How would you care to purchase the items you just ordered, Dr. Dubrow?  No, we cannot trade a tummy tuck for suits.  Seriously… I need your credit card information.  No, we cannot take a boxa Botox as payment…

                    Hold up Tamra!  That last kida yours was really givin’ me a hard time gettin’ tied up in the back seat of the Kia.

              When the kids are givin’ you a hard time, you have to give them a mean look… like this… and throw in a couple grunts, Eddie!  You’re just too nice to them…

                    Go straight to hell, Donn!  You rusted my love tank.  You got that??  Tin roof… rusted.  

                       If you got kids, Heather, you have to bulk up.  When those kids get older, they’ll turn on you… trust me.  You gotta add muscle to defend yourself!

       Heather:  ”My children would NEVER, EVER turn against me.  You’re crazy, Tamra.”  Tamra:  ”Look behind you, FancyPants… your twins are wavin’ boxcutters.”

                 One of those twins tackled Heather and sliced her bad with a boxcutter.  Heather is SO lucky she’s married to a plastic surgeon… he stitched her up right there in front of the dishwasher.  

               Hey!  I’m heeeeere!  Will you get the hell outta bed and get this thing offa my arm!  Come on you slacker… get this thing off my arm, it hurts!!

                    Just put the flowers down, you moron.

              NO!!!  It’s not the flowers you idiot.  It’s this huge, ugly bodybag I’m luggin’ around.  Now quit whining and get outta that bed and help me… your legs aren’t broken.

                         I know that lifting that big bag of ugly made the bump on my nose grow back… I know it.  I can feel it.  I think my brain got a big hemotooba or a bad annyourism or one of those flambrusitis-itis things.   I work in this office… I know the medical terms!

            YAY!!!  Look at me!!! I won!!!  I won!!  Look at me!!!  LOOK!!!

           Anyone who thinks Wretched is the biggest idiot here… HIGH FIVE!!!!

              Come on, Heather… we can win this!  Runnin’ away from the twins really got you in shape for this badly concocted producer-induced trainwreck of a phony baloney scenario.  

             That’s not fair! Heather’s gonna win because she has twins… no one else has twins.  When are WE gonna have twins, Slimey??

                Hey!  Wretched!  You can have two of my kids if you want twins… I’ll just give ‘em to ya!

                    Shut up, Terry!  I got Wretched to take two kids offa my hands and if she wants to think they’re twins, then let her think it…

            Tamra just said that we could have all THREE of her kids!!! Triplets, Slimey!  TRIPLETS!!!

                 Does that idiot Wretched know that she’s just gettin’ three kids?  All different ages?  Does she still think she’s gettin’ triplets??  WOW… these chicks ARE dumb!  

             YAY!!!  Me and Eddie are soooo happy!  No kids!!!  We gave them all away to Wretched and Slimey!  Now go and untie them outta the backseat of your SmartCar, Eddie, so they look decent when we hand them off to Wretched…you know how wrinkly they look after they’ve been squeezed and wrapped up in your backseat for more than five hours!!

                   We had a GREAT time since the mud run… and especially ’cause those kids are outta the house.  How are you likin’ the triplets, Wretched???

                      You don’t really think that these two people sitting right next to me REALLY think that they got triplets… authentic triplets… do you, Tamra???

            Thanks for bringing that up about those kids bein’ triplets, but Slimey and I REALLY love that the triplets are all different ages.  It’s so convenient.  The oldest triplet wakes up every day and makes us breakfast, cleans the house  and then goes off to run my WretchedBeaute company!  That gives my Slimey more time to practice for his Tour du de la Fronce comeback… it’s worked out perfectly!!  

                      To triplets!!!  To the Tour du de la Fronce!!!  To free child labor!!!  Cheers!!!

                  Hey babe… this SmartCar of yours is a road ragin’monster!  Not havin’ those ropes and chains in the trunk to tie up those kids makes this car really kick in.  I’m doin’ 25 right now!

                     You are the perfect guy for me, David Brooks!!!  

                                        BUT… I think I have enough cards… and have enough of all those sweet Southern-type words bathed in Rustoleum that keep de-rustin’ and fillin’ up my old, rusty love tank.   What I really want to know is:  Who’s pickin’ up the check for this lunch??

                     You are.