Boy.

Show him what my hair-growing polis did for you, Jed.

Boy, she's doing the best she can.

Boy, I can't wait to see that parade.

You're my doctor.

Well, my head was cold.

Well, how about my skunk?

Please, Granny, I changed my hair.

You are constricting my dorsal metacarpal.

My secretary's looking for a possum juggler.

Swear in my honor as a banker?

The removal of $35 million from my bank!

She whacked off my hair too, didn't she?

I wish I could stay out of my office.

Well, I won't know until my secretary gets back.

Get your cotton-picking meat hooks off my arm.

Tell him, tell the doctor you gave Granny my message.

You are constricting my brachial artery with your hemostatic grasp.

Well, upon my arrival at the Clampett mansion, imagine my surprise to find them arrayed in their Sunday finery and having a square dance.

Not if I make you one of my hair-growing poultices.