Sam: Hey, Cliffie, how're you doing?
Cliff: Not well, Sam. Boy, am I mad! I've never been this upset! Boy, three words, fellas. Three words: Dames is grief.
Norm: Fighting with Ma, huh?
Cliff: Oh, and how. It seems like that's all we do anymore. You know, you'd think it'd be a perfect set-up mother and a grown son living in a one bedroom apartment. But no. Reality check, gentlemen. Life is not like the movies, I guess, huh?
Sam: I'm sure it'll all blow over, Cliffie.
Cliff: No, no way, Sammy, not this time. I tell you that broad's pushed me too hard. Too hard, I tell you. It's about time I started pushing back. She's just gone and created a monster, that's all. But this monster is not gonna lie in some tomb of ice. No, sirree. My anger will melt that ice, so that I might rise up and, and crush the Tokyo of the buildings there beneath the talons of my animosity...
Frasier: Cliff, Cliff. We all appreciate how hard you're working on this metaphor, but we get the idea.