Kids, I have a little family announcement to make. But since I don't have an actual family, I'll say it to you. I have decided that it's time for me to buy a new car.
If I want a weenie-mobile, I'll buy a weenie-mobile. But at least it'll be a new weenie-mobile. A new car. At last. Everything I've ever owned has been used. My car, my house, my... [gives Peg a significant nod]
Aw, honey. I know what would make you feel better. But I'll never leave you, not in a million years. So, Al, what's the family plan for Christmas this year?
There. Right there, Peg, is the problem with America. We've lost our spirit of self-reliance. Something's broken, call someone. Something's leaking, call someone. One of the kids suffers a ruptured appendix, call someone. Whatever happened to rugged American manhood?
I don't know, Kel. (turns her around): If you really want people to remember you, you might want to try this (moves the picture frame below her neck, stopping at her breasts and midriff): Now, all we do is add some fingerprints, and voila: every man's memory.
The babes will be calling plenty soon. I'm a senior now. A mover. A shaker. I'm the man. I've got the juice. Yup, when I was a freshman, they flushed my head down the toilet. When I was a sophomore, they flushed my head down the toilet. When I was a junior, I was getting cool, so they let me flush it myself. But now I'm a senior. And ready to rule. This year he's back, he's cool, he's dry.
I saw a woman come over here. Are one of you my wife? [notices a distressed Marcy, a pleased Peggy and bored Kelly and decides on Kelly) Come on sweetheart, let's go back to bed.