Greg: What? No, I mean, my grandpa changes his mind a lot, so it's not final, and plus, um, he's so sturdy. Like who knows how long I might have to wait. I'm good, anyway, cuz, uh, my, so, I was just talkin' to my mom, and she said, apparently, he'll leave me five million anyway, so I'm golden, baby. Connor: You can't do anything with five, Greg. Five's a nightmare. Greg: Is it? Connor: Oh, yeah. Can't retire. Not worth it to work. Oh, yes, five will drive you un poco loco, my fine feathered friend. Tom: The poorest rich person in America. The world's tallest dwarf. Connor: The weakest strong man at the circus.
Gil: Right. I wonder. Do the phrases human furniture or footstooling mean anything to you? Tom: Not that I'm conscious of, no. Gil: Have you ever used another human being as a footstool, Mr. Wambsgams? Tom: Uh, I, Senator, I use a variety of target-oriented incentives to enhance optimal performance. [the crowd breaks out in whispers]