucking-tasking if you ask me.
Walter Garber:
Get outta here, did it hit you?
Ryder:
Shit always hits you man. [next scene]
Ryder:
I didn't know it at the time, but it was profound.
Walter Garber:
Profound?
Ryder:
Yeah.
Walter Garber:
Why? Uh, you lost me.
Ryder:
Well, you know uh... when I went to prison later on, what you called. Uh, I had trouble going to the toilet... you know, a privacy thing. And I... couldn't take a shit. I was scared shitless... literally. So, you know what I thought of?
Walter Garber:
You thought of the dog.
Ryder:
That's right... I thought of that dog. If it could do what it needed to do... so could I. It saved my fucking live.
Walter Garber:
Wow, that is profound.
Mr. Jones:
Now when I went to bed last night. Didn't I tell you take out the trash?
Craig Jones:
Yeah.
Mr. Jones:
So, why didn't you do it?
Craig Jones:
I fell asleep.
Mr. Jones:
I wish you was sleeping right now, I knock you upside your head with a left hook make your ass wake up and take out that damn trash.
Craig Jones:
[Craig goes to the trash can to dump out his cereal]
Mr. Jones:
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! What are you doing?
Craig Jones:
I'm throwing this away. We ain't even got no milk.
Mr. Jones:
You better put some water on that damn shit!
Craig Jones:
Alright, I'll eat it.
Mr. Jones:
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! Take the garbage out front son!
Donny:
Shit, I never knew nobody who killed somebody.
Alice 'Ali' Willis:
Me neither.
Heather:
Just my grandpa. I never knew him. Yeah. My grandpa was a bad drunk. Really bad. He'd rape anyone dumb enough to walk by his room and one night... he got... um, really pissed at my grandma and he took a claw hammer to her face. And, uh, after that, he just... he locked himself up with her in his room for two whole days and he kept drinking and having sex with her after she was dead. My mom was in the house the whole time.
Donny:
Fuck.
Heather:
She was only 15.
Alice 'Ali' Willis:
Holy shit.
Heather:
You know, it really messed with her head. After that, she only hung out with guys who beat the hell out of her. And when I was little, she'd get drunk and she'd drag me and my brother out of bed at, like, four in the morning and she had all the news clippings about my grandpa and the trial transcriptions and she'd read them over and over again. And I knew every word before kindergarten. I think that's how I learned to read.
Salim Abu Aziz:
[his message to the United States] You have murdered our women, and our children, and bombed our cities from afar, like cowards, and you dare to call "us" terrorists?Now, we have the ability to strike back at our enemies. Unless "you" "America" pull all military forces out of the Persian gulf area, immediately, and forever, Crimson Jihad will rain fire on one major U.S. city each week, until our demands are met. First, we will detonate one nuclear weapon on this uninhabited island as a demonstration of our power. But, if these demands are not met, Crimison Jihad will rain fire on one major U.S. city each week.
Reed Rothchild:
TODD... PARKER!
Todd Parker:
Rockin' Reed Rothchild!
Reed Rothchild:
You made it! Woo-Hoo!
Todd Parker:
Amazing party, man! Fuckin' chicks everywhere!
Reed Rothchild:
You bet. Compliments of Jack Horner. Thank you.
Todd Parker:
I wouldn't mind me having a piece of that action right over there.
Reed Rothchild:
Michelle; I'll introduce you.
Todd Parker:
Sure, introduce her to my lap!
Reed Rothchild:
Ha ha. You just get off of work, man?
Todd Parker:
Don't dance Sunday nights.
Reed Rothchild:
Right.
Todd Parker:
Who's 'vette is that out in the driveway?
Reed Rothchild:
DIRK! I'm so jealous.
Todd Parker:
That shit's jammin', man.
Todd Parker:
Start down low with a 350 cube, three and a quarter horsepower, 4-speed, 4:10 gears, ten coats of competition orange, hand-rubbed lacquer with a huplane manifold,
Todd Parker:
Full fuckin' race cams. Whoo!
Mole:
You have disturbed the dirt.
Milo:
Uh, pardon me?
Mole:
You have disturbed the dirt! Dirt from around the globe spanning the centuries! [pulls the covers of Milo's bed, exposing clumps of dirt with little flags]
Mole:
What have you done? England must never merge with France!
Milo:
What's it doing in my bed?
Mole:
You ask too many questions! Who are you? Who sent you? Speak up!
Milo:
Me? I'm, uh...
Mole:
Bah! I will know soon enough. [grabs Milo's hand]
Milo:
Hey, hey, hey! Let go!
