Journalist 1 : Mr. Pickles, is it true you shipped your own children to Tokyo in a wooden box ?
Journalist 2 : Is it true a dingo ate your baby ?
Journalist 3 : Mr. Pickles, how many pecks of pickled peppers did you pick ?
Rex Pester : Childhood, a time of innocence, a time of joy. A time of unspeakable, unrelenting tragedy.
Rex Pester : Mrs. Pickles, tell us how it feels to know you may never see your children again ?

Betty : Criminy ! Can't you pit bulls show some compassion ?

Rex Pester : I'm so sorry. Forgive me.

Rex Pester : Please tell us how it feels to know you may never see your children again ?
Betty : Get him ! Let me at him ! All right !
Charlotte : Hold on, Jonathan. There's an alarming crowd at my in-law's indicating either a yard sale or a family tragedy. Let me get back to you.

Rex Pester : Hey, Mr. Pickles, how does it feel knowing your brother lost your only daughter ?

Drew : He what ?!

Rex Pester : Share your pain.

Drew jump on Stu.

Drew : Yeow !

Stu : You're breaking my arm !

Drew : Only 'cause I can't reach your neck !

Rex Pester : And there you have it. Two sour Pickles and young Tammy, baby Dale, the twins Bill and Jill, little Chunky, and poor Amelia, all vanished without a trace. I'm Rex Pester, and I'll be back with more big action news.

Chazz : Mr. Swenson said he saw Angelica and Spike run thought his garden and head north on I-99 !

Charlotte : My baby !

Didi : Let's go !

Grand'pa : Private First Class Pickles reporting for duty.

Chazz : Just get in. Come on.

Tommy : Good job, you guys. We're almost there. Good, Dil. Now, play nice.

Dil hit Tommy with his baby bottle.

Phil : Not much fun back there, is it ?

Tommy : Oh, we're doing OK. That's some good hittin' there, Dilly.

Dil hit Tommy another time.

Chuckie : I'm hungry. Right about now my daddy'd be making me a fried bologna sandwich. (1) I can almost smell that burning. Ooh, it tastes all crunchy.

Tommy : Stop it, Chuckie. You're making me hungry.

And another baby bottle hit for Tommy !

Chuckie : Oh, no !

Lil : We can't see our houses from here, Tommy.

Phil : We can't see any houses from here.

Chuckie : We're doomed ! Doomed. Doomed, I tell you !

Police woman : Mrs. Pickles, I know this is hard for you, but can you identify this binky ?

(1) - In the French version, Chuckie's father don't make the same food : he make him a stick of barley slice of bread.