V.R.

Bob Munro: Yo, my mobile-homeboys, what's trippin' in the wood?

Hip Hop Wannabe: This termite belong to you?

Bob Munro: Yo, my man said...

Carl Munro: [gets mad] Don't call him...

Bob Munro: [restraints Carl] Easy! This my man C, he small but ferocious, but you dogs, you hardcore, where you from?

Hip Hop Wannabe: Scottsdale!

Bob Munro: Scottsdale, in the 'Zona! That's a hardcore 'hood. But you want to take on my man C, here, go ahead, because, you know, he's fierce, he gonna come up in your face, he gonna major damage you. You gonna walk away, maybe limp. But I say talk to the hand, call waiting, because he's out. Boy is out. I can't restrains him. Because I'm conversating you right now to give him a chance to cool down, to get back to a realistic level, as it were. Because we could be chillin' in our crib. Not just on this mobile home thing, representing Mali-bu and Westwood, you know. Malling it, like we all can. Boys to mensch. Pimp my Mercedes, call me back, put you on hold. You know what I'm saying?

Hip Hop Wannabe: Er... we gotta go.

[leaves]

Bob Munro: Mm-hmm, you better, man, don't make me call my lawyer, 'cause I'll audit!