 Nona The Brit wrote: |
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No, rhyme is where two words have a similar/the same sound at the end. For example, car and bar rhyme. Cat and hat rhyme. Scooter and hooter rhyme.
I don't think 'under the car' is anything in particular - there isn't a word to describe this little phrase, it's not an idiom or anything. It's just three words. She is just saying she is going to go and lie under the car. I think she is just joking really. Without seeing the episode it's hard to say. I'm imagining that the men are irritating here and she is thinking about where she can go to get away from everyone. I don't think she is literally going to go and get underneath the car.
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Thanks for your help. I copied the whole episode. Those lines are in blue.
Everybody Loves Raymond
Ray: Come on in. This is great. You have really got to meet Debra.
Kareem: I could have signed a book for her at the store.
Ray: But she's a big basketball fan. Come on, this will be fun. Come on.
Kareem: Jeez, maybe I should just leave a signed basketball.
Ray: No, this will be great. Watch this. Debra.
Debra: Hi.
Ray: Who's your favorite basketball player of all time?
Debra: Michael Jordan.
Ray: No, retired. Retired basketball player.
Debra: Larry Bird.
Ray: He played for the Lakers.
Debra: Wilt Chamberlain.
Ray: This isn't my house. That's what it is.
Kareem: -I want my book back.
Ray: Kareem. I'll make you something to eat.
Ray: Hi, I'm Ray, and I live here in Long island with my wife Debra. She's great with the kids, the house, everything. I don't know how she does it. We've got a daughter Ally and twin two-year-old boys. It's not really about the kids. My parents live across the street. That's right. And my brother lives with them. Now, not every family would go by on a conveyor belt for you...but mine would because
Robert: Everybody loves Raymond.
Ray: Yeah.
Frank: Did you hear Howie Simon's son sold a funny little anecdote to the Reader's Digest?
Ray: Yeah? Okay, good. Good for him.
Frank: That's $50. So why can't you do something like that?
Ray: I'm a writer, Dad. The newspaper pays me to write full-time.
Frank: Look, I'm not talking about the sports column. That's great. I'm talking on the side.
Ray: Funny anecdotes on the side?
Frank: Yeah, that's free money for you.
Ray: Okay.
Marie: Here, lamb chops.
Ray: Mom, I've got the dinner! You're cooking... All right, one more. Look, Dad, thanks for your advice...but I'm not writing anything for Reader's Digest.
Frank: What's with you? You can afford to turn down extra cash? I'm talking on the side.
Ray: Ma, where's the....
Marie: The mint-chili, hold on. Here. Right here.
Frank: We're talking the Digest here, Ray. You know the kind of talent it takes...to take a novel like this and put it on a page and a half? That's writing!
Ray: All right, enough already, Dad. If you like the magazine so much why don't you write something for it yourself?
Frank: What do you mean?
Marie: Yeah, he's right. Why don't you get off your rear end and do it yourself? I think it's a very good idea.
Frank: You do?
Ray: I’ll tell you, you go write something for the Reader's Digest...I'm gonna go home and fake hunger. Give me that chop.
Frank: The Reader's Digest. They do have some funny stuff in there.
Ray: Oh, boy, what're we watching?
Debra: Wee Sing in Sillyville. Guess what? It's on mornings and evenings now.
Twice as silly.
Ally: There goes John Jacob Jingle heimer Schmitt
Ray: Okay. We have to cancel cable.
Debra: Yeah. Go and get your jammies on. Ray, Robert's still here.
Ray: Robert, what are you doing here?
Robert: I had a suspicion I need to confirm.
Debra: Robert, what's wrong?
Robert: I don't think Michael likes me anymore.
Debra: What are you talking about?
Robert: He's not like Geoffrey, he seems stand-offish.
Ray: You know Michael is a baby, right?
Robert: It's just a feeling. Cop's instinct. He wants nothing to do with me.
Frank: Attention, everybody. Guess who is now a published writer.
