Philip: Oh, grow up, you two. I can't believe you're staying here. Imagine calling an exterminator for a few harmless little crickets. Supposed to be soothing, for God's sake.
Will: Whoa, whoa, whoa. No, Uncle Phil. I don't think you understand, man. Now, these ain't them cute little Jiminy-wish-upon-a-star-type crickets. No, man. These are big, mean, nasty, bug-eyed take-over-the-human-race kind of crickets, man.