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Mr. Frying Pan
: Well now, here we all are. Ike, Mike and Mustard. Harry
: What the hell does that mean? Mr. Fire
: You know, I'm with him on this one man, that's pretty fuckin' obscure. Mr. Frying Pan
: Horseshit, I hear that all the time. Mr. Fire
: You do? Mr. Frying Pan
: Yeah, sure. Mr. Fire
: Where, at the 1942 club? Mr. Frying Pan
: Hey, just cause you didn't get in... Mr. Fire
: Motherfucker I could've gotten in...
[Harry tries to make a break for it
] Mr. Fire
: [pushing Harry back into his seat
] Hey-ey-EY! Slow your roll, man!
[shortly after Mr. Frying Pan makes an obscure "Ike, Mike, and Mustard" reference
] Mr. Frying Pan
: You wanna know who we are? I'm the frying pan, see? And my boy over here, he's... Mr. Fire
: Mustard. I'm Mustard, baby. Mr. Frying Pan
: He's the fire. Fuck you, Mr. Mustard.