Alim:
She still keeps plastic on the furniture.
Cary Grant:
It keeps the evil fresh.
Khaled:
What would it take to get a little kiss?
Alim:
Chloroform.
Nuru:
What do you do at *the gym*?
Alim:
I pump iron.
Nuru:
You don't even pump your own petrol.
Nuru:
My life is a soiled tattered tissue, tossed into the toilet of life. What will I do now?
Giles:
You could write poetry.
[
Nuru smiles sheepishly]
Alisdair Keith:
You know what's the matter with you?
Giles:
What?
Alisdair Keith:
Your upper abs. you should do some crunches later.
Nuru:
Besides, I'm lactose intolerant.
Giles:
[
smiling to himself] Alim's not.
Nuru:
[
upon seeing how tight Alim's jeans are] No, the trousers are not fine. I can read your... credit card number.
Nuru:
Laughter is the very best medicine, hmm?
Alim:
Then I must be in the placebo group.
Alim:
Closet Drunk, Closet Queer, Name a closet, you're hanging there.
Giles:
Awww, we are touching your inner child.
Cary Grant:
[
sitting in the bathtub, trying to talk Alim out of telling his mother] Alim, we've been through this. You have to be very careful with this truth thing. It has a way of rising up and biting you in the NU-ru!
Giles:
You beckoned?
Delia:
Date from hell. Complete waste of makeup.
Nuru:
You can't be engaged.
Alim:
Why?
Nuru:
Because she's not, she's not... m-... m-... m-. Is she?
Alim:
"Not m-". Ah, Muslim.
Giles:
She's not m-ale either...
Giles:
O.K. I'm off to work. Bye, sweet...
Giles:
[
realizing he's leaning in to kiss Alim in front of Nuru] By sweet mother of God, your corneas are so clear!
Cary Grant:
Nice bit of improv, the boy's got reflexes.
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