Pronto: Commander. . . There's nothing we can do.
Pronto: If a cryokit, or a nanny-bag, or a team of surgeons shows up in the next five minutes, they could save him, and he'd come to with all his wits about him.

If they show up in six minutes he'll lose about 50 points of I.Q.

He'd still be smarter than me, but not by very much.
Pronto: But ten minutes from now there won't be anything anybody can do to bring him back.
Pronto: And. . . Well, we've been looking for rescue from this dirtball for a week now. I don't think anybody is coming.
Elf: We wait here.
Pronto: How long?
Elf: You called it. Ten minutes.
Elf: Intelligence is an aphrodisiac. In ten minutes he'll stop being sexy.
Schlock: Oh, is that when that stops?
Pronto: (whispering) Shhh. . . Don't taunt the crazy person.