Bugs Bunny: [disguised as aged Scotsman] So, MacR-r-rory, poaching on my pr-r-roperty! I'm displeased, MacR-r-rory. You shouldnae shoot my r-r-r-rabbits.
MacRory: Yon bonnie rabbit dinna belong to you.
Bugs Bunny: It dinna?
MacRory: No, it dinna!
Bugs Bunny: Wanna bet?
MacRory: No! We'll settle this in true Scots tradition: at games.
Bugs Bunny: Games?
[Bugs sets up a card table and deals cards]
Bugs Bunny: Okay, pigeon, sit down.
MacRory: No, no, we dinna play that game.
Bugs Bunny: [slightly surprised] Is there another one?
MacRory: [pulling out two bags of golf clubs] Golf!
Bugs Bunny: Golf?
MacRory: Aye, golf. Choose your weapons.
Bugs Bunny: Have it your way, Mac, but don't you get a little tired running them eighteen bases?

Bugs Bunny: Now, one good turn deserves another. Could you point out to me the shortest route to the La Brea Tar Pits in Los Ahn-galays?
MacRory: [confused] La Brea Tar Pits?
[suddenly realizing, MacRory runs off and quickly returns with a blunderbuss, pointing it at Bugs' back]
MacRory: There are no La Brea Tar Pits in Scotland!
Bugs Bunny: Scotland? Eh, what's up, MacDoc?
[Bugs quickly departs]