Dicker: File 82-7-0-2. Agent Rick Dicker interrogating. State your name, please.
Kari: Kari. Kari McKeen. It’s like Carrie, only with a K instead of a C, and an "ah" instead of an "a", and only one R, and an I instead of an I-E.
Dicker: Tell me about the incident.
Kari: Wow, it started out like any normal sitting gig, you know, with the reassuring of the parent and all.
[cut to the Parr household, where Kari is talking on the phone with Helen]
Kari: Mrs. Parr, I can totally handle anything this baby can dish out. [turns to Jack-Jack] Can’t I, little boo boo kid? Who can handle it? Who can handle it? [the airplane’s alarm is heard on the other end of the line, and the call disconnects] Mrs. Parr? Mrs. Parr? Oh well, she knows you’re in good hands. [hangs up] Now, who’s ready for some neurological stimulation?
[he looks up from his orange, then putting flashcards, table with circle, triangle, and square, and xylophone, then cooing, then putting the Mozart CD in with Turkish March playing]
Kari: It’s time for cognitive develop… [looks at the toys that Jack-Jack isn’t there, in the kitchen, then running to Jack-Jack] Who’s the goo-goo baby? Where’s the hiding… [grabs a vase]
[Jack-Jack drinks the bottle]
Kari: That was really weird. Wait right here. [he dials the phone, calling] Hello, Mrs. Parr, this is Kari. I have a question about Jack-Jack. Can you call me? [yelping, then Jack-Jack plays a bottle on the ceiling] Jack-Jack? Baby? Where are you?
[Jack-Jack opens the top of the battle]
Kari: Where…? [the milk splats Kari’s face, screaming] Mrs. Parr, it’s me. Jack-Jack is fine, but weird things are happening, and you need to tell me what to do, ‘cause I’m… [looking at the broken wood, but Jack-Jack isn’t there]
Kari: How’d you get…? [Jack-Jack falls down, then grabbing Jack-Jack, disappearing with underwear, then running downstairs, then Jack-Jack floats on the wall by disappearing by trying to get him two times, then grabbing by the washing machine door]
Kari: We’re gonna calm things down a bit now, and look at flash cards. Won’t that be fun?
[Kari begins playing tug-o-war with Jack-Jack over a flash card, then Kari wins and holds the card up]
[Jack-Jack glares at her and makes a triangle with his hands and coos]
Kari: Good. House.
[Jack-Jack glares at her again and makes another triangle with his hands and coos again]
Kari: Good. Campfire.
[Jack-Jack looks at the card and bursts into flame]
Kari: [screaming, then running on the floor with fire, and to herself] Don’t panic. Baby on fire, baby on fire.
[Jack-Jack continues running on the floor by table with circle, triangle, and square, then running under the table with fire around, then holding Jack-Jack up, and going to the bathroom, by the toilet, then rinsing it off by the tub, hissing]
Kari: Good baby! Nice baby.
[cut to the day of the Parr household, by Jack-Jack messed up with chairs, toys, and table, then Kari holds a fire extinguisher, then cooing, then bursting into flame, then using a fire extinguisher to rinse it off, then clapping, then laser at the mirror, by drawing on the ceiling, then cooing, then they hear a doorbell ringing]
Kari: [rushing to the door, exhausted] Yes?
Syndrome: Is this the Parr’s residence?
Kari: [maniacally] Yes, I’m Kari, the babysitter.
Syndrome: Well, hello, uh, Kari. I’m, uh…
Kari: You’re my replacement. Thank heaven you’ve come! What does the "S" stand for?
Syndrome: For… sitter. Yeah, sitter. Originally, I was gonna have initials for babysitter, but then I would have been going around wearing a big "BS", and you understand why I couldn’t go with that.
Dicker: [after Kari describes how she gave Jack-Jack to Syndrome, the "Sitter"] And you believed him?
Kari: The baby was exploding! You ever sit an exploding baby before, Mr. Dicker?
[he gets up and pulls down an odd contraption]
Kari: What’s that?
Dicker: Have you told anyone else about this? Your parents? [aims the device’s laser at Kari’s forehead]
Kari: Yeah, they thought I was being funny. But you believe me, don’t you, Mr. Dicker?
Dicker: Sure, kid.
Kari: I just wish I could forget the whole thing.
Dicker: You will, kid. [fires a corded plunger-like attachment which sticks to her forehead] You will.