Mikey Python & The Holy Fan

Freddy, King of the Animatronics: Ms. Bunny.
Bucky: Mister.
Freddy: Mister, sorry. What animatronic lives in that pizzeria over there?
Bucky: I'm a hare.
F: Uh, what?
B: I'm a hare, I'm not a bunny.
F: Well, I just can't call you Mister.
B: Well, you could say Bucky.
F: Oh, I didn't know you were called Bucky
B: Well, you didn't bother to find out, did you?
F: I did say sorry about the Missus Bunny thing, but from behind you look-
B: Well, I object to you if you automatically treat me like a scrap heap.
F: Well I AM king.
B: Oh, king, eh very nice. And how'd you get that, eh? By exploiting the workers by hanging onto outdated capitalist dogma which perpetuates the social and economic differences in our society. If there's ever going to be any progress, we-
Alice: Bucky, there's some lovely scrap metal down here. Oh. How'd you do?
F: How do you do, good lady? I am Freddy, King of the Animatronics. Who's pizza place is that?
A: King of the who?
F: The Animatronics.
A: What are animatronics?
F: We all are. We're all animatronics. And I am your king.
A: I didn't know we had a king. I thought we were an automatonic collective.
B: You're fooling yerself. We live in a OLIGARCHY. A self-perpetuating democracy in which the working classes-
A: Ah, there you go, bringing class into it again.
B: Well, that's what it's all about. If only the people would-
F: Please, please, good people. I am in haste. Who lives in that pizzeria?
A: No one lives there.
F: Then who is your manager?
A: We don't have a manager.
F: What?
B: I told you. We're an anarcho-syndicist commune. We take turns acting as a sort of executive operator for the weak.
F: Yes.
B: But all of the decisions of that operator have to be ratified at a special bi-weekly party.
F: Yes, I see.
B: By a robotic majority in case of purely internal affairs.
F: Be quiet.
B: But by 2/3 majority in the case of a celebration.
F: Be quiet! I order you to be quiet!
A: Order, eh? Who does he think he is?
F: I'm your king.
A: Well I didn't vote for you.
F: You don't vote for kings.
A: Well, how did you become king, then?
F: The Ladies of China. Their arms clad in the purest shimmering steel built aloft my microphone, from the bosom of the factory, signifying that by divine providence that I, Freddy, was to be the lead singer. That is why I'm your king.
B: Listen, strange robots slaving in sweatshops, mass producing fake mics is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses not some half assed uncrating ceremony.
F: Be quiet!
B: Well, you can't be expected to wield supreme marketing power just because some chinky tart threw a prop at you.
F: SHUT UP!
B: Well, if I went around, saying I was the boss, just because some Made-in-China bitch lobbed a guitar at me, they'd put me away!
F: SHUT UP! WILL YOU SHUT UP?
B: Oh, now you can see the violence inherit in the system.
F: SHUT! UP!
B: oh, COME AND SEE THE VIOLENCE INHERIT IN THE SYSTEM! HELP! HELP! I'M BEING DEMOTED!
F: BLOODY SCRAP HEAP!
B: Oh, what a giveaway. Did you hear that, eh? That's what I'm on about, do you see him firin' me? You saw it, didn't you?