Daddy, can't we do this after we get ice cream?
Al(after a beat): Kelly, we already got ice cream and we're home. Get out of the car.
(Kelly gets out.)
(Al sighs)
Kelly, get back in the car.
(Al looks under the hood)
Kelly (to Bud): Bud, did you get ice cream?
Bud (offhand): Uh, yeah, Kel. It was great.
Kelly (pouting): Where was I?
Are you sure you know what you're doing in there?
Y'know, Bud, you're starting to sound like your mother. Aha! Yeah, I see there's some dirt on the round thing. All right, I think I got it. Kelly, turn it on.
Uh, Dad, you might wanna tell Kelly to use the key or she might start rubbing up against it.
Al(to Bud): Kelly knows what she's doing, Bud, she's not an idiot. (to Kelly) Use the key, honey.
(Kelly tries. The car makes a dying sound. Al sighs and closes the hood.)
Ah, it's no use. I know that sound. That's a death rattle. I make it myself every morning. Let's go in the house. Get out of the car, Kelly.
Kelly (muttering as she gets out): Get in the car. Get out of the car. Get in the car. Get out of the car. You know, you're starting to sound like one of my dates. They promise me ice cream too, but they never give me any.
They exit into the house and shut the door. The hood opens.
Hi, Peg. And before you say "Hi" to the milkman, it's me.
I know. I have a nose. By the way, honey, I saw you pushing your car home. Doesn't it work?
Peg, if you saw me pushing the car home, why didn't you help me?
Well, I saw the kids out there and I figured if they weren't gonna help, why should I?
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.
Your wishes mean nothing to me. It's going to be my car, and I'll decide what I'm getting.
Yeah. Just don't get another weenie-mobile.
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]
All right, everybody, let's hold it right there. Now, how long have I known you guys? What, about two, 300 years? In that time I have learned to do without several things. A yacht, a summer home, love, respect, food. I can accept that. But I will live not one more day without a car that runs. So no more advice. I will go find my own used car lot, and if I come home tonight, God willing, it will be behind the wheel of something that goes "vroom." Al Bundy pushes no more. Now get out of my car.