Mole:
Do not be such a crybaby. Hold still. [takes a bit of dirt from under one of Milo's fingernails]
Mole:
Aha! There you are. Now tell me your story, my little friend. [looks at dirt under magnifying lenses]
Mole:
Parchment fiber from the Nile Delta circa 500 B.C., lead pencil No. 2, paint flecks of a type used in government buildings, you have a cat, short hair Persian, two years old, third in a liter of seven. These are all the microscopic fingerprints of the mapmaker. [tastes dirt]
Mole:
And linguist.
Mohtz:
That tattoo on your arm. Is that airborne?
Jonah:
The 182nd. Gulf War, 1991.
Mohtz:
Hmm. Mine here is the 405th Infantry. Outside of Da Nang, South Vietnam, 1968. Whole platoon got wiped out, but it wasn't Charlie.
Jonah:
You're shitting me. Friendly fire killed your whole platoon?
Mohtz:
No, no, not exactly. One night, me and the C.O. were pulling guard duty, and we're sharing a joint... Thai Stick. I'm really stoned. And all of a sudden, we see this streak of light across the sky. Zoom! Waaa! And it looks like it lands about two klicks northeast of camp. So the C.O. says, "I'm gonna check it out." I said, "go ahead, cap man". More doobie for me, you know. So off he goes and uh... it could have been 10 minutes or two hours. I don't know. I was stoned. But he comes back and I notice that he's acting weird. But now, oh... now, no problem, it's just the Thai Stick kicking in. Well man, pretty soon he starts jumping around like his pants are on fire. I'm not shittin' you. And he... off comes his pants. He rips them off. Rips his skivvies off. Now I got my C.O. standing there in front of me, buck naked from the waist down. And then something happened, man, that... uh... boot camp did not prepare me for. This guy's pecker... his dick, ripped itself off his body and slithered towards the tent. So, the C.O.'s screaming like hell before he expires. Pretty soon, I can't hear him because dozens of screams are coming from the tents where all the platoon was. Want to know what the hell it sounded like? I think it sounded like... 30 men getting massacred by a dick as it shoved itself through them in rapid speed. So, I went over and hid behind a rock for about an hour and had to listen to my whole platoon being murdered. I think I heard one guy getting a shot or two off, but he then screamed as he got killed too. So, after it stopped... I very cautiously, believe me, crept into the officers tent to get a radio to get some air support and... I see the dick lying there on a sleeping bag and it looks like it's looking right back at me. But it looked, you know, fucking weak, man. And it was like in this, you know, shriveled... what kind of period do you call it?
T.J.:
A refractory period. Happens just after sex.
Mohtz:
Yeah, yeah, you know, I could have killed it right then, but I was so stoned I was afraid that I'd miss. And on the other hand, I knew it was only a matter of time before... you know, it would be back in action again. So, without taking my eyes off it, I get on the radio and have them chopper in two Saigon whores. So, for the next half-hour, I'm holding my weapon on this dick lying on a sleeping back in the blood-splattered tent. Now, I figured it won't know I'm stoned, so he won't jump me, you know? So, the chopper arrived just in time, thank God, because now the dick was getting big and hard. So, I tell the two whores when they showed up in the tent, "look, hey, I'll do anything, man. I'll take you to the States, anything, if you just lie down there and spread your legs for me." Well, I guess "states" was the magic word because I never two Vietnamese whores taking off their panties and clothes so quickly in all your life. Now, the dick must have smelled dinner because... choo! It makes a beeline for the whores. So I watch, and I wait, and watch. Finally, finally it blows it's load, I grabbed it, and ran it outside the tent. I threw it in a bunker. God... Jesus Christ man! About 10 seconds later, out runs about 15 gooks. And I could have nailed any one of them but no, I made a priority decision. Threw in a grenade. Yelled, "fire in the hole!" Fa-foom! Well, guess what. Now it's raining dick. Yeah, raining dick! I crawled into a whisky bottle. I got back to the States and I've been in there ever since.
Stormont:
Noriega formed these so-called Dignity Battalions. Dingbats. They were to beat the dignity out of anyone remotely critical of Noriega. It was Dr. Frankenstein, George Bush, who created this monster when he was head of the CIA. And when Noriega's drugrunning and brutality got too much, even for the CIA, it was George, now President Bush, who decided to take him out. And just to make sure, they firebombed a big chunk of the old city. Sadly, that's where the anti-Noriega rebels were. The handful that Noriega hadn't banged up already. So no more opposition, silent or otherwise. Burnt, scattered, fled.
