[about her diary] Okay, if you hand it right over, I won't press charges.
What are you talking about?
As if you didn't know.
Bobby, do you know what she's talking about?
No. Greg, do you know what she's talking about?
No. Marcia, do you know what you're talking about?
I certainly do! Someone in this room took my diary.
Your diary, you mean you actually keep one of those stupid things?
What's a diary?
It's a book, that you write things in, that you don't want anyone else to read.
Why?
So, you could write stuff like...
[Greg then sits at his desk imitating Marcia writing in her diary] "Dear diary, at last I met him, my dream man. It was at the delicatessen and our fingers tingled as we reached for the same potato salad."
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