Stan: Thanks for your help, Wendy.
Wendy: Whatever, dude. I promise me you'll be here.
Stan: Hey, I didn't throw up.
Wendy: Cool! We're always be together.
[She's happy now. They both look at each other like they're going to kiss, and romantic music plays. Wendy puckers up. Stan gets queasy and vomits on her face]
Wendy: Hey, look, a French fry!