[his list of things to do before turning 50] Go to Disneyland, ride in an airplane, kiss Peggy Fleming, live in a house with stairs, beat up a Russian, hit mom with a car.

I'm aware of it. I have a Google news alert for the phrase 'Tracy Jordan ridiculous disaster.

The closest I came to vomiting tonight is when I saw Ann Coulter's shoulder blades.

[to Tracy] Your contract expressly prohibits dangerous activities, like extreme sports or riding the subway on St. Patrick's Day.

Liz: Oh, right, sorry, my mail has been piling up and I keep forgetting to buy toilet paper.
Jack: What is that supposed to mean?

I'm going to find out what was in the box, buy it with money, and it's going to make me happy. And if that doesn't work, I'm going to Benjamin Button myself.

[on Tracy] His video game made a fortune, and he invested it all in a company that dismantles bank signs - it's doing very well.

Jack: Tracy and I have become quite close. Look, we got BFF bracelets.
Liz: You guys are best friends forever?
Jack: That's not what that stands for.

Jack: (re: his years spent developing the pocket microwave): Most of that time has been spent trying to come up with a hip, edgy name that would appeal to the marketing holy trinity: college students, the morbidly obese, and homosexuals.

With no TGS I see you... self-publishing your novel and moving back in with your parents.

Passing out and cursing on St. Patrick's Day. Is nothing sacred anymore?

Jack: I guess we both lost children today.
Liz: Yeah, but mine was real. Yours was ... Frank.