Megatron:
My master, I failed you on Earth. The Allspark is destroyed and without it, our race will perish.
The Fallen:
You much have much to learn, my disciple. The Cube was merely a vessel. It's power, it's knowledge, can never be destroyed. It can only transform.
Megatron:
How is that possible?
The Fallen:
It has been absorbed by the human child. The key to saving our race now lies within his mind.
Megatron:
Well, then, let me strip the very flesh from his body!
The Fallen:
And you will, my apprentice, in time. For millennia, I have dreamed of my return to that wretched planet where I, too, was once betrayed by the Primes I called my brothers. Only a Prime can defeat me... and now, only one remains.
Megatron:
Optimus... he protects the boy.
The Fallen:
Then the boy will lead us too him, and revenge will be ours.
Megatron:
Yeesss...
Starscream:
The boy will not escape us! We have him in our sights!
Starscream:
[watching a hatchling die] Without the energon, the hatchlings will keep dying.
Muhammad Ali:
It is befitting that I leave the game just like I came in, beating a big bad monster who knocks out everybody and no one can whup him. So when little Cassius Clay from Louisville, Kentucky, came up to stop Sonny Liston. The man who annihilated Floyd Patterson twice. HE WAS GONNA KILL ME! But he hit harder than George. His reach is longer than George's. He's a better boxer than George. And I'm better now than I was when you saw that 22-years old undeveloped kid running from Sonny Liston. I'm experienced now, professional. Jaws been broke, been knocked down a couple of times, I'm bad! Been chopping trees. I done something new for this fight. I done wrestled with an alligator. That's right. I have wrestled with an alligator. I done tussled with a whale. I done handcuffed lightning, thrown thunder in jail. That's bad! Only last week I murdered a rock, injured a stone, hospitalised a brick! I'm so mean I make medicine sick!
Don King:
Bad dude!
Muhammad Ali:
Bad, fast! Fast! Fast! Last night I cut the light off in my bedroom, hit the switch and was in the bed before the room was dark.
Robert Ford:
I can't believe I woke up this morning wondering if my Daddy would loan me his overcoat, and here it is just past midnight and I've already robbed a railroad train and I'm sitting in a rocking chair chatting with none other than Jesse James.
Jesse James:
Yeah, it's a wonderful world.
Robert Ford:
[reaches into his pocket and removes a newspaper clipping] Oh, what's this? I was real agitated this morning, wondering if I'd be able to tell you and Frank apart. So I had the clipping that described you both. You want me to read it?
Jesse James:
Go on.
Robert Ford:
Well, I gotta find... here. 'Jesse James, the youngest, has a face as smooth and innocent as a schoolgirl. The blue eyes, very clear and penetrating, are never at rest. His form is tall and graceful and capable of great endurance and great effort. Jesse is lighthearted, reckless, and devil-may-care. There is always a smile on his lips-'
Jesse James:
All right, all right.
Robert Ford:
Well, yeah. Then it's 'Frank, Frank, Frank... ' You know what I've got right next to my bed? The Train Robbers, or a story of the James Boys, by R.W. Stevens. Many's the night I've stayed up with my mouth opens and my eyes open, reading about your escapades in the Wide Awake Library.
Jesse James:
They're all lies, you know.
Robert Ford:
'Course they are.
Dolores Umbridge:
Pardon me, Professor, but what exactly are you insinuating?
Minerva McGonagall:
I am merely requesting that when it comes to my students you conform to the prescribed disciplinary practices.
Dolores Umbridge:
So silly of me, but it sounds as if you're questioning my authority in my own classroom, Minerva.
Minerva McGonagall:
Not at all, Dolores, merely your medieval methods.
Dolores Umbridge:
I am sorry, dear, but to question my practices is to question the Ministry, and by extension, the Minister himself. I am a tolerant woman, but the one thing I will not stand for is disloyalty.
Minerva McGonagall:
Disloyalty?
Dolores Umbridge:
Things at Hogwarts are far worse than I feared.
Sarah Pierce:
I think I understand your feelings about this book. I used to have some problems with it, myself. When I read it in grad school, Madam Bovary just seemed like a fool. She marries the wrong man; makes one foolish mistake after another; but when I read it this time, I just fell in love with her. She's trapped! She has a choice: she can either accept a life of misery or she can struggle against it. And she chooses to struggle.
Mary Ann:
Some struggle. Hop into bed with every guy who says hello.
