Larry:
You're lucky. You got Melanie. There are men who'd die for her.
Peter McGowan:
Yeah, die for her, or have her kill you. Either way, you're dead.
Larry:
Still having trouble satiating, are we?
Peter McGowan:
I think the doorbell's heard my wife shout "I'm coming" more than I have these days.
[
Larry is dressed as a priest]
Peter McGowan:
Can I have a valediction, father?
Larry:
Say four holy Fuck You's and keep drinking.
Peter McGowan:
Are you drunk or something?
Larry:
What time is it?
Peter McGowan:
Four.
Larry:
Yep.
Victoria:
You're an alcoholic.
Adam:
Alcoholics have class. I'm a fucking drunk.
Peter McGowen:
...but maybe that's everything in writing - a catchy title.
Debra Salhany:
So is that why you decided to call your first novel How to Kill Your Neighbor's Dog?
Peter McGowen:
Oh, that isn't mere affectation. That's a practical guidebook full of juicy bits on suburban terrorism.
Debra Salhany:
...but, uh, what if somebody reads this and goes out and kills their neighbor's dog?
Peter McGowen:
Oh, well, what are you gonna do?
Debra Salhany:
So, how did you meet your wife?
Peter McGowan:
She was a lap dancer, I had a pocket full of singles... No, she was a dancer. For a brief period, she gave acting a try. She came in for an audition, and the rest as they say is histrionics.
Debra Salhany:
So, you employed the casting couch?
Peter McGowan:
Hey, whatever works. You know that, Deborah.
Melanie McGowan:
Other houses have M&M's, we stock up with Smarties. It's like living at the duty free-shop at Heathrow.
Adam:
They say women are the sensitive ones, but I've never seen it. They're as cold as party ice.
Victoria:
I don't think that sucking on countless nipples makes one an authority on sensitivity.
Edna:
You look just like my son-in-law.
Peter McGowan:
I am your son-in-law, Edna.
Edna:
My son-in-law's name is Peter.
Peter McGowan:
No. I said your name was Edna. My name is Peter.
Edna:
You just said your name was Edna... Edna's a funny name for a man. Been teased over the years?
Peter McGowan:
Mercilessly. "Pete."
[
Traffic report]
Laura Leeton:
If the 405 is your morning route, I hope you don't have a history of showing up late to work, 'cause today you're fired.
Peter McGowan:
Hollywood doesn't want writers, so much as secretaries with a flare for dialogue. If you want to be happy in Hollywood, be a cinematographer. Nobody knows what you're doing, so they can't screw with you.
[
Peter is smoking]
Melanie McGowan:
You know, you're going to have to cut that out when the baby comes.
Peter McGowan:
What? Are you expecting it tonight?
Melanie McGowan:
Maybe you should see a therapist about your anxiety.
Peter McGowan:
That's exactly what I'm afraid of. What if he cures me? Then, I'll have nothing to write about. Nobody wants to know about how happy you are.
Melanie McGowan:
Oh, I don't think you ever have to worry about an over-abundance of happiness, dear.
[
after a prostate exam]
Peter McGowan:
Now I know what a muppet feels like.
Peter McGowan:
Do you ever think that if you attack an artist long enough, that you'll succeed in having him censor himself?
Debra Salhany:
Thanks for sticking around, Peter.
Peter McGowan:
Thanks for letting me be sticky, Debbie.
Laura Leeton:
[
traffic report] And the 5 Freeway is stopped dead... just because.
Peter McGowan:
Seems to me only the intelligent people are choosing not to reproduce.
Peter McGowan:
"Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to conceive." *That* is Sir Walter Scott.
Melanie McGowan:
Oh, really? I seem to remember that quote a bit differently.
Adam:
Cunnilingus. I've been reading that word since I was 13 and I still can't seem to wrap my tounge around it. Wait... was that a pun, or just bad taste? Wait... that may have been another pun.
Edna:
TV moves fast.
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