CLAIRE: ...and that's why there are so many of us. Someone slipped the original Mare roofies, and next thing you know, there's a hundred and fifty clones wandering the streets. Mare and I are clones of the real Mare Winningham.
KNACKS: This is incredible! Whatever happened to the real Mare?
MARE: Well that...heh, that's an interesting story. See, as a sort of side-effect of the cloning process, all of us duplicates were born with an incredible evil lurking inside us. It makes us enjoy doing terrible, dastardly things. Upon her creation, the first Mare clone found the original and beat her to death. In turn, every Mare clone since was born with the intense desire to kill the one that preceded it.
KUSE: And what numbers are you guys?
CLAIRE: I'm #89. Your Mare is #88.
CLAIRE: But don't worry, I won't try to kill her. The terms I speak of were part of our dark ages. We've since learned to control these desires so there can be as many Mares on the planet as possible. So next time your wash machine goes on the fritz, and you think it's just a blown fuse, back up. Turn on all of the lights. You might have a Mare on your hands.
KUSE: Isn't that from Gremlins?
CLAIRE: It wasn't a direct quote.
MARE: Now boys, for simplicity, my sister and I have decided that she will be called "Claire." Claire Winningham. Though it's perfectly understood that she's a Mare, it's really going to be silly if both of us turn around every time you ask Claire where she put the scissors. Remember: I'm Mare, she's Claire.
CLAIRE: Alphabetically, I come first. Snickers.
KUSE: Do you buy any of this?
KNACKS: I'm not sure -- but who could make up a lie like that? What would they have to gain? Maybe we're like Joe Schmo, maybe there's cameras on us right now. I don't want to be a laughingstock.
KUSE: Well yeah, there's that, but isn't it cool that now we both have dates for the big Christmas party?
KNACKS: Okay, let's run with this shit.
CLAIRE: ...so they really resurrected you, huh? My Lord...that's loyalty! You must've had an amazing run in '03.
MARE: Girl, it was one for the books. I tied people up, I hit people with things, I melted a snowman - fucking eeeeencredible. You wouldn't believe how mad Santa got -- dude tied me to a pole and left me dangling in front of a goddam dinosaur! The Santa before that was so bored, he never even came out of the box!
CLAIRE: I can only dream of being so noteworthy. You're an amazing woman. But hey, let's share the glories a bit, huh? C'mon, let's go find an old lady and knee her in the face a few dozen times.
MARE: Sorry, I can't. I don't do the "bad" thing anymore.
CLAIRE: Uhh...Mare? I think they resurrected you as a retard. You can't be serious.
MARE: Look, Claire, call it faith, call it whatever you want, but I'm not gonna go knee some poor old lady in the head just for the hell of it! It's stupid! It's not right!
CLAIRE: I don't believe what I'm hearing, but as your direct clone, I have no choice but to respect your wishes and adhere to them. I won't harm a fly.
MARE: I appreciate that you're doing this, Claire. Few in your position would.
CLAIRE: Wow, I still can't get over this. An entire life of being good?
MARE: You'll get used to it. I've found that people are generally nicer to you when you're not shoving nails in their skull, too.
CLAIRE: Are you saying those kids'll rub my feet if I'm nice and pleasant?
MARE: Knacks will, but Kuse will do even more than that. Annnnd how.
CLAIRE: Ugh, I still can't shake the nausea, though. Being nice?! I feel like such a traitor. I wanna throw up.
KNACKS: Excuse me, Miss Claire? I couldn't help overhearing you say that you needed to throw up. I think I may be of some assistance. Please follow me, maam.
CLAIRE: Hey Mare, you were right. This "nice" stuff might work out after all.
KNACKS: There was a big basket in the tenth gift box. You can throw up in that!