“Girl, you lookin’ fine. Why don’t you come over here, and give Daddy a li’l sugar?”

“Check it. I’ve got a ca-razy polar-bear-skin rug for us to lounge on, and some suh-weet champagne glasses the size of water coolers, filled with extra shag. Not that we’ll be needing any extra shag, of course.” [eyebrow waggle] “That’s right, pudd’n: I may not be for sale, but you can still be my ‘lucky lady,’ if you know what I mean.”