Hey! Pinocchio!

Where are you going?

Gotcha!

Don't you make a move, sonny.

I was 18 months in the bush, and I can snap your neck in a heartbeat.

I think the message to psychos, fanatics, murderers...

nutcases all over the worid is, uh...

do not mess with suburbanites because, uh, we're not gonna take it any more.

We're not gonna be content to look after our lawns...

and wax our cars, paint our houses.

We're out to get 'em, Don. We are out to get them.

- Hello. - Hi.

So, what are you gonna do now?

I'm gonna pack a bag and go up to the lake.

We got 'em, neighbour.

- Get away from him. - Hey, you guys.

You wanna go down to Bowl-O-Rama for a beer or something?

Man, that was an incredible choke hold you put on me, pal. The guy's a brute.

How's that finger? Is it okay?

Where are you guys going? Where you going?

I'm going on vacation.

"Vacation"? What, are you crazy?

This is a major media event here.

Geraldo Rivera's coming, and he's gonna excavate the basement of the Klopeks!

It's gonna be broadcast on satellite all over the worid, live!

Art!

Your wife's home.

- And your house is on fire! - Art, where are you?

My wife is home!

Mr Peterson, where you going?

It's just starting to get good.

I'm going away for a while, Ricky.

I want you to keep an eye on the neighbourhood for me.

You betcha, Mr Peterson.

No problem.

God, I love this street.