“I don’t want your dignity, Wilbur.” Quackity responded, tersely now, growing tired of Wilbur’s insolence. He forcefully cracked a smile, “Aside from your jacket for the cloakroom, I want your wisdom” “Oh! My wisdom!” Wilbur was standing again, “My wisdom! Well how about you crack open my head with a meat tenderizer and scoop it out?” Wilbur also cracked a wry smile “...or a pickaxe?” “Sit down, Wilbur.” Quackity snapped. Wilbur sat.