Cliff: Hey, Coach, if you serve that beer any slower, it's going to be vinegar before I get to it.
Coach: Oh, didn't I tell you, Cliff? I'm on the verge of setting a new monthly record for fewest glasses broken.
Cliff: Oh, that's great, Coach. How close are you?
Coach: Oh, I just have to make it to midnight without breaking seven glasses. [Coach drops a glass]
Cliff: Ooh. Oh, holy keote, Coach, there must be at least four inches of feathers down there.
Coach: Six inches, Cliffo. You can't be too careful when you're going for a record.
Cliff: Oh, Coach, I never thought I'd see the day when you're work with a net.
[Coach emerges from behind the bar with the bottom six inches of his body caked in feathers]
Coach: And you never will.