Frankie: [sighs] Well, I'm fine.
Mike: You sound great.
Frankie: No, I am. My ovaries are fine. Unfortunately, they're like raisins. And not the cute, plump California ones that dance and wear gloves. They're like the hard, shriveled, sad, deformed ones in the Raisin Flakes we get from the Frugal Hoosier.
Mike: Well, this can't be a shock, Frankie. I mean, you are 50...
Frankie: I know what I am, thanks. [exhales sharply] You don't get it. Because they don't shut men's factories downs. They only shut women's factories down.
Mike: What factories?
Frankie: This factory. I mean, I liked knowing it was open. Now it's all red-tagged and padlocked with bulldozers in the parking lot.
Mike: I feel like anything I say here is gonna be wrong, so... you want to just hug me?

Axl: Let me ask you something. You ever order a glass of wine and think, "Hmm, I could really go for a nice thirst-quenching beer"? Or drinking a beer and think, "Hmm, wine would really add some class to these nachos"? Well, now you don't have to choose, 'cause I've solved that age-old question. Allow me to introduce you to the latest in taste sensation... Bwine!
Frankie: Bwine?
Axl: That's right. Beer plus wine equals Bwine. It was either that or "Weer," but that sounds a little too much like "Weird," and that is just not good marketing. Business major.
Mike: Wait, you're actually planning to sell this stuff? As a beverage? To people?
Axl: Oh, not just this one. I have created several varieties of Bwine. I have a Cabernet mixed with a stout, a Caber-stout, a pale ale mixed with a Chardonnay, a pale-ardonnay, and a fruity yet malty Merlot-enbrau.
Mike: Hm. Ahh... What's worse than bad?
Frankie: Oh, I don't know, maybe it just needs more wine. Or less wine. Or more sugar. Sugar helps with everything.
Axl: Yeah, I'm still fine-tuning my recipes. But once I lock them in, I'm taking these babies public. I'm telling you, Bwine is gonna bwow up!
Mike: [sighs] Just don't go wasting my beer.
Axl: Oh, come on, please. I'm creating a fine line of fine Bwines. I'm not gonna be using your Frugal Hoosier "dented but drinkables."

Frankie: Hey, I'm reaching out here, trying to be a good neighbor. All I want...
Rita Glossner: Ha. There it is. I knew you came here wanting something. Just like that handsy husband of yours.
Frankie: That was an accident.
Rita Glossner: What do you want?
Frankie: I'll tell you what I want. I want my kids to be able to play in the front yard without having to run from your psycho dog. I wanna be able to plant shrubs knowing they aren't gonna be yanked out of the ground. I finally wanna put a damn pumpkin out and know it's actually gonna make it to Halloween. [Rita tries to close the door] Hey, I came over here hoping that we had more similarities than differences. But you know what? We don't.
Rita Glossner: Oh. So you think you're better than me?
Frankie: You haven't set the bar very high. The whole neighborhood is better than you. You know why? Because we don't let our kids blow up mailboxes or beat people up or steal.
Rita Glossner: My boys don't do that.
Frankie: Really? Look around, Rita. None of this is yours.
Rita Glossner: People give my boys lots of stuff. They're charismatic.
Frankie: They're bullies. And you're a bully. And we've all been too scared to do anything about it. But not anymore, missy!

Sue: The Glossners stole our boom box.
Frankie: Oh, well. We have too many possessions anyway. We're trying to simplify.
Sue: I tried talking to them about their dog, then Carly and I got into this fight with them.
Frankie: Wait. You got into a fight?
Sue: Yeah. We had this whole routine planned and everything.
Mike: "Routine"? What do you mean, "routine"?
Sue: Well, we worked up some choreography and...
Mike: Hang on. Choreography? For a fight?
Sue: Yeah. That's what the boom box was for. We played "Kung Fu Fighting."
Mike: You do know what a fight is, don't you?
Sue: Of course. And they didn't even let us get to the synchronized cartwheels. We worked really hard on it too. [scoffs]

Frankie: [v.o.] You may wonder why we didn't get the ball. Because there was no way we were stepping foot in that yard. Every neighborhood has one. You know, a family that's just not worth tangling with? Well, in our neighborhood, it was the Glossners. Four unruly hooligans who'd held our street hostage for as long as I can remember. Whatever hell they rained on you, you took it, because retaliating only made it worse. But as bad as those Glossner boys were...
Frankie: Hey, hey, hey. Put... Hey... You...
Frankie: [v.o.] ...it was the mom you really didn't wanna mess with.
Rita Glossner: Is there a problem here?
Frankie: [v.o.] Yeah, there's a problem. That Amazon scares the hell out of me.
Frankie: No, no. We're good.
Rita Glossner: All right, then. [takes Frankie's newspaper]
Frankie: Hey, uh, that's mine.
Rita Glossner: Really? It was right here on the curb. You own the whole outdoors, do you, princess?
Frankie: No, of course not. I... You have a nice day.
[Rita flicks her cigarette into the Hecks' yard. As she walks away, she crushes a beer can and throws it back into the yard.]