Philip: You know, Geoffrey, I do believe that of all the holidays Thanksgiving is my favorite. Oh, the yams, the cranberry sauce, the pie and, of course, that big old Butterball.
Geoffrey: Well, you are what you eat.
Philip: [laughs] Did you just call me a big old Butterball?
Geoffrey: Nothing gets past you, sir.
Philip: Ha-ha-ha. You know, Geoffrey, if you're going to comment on my girth you could at least put some thought into it.
Geoffrey: I beg your pardon, sir?
Philip: Well, I mean there are just so many more interesting ways to say it. I mean, you could be poetic. His corpulent flesh rolls around his bones like a thick chocolate pudding. Huh? Or scientific. He is so huge that food comes to him from the gravitational pull alone. Huh? Ha-ha-ha. Or you could be quizzical. Is that your head or is your neck blowing a bubble? You could be ribald, ironic, vaudevillian, whatever. But be creative. You got that?
Geoffrey: Anything you say, sir.
Will: Hey. Hey, what's up? Oh, Uncle Phil. Uh, that elephant that trampled all them people called, he want his butt back.