Blanche: Aw. Well, my sister Charmaine was insanely jealous of me from the time I was a gorgeous little infant. See, she was one year ahead of me in school and we used to compete for everything. But there was one thing that Charmaine did excel at, cheerleading. Not only could she twirl that baton like a propeller, but she knew every cheer in the county. And she could twist her body into the shape of a letter R. Well, finally Charmaine decided it was her turn in the spotlight, so she challenged me to compete against her for captain of the cheerleading squad. When the day came, we had to perform in front of the entire school, and Charmaine was fantastic. She twirled those batons so fast, she looked like a DC3 coming in for a landing. Then it was my turn. So I did some cartwheels and only fell once. I did a handstand and almost got my balance. And I only dropped my baton four times. And when I was finished, I was unanimously voted captain of the cheerleading squad.
Dorothy: Blanche, how was that possible?
Blanche: Underneath my regulation uniform, I was wearing little, black French lace panties. Bearing the words "bonjour". Or was it "bon appétit"? I don't remember. Anyway, it was something in French. I guess, nobody minded that I couldn't do a handstand, but they surely did appreciate me trying.
Dorothy: Then I don't understand. Blanche, just once, why couldn't you let your sister win?
Blanche: I told you. Jealousy is a terrible thing. That'll teach Charmaine to be Daddy's favorite.

Sophia: If you don't apologize, why don't you leave?
Angela: Why should I apologize?
Sophia: I'll tell you why. Because you're nothing but a backstabbing Judas in sensible shoes.
Angela: Oh, yeah? Well, you know what you are? You're a two-lira tramp with cheap bridgework.
Sophia: May you put your dentures in upside down and chew your head off.
Angela: May your legs grow old and gnarled and withered like an olive branch. You should be so lucky.
Sophia: May your moles grow hair thicker than Jerry Vale's.
Angela: May your marinara sauce never cling to your pasta.
Sophia: [gasps] That's it. Come back here and say that to my face.

Blanche: Dorothy, shall I get Angela's luggage?
Dorothy: She doesn't have any luggage.
Angela: No, I never travel with luggage. Ever since the time I found a dead man in my suitcase.
Blanche: You found a dead man in your suitcase?
Angela: Right. Picture it. New York City. 1956. I was a young widow returning to Sicily. There I was on the boat alone, watching Lady Liberty grow smaller in the distance. When suddenly I heard a voice from the vicinity of my knees. I looked down. There was a midget. It turns out that his name was Peewee Bonbunzi, and he was fleeing from the Mob. For the next few days, we ate together, laughed together, and went for short walks in circles. And then, one day, suddenly Peewee disappeared. Well, we docked in Sicily and I was going through customs. And I noticed a strange odor coming from my suitcase. I thought it was the veal shank that I was bringing over for Mother's Day. But when the customs man opened the suitcase, there was Peewee. Someone had stuffed him in my suitcase between the veal shank and my beaver coat. Well, the Mob had gotten Peewee after all.
Blanche: Oh, God, you must have been heartbroken.
Angela: I was absolutely devastated. I mean, first I had to burn the suitcase and then the beaver coat. And the veal shank never did taste right.
Dorothy: Oh, Aunt Angela, you made that up.
Angela: Hey, I'm 80. As long as I keep talking, I know my heart is still beating.
Blanche: Angela, may I offer you something to eat?
Angela: As long as it isn't veal. Why it's not because of Peewee. I had some on the plane.