Miranda: [about Mr. Allen] Well, what do you think of him?
Fletcher: He's a pedantic, pontificating, pretentious bastard, a belligerent old fart, a worthless steaming pile of cow dung, figuratively speaking.
[a moment passes and Mr. Allen starts laughing. The other board members follow his lead and start laughing also]
Mr. Allen: That's the funniest damn thing I've ever heard. You're a real card, Reede. I love a good roast. Do Simmons.
Fletcher: Simmons is old. He should've been out of the game years ago but he can't stay home because he hates his wife. You've met her at the Christmas parties, she's the one that gets plastered and calls him a retard, and you, Tom; you're the biggest brownnose I've ever seen. You've got your head so far up Mr. Allen's ass, I can't tell where you end and he begins.
Mr. Allen: [roaring with laughter] Priceless!
Fletcher: [talking to each member in turn] You have bad breath caused by gingivitis. You couldn't get a porn star off. Your hairpiece looks like something that was killed crossing the highway. I don't know whether to comb it or scrape it off with a shovel and bury it in lime. Loser! Idiot! Wimp! Degenerate! SLUUUUUUUTTT! [points at Miranda]
Mr. Allen: I like your style, Reede! That's just what this stuffy company needs - a little irreverence!
Fletcher: Good! I'll see you later, dick-head!
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