[Scene: The fancy restaurant, Angela has her hand in Bob's shirt, and Monica is very uncomfortable.]

Monica: Something went wrong with Underdog, and they couldn't get his head to inflate.

So anyway, um, his head is like flopping down Broadway, right, and I'm just thinking...

how inappropriate this is. Um, I've got something in my eye, uh, Joey, could we check it in the light, please?

(Her and Joey walk away from the table.) Monica: Oh my god.

Joey: What?

Monica: Hello! Were we at the same table? It's like... cocktails in Appalachia.

Joey: Come on, they're close.

Monica: Close? She's got her tongue in his ear.

Joey: Oh, like you've never gotten a little rambunctious with Ross.

Monica: Joey, this is sick, it's disgusting, it's, it's—not really true, is it?

Joey: Well, who's to say what's true? I mean...

Monica: Oh my god, what were you thinking?

Joey: All right, look, I'm not proud of this, ok? Well, maybe I am a little.

Monica: (hits him lightly) Oh!

Joey: Ow!

Monica: (leaving) I'm out of here.

Joey: Wait, wait, wait. You want him, I want her. He likes you.

Monica: Really?

Joey: Yeah. I'm thinking, if we put our heads together, between the two of us, we can break them up.

[Time lapse, Monica accidentally spilled her drink on Bob's shirt and is wiping it off. Joey is making eyes at Angela.]

Monica: I'm so sorry, I can't believe I did this, but I couldn't stop laughing at your Norman Mailer story.

(Angela is eating chicken wings and making the weasellike noise Joey had told Bob about.)

Joey: Uh, waiter, one more plate of chicken wings over here.