Bartender: Hey, these are from the ladies across the bar. They're primas.
George Sr.: Primos, huh? I've gotta be honest, I've seen better. Huh?
Gob: Eh.
Bartender: No, it means cousins. One hates her father, and the other hates her grandfather.
Narrator: It seemed the cervezas weren't the only thing being handed to the guys on a platter.
Gob: I don't know about you, but I'd prefer the thrill of the hunt, as opposed to-
George Sr.: Yeah, I think if we just wait, something a little better will come along. Thank you. Not trying to fall head over heels here.