- [Rex and Co. are flying over the Pacific in a helicopter]
- Rex: Bob, you're supposed to be navigating!
- Bad Bob: I am doing! Go on, ask me anything.
- Rex: Okay. What are our co-ordinates?
- Bad Bob: Over the Pacific. There, you see?
- Rex: What time is it?
- Bad Bob: Dinnertime!
- Rex: How much fuel have we got left?
- Bad Bob: We're gonna run... out... now!
- [the chopper sputters to a halt and drops like a stone]
- Rex: Ah, there now, you see, this looks like Vince's frontal lobe. I reckon that Random Pavarotti Disease is a psychological phenomena and that we should be able to locate it in the otherworldliness of his brain.
- Bad Bob: Ow, rubbish! I reckon his disease is a physical problem. Let's go and look at his bum.