Dewey: I was thinking we could drive to the arcade.
Reese: Arcade? What are you, 12?
Dewey: Yeah.
Reese: Dewey, get out of the way. Malcolm and I have to plan some pain.
Malcolm: What about South High? I think their band practice starts in two hours.
Reese: Perfect. I still have some connections at the slaughterhouse. One phone call, and I got a trunkful of pig's blood.