"Don't be a sore loser, Czarnukaluf."
"Me? Sore loser? You, Tanya Tinkerbelle-"
"That's Featherbell, Ms. Dracula."
"You dun't mess vid me, you Hollywood hump, or you vake up in morning vid yur schmukis vere yur face is."
"Now, hang on ladies-"
"Try that gypsy Svengali shtick on me and you'll have gerbils eating their way out of your colon, you Carpathian slut."
"LADIES, ENOUGH! Now just be quiet and let the man speak."
(Tanya and Schmera quiet down and silently send death ray stares at each other)
"That's better. Jimbo, I'm sorry you were interrupted."
"Oh, I didn't mind. That was fun. Maybe we can get them in a mud wrestling ring together."
"Now, Jimbo, what were you saying about the rack? Was Schmera right about that?"
"Well, in fact, yes she was, but I changed my mind just as they were writing out their cards."
"There! You see, I am right, they are wrong."
"This is a real hair splitter, I'll admit, Schmera, and a tough call, but the fact remains that Bob is being prepped for the Iron Maiden and not the rack, so we have to go with what is and not what almost was. I'm afraid the rack is still a wrong answer and you're off the panel."
"You dun't fool vid me, you Tom Collins. I varn you!"
"Well, Schmera with the unpronounceable last name, why don't you just turn into a bat and fly back to your fortune teller's wagon in Transylvania or wherever your roost is before we sic our goon squad on you."
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