Poppie

You're not gonna taste it?

It is so succulent, so succulent.

My mother was taken from my house...by the communists in the middle of the night...when I was 10 years old. She was sent to a slave-labor camp...where she labored for 12 years. Finally, they released her...and she was on a boat to America to reunite with us. But she was served some bad fish, and she died on the high seas.

It is more succulent than even I had hoped.

Well, Poppie, I think differently. And what gives you the right to do that? The Supreme Court gives me the right to do that!

A bottle of wine and a five-alarm chili? They're trying to kill Poppie? Why? Don't they know I have...a gastrointestinal disorder? If I would have any of this, I would die. Then Poppie's no good to anyone. This is a sick, sick joke on Poppie.

You can't put cucumbers on a pizza. Why not? I like cucumbers. That's not a pizza. It will taste terrible. But that's the idea. Make your own pie. Yes, but we cannot give the people the right...to choose any topping they want. Now, on this issue, there can be no debate. What gives you the right to tell me how I make my pie? Because it's a pizza. It's not a pizza till it comes out of the oven. It's a pizza the moment you put your fists in the dough. No, it isn't! Yes, it is!

She started a big fight about abortion.

It's you. It's you. I gotta sit down. No, Poppie, no! No, Poppie!