Marge: He's going to need, uh... you know, protection. Guy: Sure... one helmet coming up. Marge: I was thinking more of... protection... down there (points down). Guy: Oh, why didn't you say so? Kneepads. You got it. Marge: (very nervous laugh) I'm talking about his (muffling) personal area. Guy: Ah ha. Say no more. I read you loud and clear. The old shoulderpads. Marge: Look... I wanna cup. Guy: Cup? Could you spell that? Marge: C-U-P. I wanna C-U... oh my God!