[mockingly] "Pulguita this and Pulguita that." Who do you think taught her all those Flea-like moves? The Flea, that's who! Who is she to outshine The Flea?
[while getting shrunk] The room, it's getting bigger! [falls to the ground, sits up, and looks around, realizing he's been shrunk] No! It is The Flea who has gotten smaller!
[voiceover through letter] "Dear Rikochet and Buena Girl, The Flea and Masked Dog hate baths. We are going to find a place where our filth can be appreciated. Goodbye forever."
Flea, that's not what I meant. It's too commercial. It's not what masked wrestling is all about. It's about honor in the ring. It's about us being a tag-team. It's about Lucha Libre! Libre means free, not low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low price.
[bursts out of the kitchen; frantically] Gone! It's all gone! [falls to the floor with a faint]
FMr. Flea
[picks up his wife] What's gone? What is Mrs. Flea talking about?
FMrs. Flea
[stuttering] Do-do-do-do-do…
FMr. Flea
[shutting his wife's mouth] Mr. and Mrs. Flea must get a hold of themselves. There's no need to lose control. Now, what seems to be the trouble, mi amor?
FMrs. Flea
The well that supplies Mr. and Mrs. Flea with never-ending raw, dough, and batter… has run dry! GONE!