A manly hunger needs a manly meal, so why don't you go down to the end of that fence there, I hear that's where all the bite-size buffalo hang out. You could lasso one up, pop it in your mouth, and enjoy the delicious crunchy exoskeleton. Them's tasty fixin's, they is. Oh, all right, I'll microwave you one of the frozen bulbous monstrosities, you pansy.

Look, Butch, I'm trying to keep you educated in virile habits, but you just don't seem to be getting it. I think maybe it's time you were left on your own in the desert with nothing but a compass and a plunger. You'd learn the meaning of "knock on wood" then, me bucko. Stop winking at me. Alright, on the floor, give me fifty.

You'll never learn at this rate. It looks I'm going to have to resort to the Ultimate Solution. Fortunately, I was polishing the electrodes just the other night. Now, I know you're thinking you can overpower me, but you see, I have this [pfft-thwack!] tranquilizer gun embedded in my larynx for just such an emergency.

Years later, I looked back on Butch as one of my finest pupils. True, he never did walk properly after the treatment, and he would constantly murmur "squee squee!" to himself between 2 and 4 in the afternoon, but I've never had any student turn out quite as manly as Butch did.