Schmera points her finger at Tom and shrieks: "Schluga mirshta chuchka guntz, shtupken xjartukis fleister gobluminczmb!"
(Schmera stomps out of the studio - Tom turns to Hiram and Tanya)
"Can either of you tell me what she said? I don't think she was wishing me happy birthday."
"All right, Tanya, tell me what Schmera's parting shot was."
"It's an old Hungarian curse: May your testicles shrivel like prunes and dry up and fall off your body leaving you less than a man."
"Whoa, that sounds pretty awful. Do curses like that actually work?"
"From someone like her they do."
"What do you say Hiram, should I take it seriously?"
"I'm afraid so, Tom."
"Golly, it sounds like I'm in deep dookie. Is there anything I can do about it? Tanya?"
"Yes, but it will cost you big bucks."
"What's big bucks?"
"A hundred thousand dollars."
"One hundred thousand dollars? For a gypsy curse?"
"How much are your testicles worth to you, Tom?"