The Monarch: Release the butterflies.

(Mass of dead butterflies fall on Brock)

The Monarch: Okay, whose job was it to feed the butterflies?

Dr. Venture: Dean! Have you been shooting dope into your scrotum? You can tell me! I'm hip!

Brock: Take your time Monarch, 'cause as soon as you finish your little speech, I'm going to kill you.

The Monarch: What are you? Obi Wan Kenobi? Just look at you schmucks. I don't think I'm the one in danger here, considering the sad fact that right below you flows the mighty Amazon, teeming with the most gruesome fish to ever -

Hank: The piranha!

Monarch: No.

Hank: The shark!

Monarch: No!

Hank: The... piranah!

Monarch: No and shut up. This isn't a quiz. *muttering* Now where was I... ahem... the dreaded CANDIRU! A naughty little fish with a penchant for swimming up a man's urethra to feed on the damaged tissue of the pitiful mass of flesh you once called your PENIS!

Venture: That is a total myth! There is no such fish.

Monarch: Is too.

Venture: No there isn't.

Henchman: I think it was two ninjas taped together to make one giant ninja!

Dr. Girlfriend: I guess the muscular one is alright, but the boy is going too far. Can't we just use the puppets again?

Billy Quizboy: Actually, this is more a job for urologist.

Pete White: Billy's more of a neuro-geneticist.

Billy: Yeah, but this kind of thing should be a walk in the park.

Pete: A walk through the park with genitals for trees.

Billy: And hair for grass.

Venture: Oh, I'm sure that put him at ease. You two might want to work on your bedside manner.

Billy: The bad news is you have acute testicular torsion.

Dean: What does that mean?

Billy: Well, in a nutshell, no pun intended, your balls pulled a 180. In a way, you're kind of lucky. It only happens to about one in four thousand.

Pete: It's like you won the genetic freak lottery.