[the Fashion Club is meeting in Sandi's bedroom]
Then it's unanimous. Under no circumstances will the Fashion Club accept applicants with stubby fingertips. Stacy, what is the next qualification to discuss under our agenda?
Weight guidelines...unless you want to talk about something else!
If it's all right with you, Stacy, I prefer to conduct this meeting in an orderly fashion. With that said, I'm moving to scale back the number of allowable of pounds back by three.
Um, Sandi, I think it's a really cute idea and all, but it might make it really hard to find new members.
Obviously I'm the only one in this room concerned with the burgeoning obesity problem tearing apart the very fabric of our land.
Not the fabric!
If I must stand alone in setting exemplary standards for others to follow, so be it. You're all overruled. Next topic.
That's mine! Give it back!
Forget it, jerko!
Um, the next topic is eyelash density.
You suck! You suck!
Excuse me. [she leaves the room and sees Sam and Chris fighting over the remote] Shut up, you little brats!
Give me the remote!
[the truck suddenly heads right for Sandi's legs and Sandi trips over the truck and tumbles down the stairs]
[laying at the bottom of the stairs, clutching her leg] My leg! It's broken!
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