Winston: There is this one thing that I miss. I probably shouldn't say, man. I can't.
Schmidt: No, come on. It's us, man.
Winston: Schmidt, I could really go for some crack.
Schmidt: What? Crack cocaine?
Winston: I remember when I was a kid, me, my mom, and her mom, and well, her mom, and then her mom, and then of course her mom, and then my little cousin, Peanut, they'd all rush back to that flaming trash can where we'd sit around and harmonize and just... [sings] Shoo-op. One of those nights I remember, well, we ran out of crack. I'd grab my scarf, and I would run on down to the liquor store where the thugs hang out, and I would try to get a good deal on some crack. [chuckles] Whoo! They never would give me a good price, man, but, uh, I tell you what, there's nothing like the... the feel of a fire, a fresh-baked cookie, and that sweet, sweet taste of crack in your lungs.