[drunk]

I don't ask for much. I don't ask to be rich, and I don't ask to be famous, and I don't ask to play center field for the New York Yankees. I just want to get married and have a wife, and a house, and have a kid, and I want to go see him be a tooth in the school field.

[Allen has passed out and laying on the bar in a snack bowl]

You see, drinking is a matter of algebraic ratio. How drunk you get is caused by the amount of alcohol you consume in relation to your total body weight. You see my point? It's not that you had too much to drink. You're just too skinny.

[Allen remains comatose]

Bartender, Another round for my friend and I here!

No, no, Freddie! I don't want to get drunk!

But you are drunk. You see, a sober person would have reached for the pretzels.

Is he gonna be up there all day?

I don't know.

[coming to]

Ohh... I'm on the bar!

Oh, you're on the bar. Here, let me help you down.

[Allen slips and falls to the floor]

Uh-oh, you fell.