Frasier: For God's sake, I don't care any more. You know, I can't help you, nobody can. You want to ruin it for both of us? Here, go ahead, knock yourself out. I only wish I could be there when it happens.
Bebe: When what happens?
Frasier: When you see that newspaper headline: "Big Willy Boone, Millionaire, Dead." [Bebe starts to smile] Oh, how I wish I could be there when you watch the funeral on the news. Watch the casket being slipped into the ground. Only, you won't be watching that. No, no, you'll be watching the widow Boone. Tiffany, perhaps. Oh no, better yet, "Kelli" - with an "I".
Bebe: Stop it!
Frasier: You'll picture her wearing your jewels, sailing in your yachts, sleeping with your gigolos. But, oh, you won't be sad, no, no, no! Because you'll have your cigarette. Clutched in your nicotine-stained teeth, smoke
whirling about your once-pretty, now creased, leathery, smoke-ravaged-
Bebe: Enough! God! You are one hell of a therapist.