Transcription

[[Patty and Fred are discussing the mysterious "Socrates" that seems to still be searching for Fred.]]
Patty: So what do you know about this "Socrates?"
Fred: Next to nothing. He keeps saying he's glad he's found me and that he wants to talk in person. He's a grade-A stalker if you ask me.

Fred: I haven't had to deal with him for a while, though, with my "handlers" screening my calls. Now that I'm flat broke again, it's no surprise he'd show up.
Patty: Have you complained to the police?

Fred: I've tried, but he's constantly moving about, changing numbers. The last time I dealt with him directly, he was two states away.
Patty: [pointing to an entry on the screen in front of her] Well, this looks like a local number...

Fred: By Alexander Fleming's petri dish... Hide me...
[[Fred suddenly leaps off of the table and into Patty's shirt, looking out from between her breasts. Patty, needless to say, is mortified - hair frazzled, eyes wide.]]
Patty: [in a voice dripping with shock] Get out of my shirt and we will never speak of this again...