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: Say the word and he's dead. We could be in Monaco by midnight.
: Well, let's say we get you settled in. Shall I make up the fold-out couch in my dad's old study for you, or, ahh, would you be more comfortable in the master suite? Molotov Cocktease
: Get something straight, I am here only as a favor to that man whose feet you aren't even fit to kiss. I am not protecting your lives, I am saving his. Because by the time he gets back, you will no longer need a baby sitter. I'm going to turn you into men.
: The whole Russian mail-order-bride deal on the Internet, is that on the up and up? Molotov Cocktease
: I wouldn't know. Dr. Venture
: Because those Chinese ones are a real racket. The damn thing was already dead when the crate finally showed up!
: Brock Samson, you dog. Brock Samson
: Molotov, you bitch.