Ray: What are you talking about?
Frank: Today, the mailman brought me fame and fortune. The Reader's Digest, over 27 million copies sold in 19 languages. And all around the world, each and every reader will now open to Page 64 the "Humor in Uniform" section. Well, what are you waiting for?
Ray: How did that happen? Did you know about it? You knew he was doing this?
Marie: Please! You think he'd get this done by himself? The man can't wipe his own chin.
Frank: Marie was my little typist.
Marie: Don't call me a little typist.
Frank: So why don't you read it out loud, Ray?
Ray: No, that's not necessary, Dad. We'll read it.
Frank: No, come on, you have such a nice speaking voice.
Ray: "Throughout our first week of basic training..."
Frank: Louder and funnier!
Ray: "...our drill sergeant--"
Frank: Stand up!
Ray: Come on!
Frank: Up! There you go.
Ray: "...our drill sergeant stressed to us the importance of addressing all officers with what he called 'a sir sandwich. Sir, yes, sir. Sir, I don't know, sir,' and the like. A few days later, a colonel approached me in the motor pool to ask what I was working on. Using the sir sandwich, I said: Sir, checking the oil, sir, in these jeeps, sir and, sir, checking the tires, sir. The colonel laughed and said, Private, I appreciate your respect but I don't need a sir club sandwich.
Frank: Thank you. True story Ray, what do you think?
Ray: It's a classic, Dad.
Frank: And that's not all, look at this: A check for $300.I'd frame it, but then I couldn't take my little typist out for a fancy dinner.
Marie: Every time you call me that, it's gonna cost you $300.
Robert: Michael threw his milk at me.
Frank: Isn't that great? That could be my second story. The Digest loves a naughty baby!
Frank: Teenage boys can be shy and awkward. Their voices crack, their skin breaks out and they're afraid of anything in a dress. This was especially true for my son Roy."
Ray: Dad, you're writing about me!
Frank: It says Roy.
Ray: Thanks, Dod.
Frank: Look, I'm using what we call "artistic license" there. Sure, I'm writing about my kid, but it's got to come off like anybody's kid. You see, I have to write as the Everyman.
Ray: You're the Everyman?
Frank: Right. It's got to mean something to Debra and Marie the guy in snowbound Sweden looking for a laugh.
Ray: Especially him. Yeah, okay. Look, Dad, I got a column due in about an hour.
All right? So I'm gonna see you.
Frank: Roy, being a typical teenager, was besieged by raging hormones making it difficult for him to keep his mind on his studies.
Debra: He's the Everyman.
Ray: Can you imagine if every man was Frank Barone? Boy, wouldn't Sizzler love that. Do me a favor, please keep Everyman out of here.
Debra: How am I supposed to do that?
Ray: How fast can you make a pot roast?
Frank: So what's the column about, Ray?
Debra: Got to go.
Ray: No! It's the Giants, Dad.
Frank: Go on, don't let me bother you. This is the toughest part, isn't it?
Ray: What?
Frank: That. The blank page. It just sits there and mocks you. Dares you.
Ray: Annoys you. Bothers you.
Frank: I guess so. Go on, write. Conquer the blank page. I'm not even here. Shouldn't you indent?
Ray: Don't you wanna get started on that story about the twins?
Frank: No rush, it's fermenting.
Ray: Don't let it go bad in there, Dad. Come on. Go, run with it. I'm asking you, Dad, as a proud parent. Run.
Frank: I guess you're right, I got to go get started.
Ray: Yeah, okay.
Frank: You know, Ray... when I retired, I thought, "Well, this is it." You know, sometimes I just sit there saying: "l got nothing left." But with this writing thing, it's like I got a new lease on life. I can't describe it. It's like for the first time, in a whole lot of years. I feel good.
Ray: That's good, Dad. That's nice. I'm glad.
Frank: I got you to thank for it. You're a writer. I looked at you, and I see what I had in me. You know, now we know where your talent comes from. So, go on, show me your chops. Did you know Mark Twain had a son who was a writer? You know what they called him?
