You know, she looks like my mom.
What did you say?
That lady, she, she reminds me of my mom.
Shit.
Your mom is that hot?
Oh yeah, oh yeah. I mean, hotter.
Really? Your mom has that kind of face? Those lips? That kind of rack?
Yeah, well, my mom's rack is a little bigger actually.
Where do you come off mentioning your mom and the word 'rack' in the same sentence?
I'm just saying, my mom she's, she's got like a large set of... of uh, you know, she's really...
Enough! Jesus Christ!
What?
Goddamnit... I was, I was gonna go over and talk to that chick! Let me correctify that. She's not a chick. In a room full of self-involved, young titless little chicks, she's a woman, okay? A real woman. Probably a very witty and wonderful woman...
With a great rack.
The rack was secondary, okay? It doesn't matter now. But the point being, I can't go over there and talk to her now.
But why, why not?
Because even if I went over to talk to her and got her to come home with me somehow, and got her to reveal the afore-mentioned great rack, all I would be thinking about is your mom's rack, and how great your mom's rack is. Not that I ever thought of your mom's rack before, but that's all I can think of now! Your mom's rack!
Hey, woah. You know what, my mom's married pal, okay?
[Jerry laughs, and Tommy leaves]
What?
Forbidden fruit, ball face.
You mean, like, melons?
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