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Mortdecai: [calling through the door] Johanna. Are you all right in there, darling? It is I, Charlie... Your husband.Johanna: What is it?Mortdecai: Oh, moon of my delight. This is your own personalized Sheik of Araby who seeks admission into your tent. I have come to carry you off to the burning desert, and work my greasy will upon you under the tropical stars. Send your camel to bed, damn it!Johanna: [sighs] My Sheik, does this mean you have excommunicated that mustache of the Prophet?Mortdecai: ...I'll trim it... Darling. I am embarking on a very dangerous escapade, from which I may not well return. And it is customary in these situations for, you know, a proper send-off. Quick session of congress. Sink the Bismarck, if you will. And by the way, did I mention it is a matter of national security.Mortdecai: Mmm. [forces his way in]

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