“Well, I think I speak for everyone when I say that 'Alice Faye picked a peck of pepper for the poor, piping pig in the purple poke.' Wait—is that not what we’re talking about here?”

“Who are you? Rabbit and Souris call you ‘Alice,’ me and Dee call you ‘Faye.’ I just didn’t know if ‘Alice’ was your poker-playing, Southern Hemisphere name or what. Hey, I’m just trying to fit in here. If I should be introducing myself as ‘Clark,’ I want to know about it sooner rather than later so I don’t embarrass myself.”

“Follow me down, Alice Faye Dahl. I know the way.”

“Did the Ancient Greeks ever write anything funny—like slapstick? I mean, I think I speak for everyone when I say that there’s nothing wrong with a little bit of well-written physical comedy.”

“Must be the hair then. And the name change. And your new piss-poor attitude. Because every once in a while, I look at you and I don’t see a Baby Doll anymore. I just see Alice Faye Dahl, Poker Champion Badass. With obvious, heavy influences from Ronald McDonald, of course.”

“Oh, Alice, you haven’t even had a taste of my romantic streak yet. And when the time’s right I don’t think I’ll have to ‘try’ to have my way with you. I just WILL.”

“Well, Faye, dear, I’m sure Harlow’s sorry she didn’t think to ask if you’d been eaten by a shark. That’s totally on her.”