JUNO MCGUFF dials the phone, which is shaped like a slab of raw meat. Her friend LEAH answers.
Leah: Bone-jiggity-jour, home-gillet.
Juno: I’m a total extinction risk.
Juno: No, it’s Grimlock. You got any optimuses that need priming?
Leah: Only the one beneath my scaly abdomen…
Juno: I’m pregnant.
Leah: What? Honest to bog?
Juno: Yeah. My egg’s been laid like James. Dye my eyes and call me pity.
Leah: Maybe it’s a fake egg. One of those low-cholesterol substitutes.
Juno: I’ve taken like three blood tests. This ain’t no Egg Beater.
Leah: Shit. Fuck. Oh my Godwana, Pangea.
Juno: Yeah. It’s Bleeker’s.
Leah: Well, what are you gonna with the little Egg McGuffin? I say you scramble that huevo before you turn hard boiled.
Juno: Consider it poached. This is one baby I don’t want to bop.