Warden Carmichael:
Nash, lawyer's got somethin' to tell you.
Rubin's attorney:
I'm afraid I've got some bad news, Mr. Nash. Our last appeal was turned down. It was our final hope. I'm afraid there's nothing more we can do.
Warden Carmichael:
Come on, Nash. Let's go.
Ernest P. Worrell:
Go? Go where?
Warden Carmichael:
You're goin' to the row.
Ernest P. Worrell:
The row? What row?
Rubin Bartlett:
As in "death", you know, "death row."
Ernest P. Worrell:
Oh, well, I... [realizes what they're talking about] Death row? You mean like the chair?! The hot seat? Dead meat, deep 6, it's over pal, you're outta here bub, the groundhog's are bringing you your mail, you're picking turnips with a step ladder? Like, the no-tomorrow row? That kind of row? Oh no! The row?! You gotta tell him who I am, fellas! [Rubin exchanges looks with his lawyer] I'm Ernest P. Worrell! I'm not Nash, I'm Ernest!
Warden Carmichael:
Zip it up, Nash. [turns to the guards] Get him outta here.
Ernest P. Worrell:
[the guards begin dragging Ernest from his cell to death row] Warden, you're gonna feel terrible when you find out what a big mistake you made. And, you, pal, you're not getting any more of my business. I'm not Nash, I tell you, I'm Ernest! I'm Ernest P. Worrell!
