Sally: So, Mr. Happy Sun will hit like a lead pipe on the soft cartilage of Rutherford's nose creating a 2.5 mile-per-hour breeze that'll travel down Elm Street, bank off City Hall, and dissipate into the park.
Dick: [watching on TV] Wait a minute.
Chaz Montana: Are you sure you wanna be that specific, Sally?
Sally: Well, was I right today, Chaz?
Chaz Montana: Well, yes. You're always right, every forecast.
Dick: [watching on TV] No!
Chaz Montana: I've never seen anyone predict the weather so accurately.
Sally: And I've never seen a grown man throw up to keep his weight down, but it seems to be workin' for you, Chaz.