ME: It’s been a great four years living with you guys, but we’d better start thinking of who’s taking some of this stuff home. I’d love to have this futon bed, if nobody else wants it.

PERCY: Well now, hold on, good sir. I do believe that if you take another look at Mama’s will, you’ll see she bequeathed all seven acres of this estate to yours truly, including Father’s fine velvet chair.

BLANCHE: Percy! Mama would never leave our beloved home to a thieving little scoundrel like you. What manner of legal hornswagglin’ have you pulled?

ME: Huh? Velvet?… Whatever. It’s cool, Blanche. Percy can have the futon if he—

PERCY: Why, Blanche! I have never been so insulted. Are you insinuatin’ that I… I manipulated the will in some way?

BLANCHE: Don’t be coy with me, Percy Lee Grangerford. I've seen you down at the riverboat talkin’ with Mr. McCoy from the loan company. That no-good snake-in-the-grass has had his eye on our plantation since the war ended.

ME: Look, just give Blanche the futon, okay Percy? You can have the… the computer desk we got at Ikea last fall.

BLANCHE: (fainting) Heavens to Betsy, no! That davenport has been in our family for four generations, it has. Why, it belonged to our great-grandfather, General T. Thaddius Clemens. And it was supposed to pass to our beloved brother, Whitney.

PERCY
: Whitney?! (laughs) Why, that boy’s got such a wicked case of the consumption he can barely lift his pale white head off that silk divan he’s always lying on, much less a piece of fine mahogany like this. Ain’t that right, Whitney?

WHITNEY: Cough. Cough. (whispering) I’d hate to be a bother, but would one of ya’ll be kind enough to replace the leeches on my stomach? I believe I’m about due for a fresh blood-lettin’.

ME: Jesus, Whitney. Don’t you think you should see a doctor or… something?

WHITNEY: And let some quack with a degree from a scalawag northern university poke and prod me about like a common harlot? You must not be well. When was your last leechin'?

PERCY: I’ll tell ya’ll what: why don’t I have Hannah fix us all up a couple of tall, cold mint juleps, and we’ll have ourselves a sit on the porch whilst talking this over like descent, civilized folk?

ME: I don’t think I have the stuff to make mint juleps.

PERCY: I beg your pardon? You mean to tell me you ain’t got so much as a scratch of bourbon here, and still have the… the audacity to call this a Christian house?

ME: Well, I’m Unitarian, so I don’t know.

PERCY: Sweet Jesus! This boy’s got the devil in’em. Quick Blanche, get the leeches.

ME: Stop trying to fix everything with leeches, Percy! Guys, I put up with the moonshine sill in the tub, that feud with the Hatfields across the hall, and the constant racism, but I can't take this anymore. I just want to get this over with.

PERCY: Very well. Then I bequeath to you our transmitter radio. I have repaired it myself.

ME: Why are there leeches all over my boom box?