Charlie: Blonnnndiieeee! Hey, blondie.
Izzie: Charlie, I have a million charts to update. I'm busy.
Charlie: I want lobster.
Charlie: For my last meal. It's traditional. The dying man gets to choose what he wants to eat. I want lobster.
Izzie: I'm not getting you lobster, because you're not dying. I won't allow it.
Charlie: A man can only hang on for so long, blondie. After a while, it's just not worth it.
Izzie (walks over to his bed): Don't you have any friends? Family? Anyone?
Charlie: They're all dead or on their way to dead. Someday you'll understand. When you're old and less naive.
Izzie: I am not naive.
Charlie: You and what's-his-face, that's not naive?
Izzie (laughs, nervously): We're not -- how -- you-- ... You know about what's-his-face?
Charlie: I know that you're crazy if you think that he's leaving his wife. Guys always say that.
Izzie: Well, not that it's any of your business, but this is completely different.
Charlie: I'm sure it's true love. I'm sure he's told his wife, I'm sure he's moved out. I'm sure all your friends know, right? (Izzie is silent) Yeah. I want real lobster. Not that fake white fish crap.
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