Al says, “Look at these people.” He is shouting and gesturing, waving a Cuban cigar. “It’s like I-don’t-know-what.” “If you don’t know what, then I don’t know what.” “Save the voice,” says Al. “The voice is dead and buried. It went to heaven on a sunbeam.” “I’ll tell you one thing’s for certain, old pal. We’ll never forget today.” “Glad you’re with me, buddy.”
