Frasier: Good afternoon, everybody. Sam, you got you room for one more tosspot? Let me have a beer, will you?
Sam: You betcha. How you been there, Frasier?
Frasier: Well, you know how it is for a psychiatrist this day and age. Divorces, hopelessness over financial situations, rampant paranoia... Thriving, never better.

Cliff: It wouldn't surprise me one bit if it was Rebecca.
Sam: I don't know.
Cliff: No, I mean, it's us quiet, reserved types who, when properly stimulated, turn into your average churning hunk of burning funk.
Norm: Now, Cliffie, uh, can you tell me exactly at what point in your life you came to that big fork in the road where reality took a left and you hung a sharp right?

Rebecca: I was living in a women's dorm on campus...
Sam: Mm-hmm.
Rebecca: ...and one night a fire broke out.
Sam: Ah.
Rebecca: Well, I didn't have time to change my clothes, so I had to run out to the parking lot wearing only a teddy; black, but see-through. All of a sudden, I was caught in this fire engine's headlights. I didn't know what to do. I looked all around, and suddenly, I spotted this open convertible. I climbed in, and I slunk down to the backseat. Suddenly, this hulking fireman was standing over me. He was magnificent. I looked in his eyes. I knew what he wanted, and I wanted it, too. I peeled off his black rubber raincoat. He ripped off my teddy. I can still feel the heat on my flesh. But it wasn't the fire, it was us. When it was over, I opened my eyes, and I noticed we weren't alone. Others had watched and not said a word. And that's why I'm known as "Backseat Becky." Satisfied?
[Sam nods and goes into the men's room]
Rebecca: Thanks for the story, Carla. Here's your ten bucks.
Carla: Yeah, the $20 one would have killed him.
Carla: So wait a minute. Wait a minute. Why do they call you "Backseat Becky"?
Rebecca: That will cost you a hundred.
Carla: Hey, you know, you're kind of a pig. Maybe we can be friends.