A millionaire is talking with a reporter about the millionaire's daughter, with whom the reporter has just completed a cross-country trip. The daughter is about to marry a man the millionaire does not approve of.
MILLIONAIRE. There you are.
Hands reporter a check for expenses.
REPORTER. Thank you.
The reporter takes the check and heads for the office door.
MILLIONAIRE. Oh, ah, do you mind if I ask you a question, frankly? Do you love my daughter?
The reporter stares hard at the millionaire.
REPORTER. Any guy that'd fall in love with your daughter oughta have his head examined.
MILLIONAIRE. Now that's an evasion.
REPORTER. She picked herself a perfect running mate. King Wesley, the pill of the century. What she needs is a guy that'd take a sock at her once a day, whether it's coming to her or not. If you had half the brains you're supposed to have, you'd've done it yourself long ago.
The reporter tries again to walk to the door, but the millionaire's words stop him.
MILLIONAIRE. Do you love her?
REPORTER. A normal human being couldn't live under the same roof with her without going nutty! She's my idea of nothing.
MILLIONAIRE. I asked you a simple question. Do you love her?
The reporter yanks the door open.
REPORTER. Yes! But don't hold that against me, I'm a little screwy myself!