"So. Mobo. What’s that you got there?"
"Oh, this? It’s a bomb. For you."
"A bomb, huh?"
"Yeah. It’s rigged to the ribbon, see…pull it, and it’ll go off like a ton of TNT. They’ll be pickin’ up pieces of you over in Panic City."
"Sheesh, Mobo, I can’t top that. I just got you some cookies.”
"Oh, for real? Homemade?"
"You bet, big bro. I poisoned them myself. First you’ll have fevers, then you’ll have chills…"
"Hah. That’s your style, all right. Okay, here’s your bomb, now gimme those cookies. I’m gonna die of hunger."
"Eheh heh…the suspense is killin’ me. Let’s see…hey, are these…oh my god, Mobo. You didn’t have to get me these…”
"Why not? You went gaga over ‘em in the store, and…Jesus, is this a Cartier watch?!"
"You like it? It’s pretty solid. I thought it fit ya."
"Hell yeah, I love it, but…why are you throwin’ a fit over those fancy glasses when you bought me a Cartier watch worth a grand?"
"Robo. You’re worth it. You are, okay? I like givin’ you nice things, I like seein’ you happy. I mean, me, I don’t really need fancy stuff like—”
"Oh, don’t you give me that! You’ve done so much for us, Mobo! You’re absolutely worth that watch!”
"Awright, awright, I’ll cut you a deal. If I’m worth this watch, then you’re worth those glasses. Deal?"
"Deal. Merry Christmas, big bro."
"You too, little bro. Merry Christmas."