Transcription

[[Close-up of a restaurant booth. Lev Babiev (from Hosers) is sitting, wearing a black leather jacket with studded shoulder tabs and a stylized skull on his right breast, a black leather cap, glasses, and an ear-to-ear demented grin. Behind the booth bench is a mountain of plates. Fooker is standing, apparently on his way out of the booth, holding an empty plate in his right hand and making a thumbs-up sign with his left hand. There's a toppled glass on the table, with something spilled out of it.]]
Fooker: Well, I'm going back for 32,493rds. You want?
Lev: Hold on... I'll help you carry it.

Fooker [[putting a slice of pizza on a plate]]: So how's that ol' cueballtob o' lard _Bob_ these days?
Lev [[starts, looking surprised]] [[thought bubble]]: Bob? Our boss?! [[Aloud]]: Are you--

[[3 uniformed waiters are standing and looking menacingly at Lev and Fooker. One is holding a rolling pin, one a cutting wheel, and the 3rd something less distinct.]]
Fooker [[cuts Lev off, holds a finger to his lips]]: Shh! Not here. The pepperoni beckons.
Lev [[grinning savagely]]: Were I any less determined, I'd lose my appetite. Consume 'til the river of cheese runs dry.
One of the waiters: Get 'em, boys...