Mr. Herkabe: Buck up, Malcolm. Only 12 more weeks, and then I'll back off and let you pick the course you want to tank.
Malcolm: Hey, we're not in your stupid class anymore, all right? Will you just leave me alone?
Mr. Herkabe: Oh, a sullen rebuke. What a bonus. You know, I might make them get me a bigger plaque when I beat you, Malcolm. Ugh! How can they let it get so dingy? [to the janitor] Hey, Slick! Instead of pushing dust around over there, why don't you polish up these trophies? It's disgraceful. [to Malcolm] You know, I'll admit, it wasn't easy beating old Fornby. Of course she had the added advantage of being blind and club-footed, no distractions, but still, I had to bust my hump that last semester. Did you know, instead of seventh period gym, I created my own AP class? While those Cro-Magnons were chasing balls and sweating like swine, I was sitting in an air-conditioned room with my tie unloosed, discussing Renaissance poetry.
Malcolm: You wore a suit to school?
Mr. Herkabe: And a silk handkerchief. They hated me because I made them look ridiculous.