Niles: Come on, Frasier.
Frasier: No, no, no thank you. I'm not really in the mood anymore.
Daphne: Don't be a party pooper.
Martin: Oh, let him be. He's always been that way.
Frasier: Excuse me just a second. I think maybe it's time for a little lesson about what it's like to live the life of
this particular party pooper. I spend the whole damn week ministering to the troubled and the neurotic and the sometimes just plain goofy. Then I hang up my earphones and it doesn't end there. Out on the street, at the café, even in this building, more people come up for help, more problems. I suppose they just think it's OK, it's what I do. But every time I try to help them it costs me a little piece of myself. A little bit here, a little bit there, a little bit here, a little bit there... until I end up feeling like a zebra carcass on the Serengeti surrounded by
burping vultures! Well, this happened to be one of those weeks. I had my escape planned. I was going to come home for an evening of fun with my extended family. What do I get? I get the four of you going at each other like the Borgias on a bad day! So I roll up my sleeves, and I tend to each one of you. And you all feel better. And the minute you get a whiff of mesquite coming from down below, you are out the door without so much as a "thank you." Well, thank you for the invitation, but I am, frankly, fed up with people and their problems. The Doctor is out.