Junior: Frankenstein scores! Frankenstein scores at last! But what kind of a score, boys and girls? Just 80 points out a possible big 700. What do you think, Gracie?
Grace Pander: Well, those doctors - dear friends of mine - have been pretty smug all these years setting up the old folks. Frankenstein must have decided it was their turn.
Harold: Which only goes to show that even the fearsome Frankenstein has a one-hundred-percent, red-blooded American sense of humor, heh heh.
Junior: Frankenstein! Frankenstein the legend, Frankenstein the indestructible! Sole survivor of the titanic pile-up of '95, only two-time winner of the Transcontinental Road Race... Frankenstein! Ripped up, wiped out, battered, shattered, creamed, and reamed... a dancer on the brink of death... Frankenstein, who lost a leg in '98, an arm in '99! With half a face and half a chest, and all the guts in the world, he's back.
Cleopatra: It isn't my fault everyone scored before us. You should have gone after that boy scout camp like I told you.
Nero the Hero: I tried the goddamn boy scout camp. You know how fast those boy scouts move?
Cleopatra: Now here's something more your speed.
Nero the Hero: That'll be at least 200 points.
Cleopatra: If they scatter, go for the baby and the mother.
Joe: You know Myra, some people might think you're cute. But me, I think you're one very large baked potato.
Harold: Is it true that with your new mechanical arm you can shift gears in less than a twentieth of a second? Would you care to comment on that?
Harold: How do you feel about going into the race with a navigator you've never met?
Grace Pander: You'll love Annie. She's a red-hot sexpot.
Frankenstein: She'd better be a red-hot navigator.