Ray: No.
Frank: Choo-Choo. Choo-Choo Twain! That was in the Digest.
Marie: Hi. Hungry?
Ray: No.
Marie: Shouldn't you be at work?
Ray: Yeah, I was, Ma, until Dad stopped by. I'm having lunch at the paper with the guys, and he just shows up. He starts telling us about writing. Telling us! When I left, he was teaching us about alliteration. So, fearing my father the freak...I fled before there was a fatality.
Marie: Look at these. Look at these hands. I used to make angel hair pasta with these hands. And now I'm a grease monkey!
Ray: You have to talk to him, Ma.
Marie: He doesn't listen to me. You think I like doing this? I have a life, too. I could be out learning French.
Ray: Ma, you wouldn't do that.
Marie: We'll never know, will we? Now, Raymond, you have to handle this. This is your problem.
Ray: How is it my problem? What did I do?
Marie: You're the writer. He wants your approval. Can't you see that? Just talk to your father.
Ray: Talk to Dad? Where do you come up with that stuff, Ma?
Frank: There you are! Your friends are really gung-ho about that computer stuff. Personally, I don't see what they're so excited about. Maybe it's all that internet porno.
Marie: Just talk to your father. I hope you're happy, I'm an ink-stained wretch!
Ray: This whole writing thing, Dad, I'm glad you found it... 'cause it's good to have something.
Frank: You mean the Digest?
Ray: I'm gonna give you $1,000 if you stop calling it "the Digest."
Frank: Fair enough. Testing, testing.
Ray: Listen, I think it's important that we're honest here with each other.
Frank: Really?
Ray: Yeah.
Frank: You know, I'm glad you said that... because there is something I was afraid to ask you.
Ray: What? "Frank Barone's 'l Was Just Thinking."'
Frank: Yeah, my thoughts on a bunch of subjects: Infomercials. The new-car smell.
Minute Rice. Stuff like that, it's all there.
Ray: Yeah, it is. Why do I have it?
Frank: You said you wanted to be honest. I honestly think this would make a great column in your paper.
Ray: My paper!
Frank: Yeah, why don't you pass it on to the editor?
Ray: You want me to show this to my editor?
Frank: Thank you, Ray. And tell him... I look forward to his feedback.
Ray: Ma!
Marie: It doesn't come out.
Debra: Hi.
Ray: Listen, I'm gonna be hiding for the next few months, okay? So if my father comes by looking, you don't know where I am.
Debra: What?
Ray: Listen, you got to run interference for me. I'd do the same with your parents.
Debra: My parents live in Connecticut.
Ray: I'm willing to go. As matter of fact, he'd never find me in Connecticut.
Debra: Why are we hiding today, Ray?
Ray: Look at that.
Debra: "Frank Barone's 'l Was Just Thinking."' What is this?
Ray: It's his column. He wants me to hand it to my editor.
Debra: You're kidding.
Ray: Look at this: "The chirp of the cricket has been replaced by the car alarm. "God only knows what will replace the car alarm." What is that? What could that possibly mean? Oh, God, he's out of control!
Debra: "l like the smell of a freshly painted room as much as the next guy... "but in the end, wallpaper is easier to clean."
Ray: All right, so he's right about that. But, come on, how can I hand that to my editor? He's gonna tear it up.
Debra: You know, Ray, I think you should let your editor take a look at that.
Ray: Why? So everyone at work loses respect for me? Then I get fired, and you can go back to work, and I stay with the kids. No. I will not fall for that, Delilah.
Debra: No, you take his name off of it, and then you submit it to your editor. He gives you some honest feedback which you can pass on to your father... and all of this will end.
Ray: Hey, that's not fair. My editor is gonna hate this. I'm doing it. I'm gonna do that.
Debra: Good.
Ray: Tell me the story again about the parents that live all the way in Connecticut.
Debra: Once upon a time--
Ray: Slower.