Sarah Pierce:
She fails in the end, but there's something beautiful and even heroic in her rebellion. My professors would kill me for even thinking this, but in her own strange way, Emma Bovary is a feminist.
Mary Ann:
Oh, that's nice. So now cheating on your husband makes you a feminist?
Sarah Pierce:
No, no, it's not the cheating. It's the hunger. The hunger for an alternative, and the refusal to accept a life of unhappiness.
Mary Ann:
Maybe I didn't understand the book!
Bartleby:
You are responsible for raising an icon which draws worship from the Lord. You have broken the first commandment. Not only that, I'm afraid not a one of you passes for a decent human being. Your continued existence is a mockery of morality. Like you, Mr. Burton. Last year cheated on your wife of 17 years 8 times. You even had sex with her best friend while you were supposed to be home watching the kids.
Loki:
In the bed that you and your wife share, no less.
Bartleby:
Mr. Newman - you got your girlfriend drunk at last year's Christmas party and then paid a kid from the mail room to have sex with her while she was passed out, just so you could break up with her guilt-free when she sobbingly confessed in the morning. She killed herself two months later. Mr. Brace disowned his gay son. Very compassionate, Mr. Brace. Mr. Ray put his mother in a third-rate nursing home and then used the profits from the sale of her home to buy an oriental rug for himself. Heavens. Mr. Barker flew to Thailand on the company account to have sex with an eleven year old boy. Mr. Holtzman okayed the production of Mooby Dolls from materials he knew to be toxic and unsafe, because it was - survey says? - less costly. [sees the female board member]
Bartleby:
You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life. Good for you. But you, Mr. Whitland, you have more skeletons in your closet than the rest of this assembled party. I cannot even mention them aloud. [whispers something in Whitland's ear]
Loki:
You're his father, you sick fuck. [Whitland starts crying]
Brodie:
You have my Punisher War Journal #6, my copy of "Fletch" and the remote control to my TV. Now, I know it's going to be hard to give this stuff up because of it's sentimental attachment...
Rene:
Sentimental attachment? Look, if I have any of that crap it's because you brought it over my house and left it there.
Brodie:
Okay, then let's talk about coming up with a schedule for visitation rights.
Rene:
For what?
Brodie:
For the mall. I figure you can take the odd days, I'll take the even days and weekends. When there's any special feature like a sidewalk sale...
Rene:
[interrupting] Brodie, Brodie...
Brodie:
...or a boat show...
Rene:
[interrupting] Brodie! I've always taken you with a grain of salt. On your birthday, when you told me to do a striptease to the theme of "Mighty Mouse", I said okay. On prom night at the hotel when you told me to sleep under the bed in case your mother burst in, I did it. And even during my grandmother's funeral when you told my relatives that you could see her nipples through her burial dress, I let that slide.
Rene:
[Grabs Brodie by the ear] But if you think I'm gonna suffer any of your shit with a smile now that we're broken up, you're in for some serious fucking disappointment!
UFO Abductee:
They took me off into a separate room; I seen 'em takin' different people off; different ones of us off in separate rooms and put me on a big white table and uh the guy that took me in there - to examine me I guess - he probed me and then I was in there I bet more than three or four hours, in that room, being probed and at one time or another these different ones of 'em came in, four or five or six of 'em at different times, and all of 'em probed me, uh, not all at once, you know, individually. Later on, years later, now, even still, uh, it's a funny thing - it happened on a Sunday and every Sunday about the time I was taken on board that ship I - find I have no feelings in my buttocks.
[after allowing their mysterious new neighbor, George Daniels, to make a phone call, Sarah and Jamie go into the kitchen]
Sarah Newman:
I saw him first!
Jamie Cyrus:
We saw him at the same time. Are you sure you want to go up against me?
Sarah Newman:
Name the time, place, and challenge.
Jamie Cyrus:
Okay. I win, you leave. You win, I leave.
Sarah Newman:
Win what?
Jamie Cyrus:
[referring to George] Him.
Sarah Newman:
First one to bed him?
Jamie Cyrus:
No, the first one he falls in love with.
Sarah Newman:
Love? Fine... agreed.
Jamie Cyrus:
And neither one of us can cast any spells on him to make that happen.
Sarah Newman:
Oh, come on! We're witches! Isn't this supposed to prove who's the better witch?
Jamie Cyrus:
Yes, and this will force us both to be a little bit more creative. A witch that has to rely on magic to get a man... is one lazy witch. So, this will be good practice for the two of us.
Sarah Newman:
Fine, it's a deal. But, one night in the sack with me, he will be in love. I guarantee it!
