— May I have the salt?
— What do we say?
— Now.
You're a desperate woman, consumed by greed and bitterness. We could have been such friends.
— What are you, darling? Where's your costume?
— This is my costume. I'm a homicidal maniac. They look just like everybody else.
— Is this made from real lemons?
— Yes.
— I only like all-natural foods and beverages, organically grown, with no preservatives. Are you sure they’re real lemons?
— Yes.
— Well, I’ll tell you what. I’ll buy a cup if you buy a box of my delicious Girl Scout cookies. Do we have a deal?
— Are they made from real Girl Scouts?
Last night, you were unhinged. You were like some desperate howling demon. You frightened me. Do it again.
— You are too precious for words. Why, I could just eat you alive.
— Oh, no, Margaret. Too young.
— Haven't you ever slaughtered anyone?
— He's only a child.
— No excuse.
And, dear Fester, which is the real you — the loathsome, underhanded monster you've become or the loathsome, underhanded monster we came to love?