Debra: Once upon a time—
Ray: Louder and funnier.
Debra: Rob, thanks for coming over. Come on in.
Robert: Why?
Debra: I just wanted you to try playing with Michael again. Just give it one more shot.
Robert: No, I don't think so.
Debra: Listen, Rob, it makes me feel terrible... that you think one of your nephews doesn't like you. Come on in. Robert, come on. Just sit down. Yeah, that's not so bad. It's Uncle Robbie. All right, play with Uncle Robbie.
Robert: How're you doing? Hey, Michael. Would you like Uncle Robert to read you a story? He's not that tough after all. "Baby bunnies have such fun. "Bunnies on the hop, skip, run." Look at me and Michael.
Ray: You and Michael? No, you mean you and Geoffrey-- Yes, Michael. You got it. That's Michael.
Robert: See?
Ray: Hello? Hey, Bill. You read the column? No, I didn't write that. Did not write that. No, I passed it on to you from a complete stranger guy. Okay. Was that call waiting or did a vein pop? Yeah. Okay, I'm sorry. Right. So very sorry. Okay, bye. Ugly. That was ugly.
Marie: Hi, Ray. How are you, honey? -You're hungry?
Ray: No.
Frank: Marie, I got to get my thoughts down on tapioca. Like it or lump it.
Marie: That's enough for today. I'm gonna go lie down under the car.
Frank: Hey, Ray! What's up?
Ray: Nothing. I talked to my editor today.
Frank: And?
Ray: I guess the newspaper is not looking for a columnist right now.
Frank: I don't have to be a quote unquote columnist. My pieces can run every so often in the paper.
Ray: They said they already got something similar to your piece in there.
Frank: On what? What in your paper is similar to what I wrote?
Ray: In tone. Similar in tone is what he actually said.
Frank: This guy sounds like he's dodging something. Is he some kind of an oddball here?
Ray: He's not an oddball. It just wasn't for him, that's all.
Frank: What did he say? What were his exact words?
Ray: I don't know his exact words.
Frank: What do you mean? You can't remember what he said?
Ray: You don't want to hear it.
Frank: Don't tell me what I wanna hear or what I don't wanna hear! Tell me what he said!
Ray: He said it was embarrassing!
Frank: What?
Ray: He said it was embarrassing.
Frank: What else did he say? What else did he say?
Ray: He said it was amateurish.
Frank: Really?
Ray: I'm sorry, Dad.
Frank: No, it's okay.
Ray: You know what, you can't trust what this guy says. What does he know? He's an oddball, that guy. So what if you're not in the paper, you're in the Digest.
Frank: Amateurish!
Ray: Twenty-seven million people in 19 languages. People are reading this in Germany and Japan as we speak, Dad. Nobody reads newspapers.
Frank: You know, I was feeling so good. Now I don't know.
Ray: Dad, the Digest. Send it in to the Digest.
Frank: I did! They didn't like it either. That's why I tried your stupid paper!
Ray: Come on, you just can't give up, Dad. You still got all those Roy stories in there. Come on! What about Everyman? What happened to the Everyman? You got all those opinions, they're just fermenting in there. You got to let them out, Dad, or you're gonna explode.
Frank: You're right. I've got opinions.
Ray: That's right.
Frank: Who can I share them with?
Ray: Come on, there's always—
Frank: My family!
Ray: I was thinking guys at the lodge... and people at bus stops and clerks.
Frank: Wait. Here's one. "Poetry! Get to the point!"
Ray: Who could argue with that?
Frank: "How about those poems that don't even rhyme? "That is this man's definition of lazy."
Ray: My job is done here.
Frank: "Make up your mind, America... "is it often or of-ten?"
Ray: You're the king of those. All right, I'm gonna go run and tell everybody.
Frank: What did you think of my column?
Ray: I thought it was great, Dad.
Frank: Thanks. "Amish people, friend or foe?"
Japanese: Roy! Roy!