George: I still don't understand this. Abby has a mentor?
Jerry: Yes. And the mentor advises the protégé.
George: Is there any money involved?
George: So what's in it for the mentor?
Jerry: Respect, admiration, prestige.
George: Pssh. Would the protégé pick up stuff for the mentor?
Jerry: I suppose if it was on the protégé's way to the mentor, they might.
George: Laundry? Dry cleaning?
Jerry: It's not a valet, it's a protégé.
Kramer: C'mon Frank, I need you. I mean the war was fifty years ago.
Frank Costanza: In my mind, there's a war still going on.
Kramer: Alright, what happened, Frank? What is it that you can't get over?
Frank pours a shot of whiskey and drinks it.
Frank Costanza: Inchon, Korea, 1950. I was the best cook Uncle Sam ever saw, slinging hash for the Fighting 103rd. As we marched north, our supply lines were getting thin. One day a couple of GIs found a crate, inside were six hundred pounds of prime Texas steer. At least it once was prime. The Use date was three weeks past, but I was arrogant, I was brash, I thought if I used just the right spices, cooked it long enough...
Kramer: What happened?
Frank Costanza: I went too far. I over seasoned it. Men were keeling over all around me. I can still hear the retching, the screaming. I sent sixteen of my own men to the latrines that night. They were just boys.
Kramer: Frank, you were a boy too. And it was war. It was a crazy time for everyone.
Frank Costanza: Tell that to Bobby Colby. All that kid wanted to do was go home. Well he went home alright, with a crater in his colon the size of a cutlet. Had to sit him on a cork the eighteen-hour flight home!
Kramer: Frank, now listen to me. Two hundred Jewish singles need you. This is your chance to make it all right again.
Frank Costanza: No. No, I'll never cook again! Never! Now get out of my house!! Get out. Go.