"What kind of vegetable prostrates itself all over a salad like that? Huh!? What kind?! You call yourself a cucumber; I call you a lousy whore."
"Yeah? I knew a Crème Brûlée like you once... you smell a good game, but deep down inside, you know you're just a mutherfuckin' Crème Brûlée, and that's all you'll ever be!"
"Hey, salmon mousse? Fuck you. That's right - you heard me."
"One day, raspberry scone. One day, I'll find you, and then we'll see who's crying."
"So, we're just supposed to bow or some shit because your 'Cornish'? Really? I thought you were Irish, 'cuz you look like a piece-o-shit little chicken to me."
"I don't care if you're good for me or not; if you make my piss smell funny again, I will beat your sorry green assparagus."
"Well, well, well. We meet again, ginger carrot soup. To the death!"
"Just leave, couscous, alright? Get out! Now!! I'm sick of your fucking lies!"