Mrs. Walsh: Ok, boys, I'm taking Rosalita to the store. Mikey, no more potato chips. Brand, if he's coming down with asthma, I want him kept inside.Brand: He should be put in a plastic bubble.Mrs. Walsh: [smacks Brand] I'm serious Brandon! That's not funny! He takes one step outside and you are in the deepest s[stammers]Brand: Shit, Mom.Brand: I don't like that language. But that's exactly what you're going to be in. [turns to Data] And you, Dota,Data: Data.Mrs. Walsh: Data. Ok. Use the back door from now on.Data: Ok.Mrs. Walsh: [points to the table] What is that?Chunk: Oh, shit. What?Mrs. Walsh: What is that? [points to potato chip crumbs on table] That is a mess! I want that cleaned up, boys!Chunk: Oh yeah sure! We'll take care of it! Don't worry.Mrs. Walsh: One hour, boys. Then I'll be back.Mouth:[to Rosalita in raspy voice] Adios, senorita!Brand: Bye mom!
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