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Sylvian (wearing a frilly pink dress, frilly apron and 1950s-styled wig included): Dinner is served!
Vinushka (dressed like Little Lord Fauntleroy, groans): Garlic knots, again, Mother? That's the fifth time this week.
Gro-Goroth (dressed like a stereotypical 1950's father, drab gray pants, white shirt and suspenders included, puts down his gigantic copy of The Ma'Habre Times): What have I told you before, Junior?
Vinushka (as if reciting a script): "Eat whatever your mother puts on the table and be grateful. Cholesterol is a lie invented by commies out to steal our hard-earned freedoms."
GG: That's my boy. Those knots look positively phallic today, Sylvie.
Sylvian (chuckles girlishly): Why thank you, honey. (Flirty). They pale in comparison to the real thing, though...
GG (also flirty): What do you say we hold off dinner for a coupla hours more? I feel like knotting your garlic for a change.
Vinushka (covers his wooden ears): Hello! God of Nature here!
GG: Go play under the bed or something, Junior. Your mother and I wish to be alone for a while.
Vinushka (à la Oppie Taylor): Ok, Pop. [Note to self: call God of Ultraviolence. Two words: assisted suicide]. (Leaves).